In all the years Itachi had spent in the psychiatric ward, he had never once felt any desire to be free. Perhaps it was a result of his blindness and the chafing of his inability to take care of himself against his once-prideful personality, or perhaps it was a side effect of the guilt he still felt. Whatever the reason was, Itachi found that he was evaluating himself late into the night every day without even meaning to. He had been a medical student himself once; why hadn't he come to the conclusion Kisame had drawn on his own terms? And why had he been content to live like this for almost ten years, clinging blindly - no pun intended - to the illusion of padded white walls?

The question caused Itachi more mental stress than he had felt in all his years of incarceration, bringing up another, more troubling one: did he even want to leave this place? After all those years of solitude and confinement, could he integrate himself back into society? Was the lure of the sun against his pale, starved skin worth it?

Such mysteries of life as these were the stuff and volume of Itachi's musings these days. They consumed his waking hours and plagued his restless nights, causing him to toss and turn in his bed and occasionally wake in a cold sweat, leaving him more exhausted than when he went to sleep. Gradually, the lack of restful sleep began to wear on Itachi, until one morning, he said the hell with it and didn't get out of bed.

Itachi had woken up close to midnight the night before, sweating and shivering at the same time and tearing at the bandage that covered up his ruined eyes. Before he realized what was happening, he tore off both it and his soaking shirt, throwing them blindly away from him.

It took only a few seconds for Itachi to realize what he'd done, but by then, it was too late; they were already out of his reach, and he felt more naked than he had felt in a long time.

The hunching blades of his shoulders stuck out into the air like skeletal flags, proof that his once proud body had become emancipated from confinement. Terrified wandering fingers stole, trembling, up the sides of his face until they came to the edge of the scar trailing down his cheek from his eyes. The lumpy scar tissue stretched from his right cheekbone, across his nose, and through his left eyebrow, ending almost into his hairline. Slowly, afraid to touch the skin he had kept hidden from himself for years, Itachi traced the scar until the tip of his finger found his empty eye socket. A gag of revulsion tore from his lips, shaking his body, and he dropped his hands from his face.

Why did Itachi even want to go back outside? He was hideous, he was a monster - he'd never be able to show his face in society again. Even Kisame - the man who had accepted Itachi's reputation of insanity without hesitation - yes, even Kisame would shy away from the grinning mockery of a death's head staring out from Itachi's face.

Waves of unadulterated self-disgust rolling through him, Itachi allowed himself to collapse on his bed, sightless eyes sockets staring toward the wall. He stayed this way until the handle of the door turned hours later, letting in the one person Itachi ached to see, and couldn't bear to face at the same time.

"So, I guess the cooks are on a sadistic streak because, once again, they have given me oatmeal- wait, what's wrong? Itachi? Is something the matter?"

Itachi curled up a little further on himself. "...can you hand me my bandage?"

"What's going on? Itachi, please! Talk to me!"

"Just…" Itachi clenched his hands into fists. "Hand it to me? Please?"

There was a clatter as the tray Kisame was holding was set down on the table, then a rustle of cloth as he walked closer to the bed. "Where is it?"

"I don't know; I'm blind! Just find it and give it to me!"

A hand settled on Itachi's back, and he jumped like a nervous cat whose tail had been stepped on and slammed his palms over his scars.

"Don't touch me!"

But the hand didn't leave. Instead, it started moving in soothing circles on Itachi's back.

Quietly but with strength, Kisame voice cut through the darkness surrounding Itachi. "What are you afraid of?"

"I'm not afraid of anything," Itachi snapped, but his whole body trembled as if on a mission to disprove his claims.

The bed dipped under Itachi as Kisame's weight settled next to him, and the single hand on his back changed to a pair of strong arms wrapped solidly around his bare torso.

"Nightmare?"

"Of sorts."

"Was it bad?"

"Pretty bad."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"No, not really."

Itachi only removed his hands from his face when Kisame placed his chin on top of Itachi's head and there was no chance of him seeing the ruined mess that once was a man. Tentatively, Itachi reached around Kisame to hug him back, but his shoulders were so wide that he had trouble touching his fingers together.

Like before, Itachi found Kisame's quiet to be an unnerving thing that clamored to be filled by words, and before long he felt the confession bubbling up in his throat, threatening to spill out. Careful not to let his empty eye socket brush up against Kisame's collarbone, Itachi laid his cheek against Kisame's chest so he could feel his words vibrate up through his body.

"What was I thinking, Kisame? I can never leave here, not like this. After what I did to myself, the sight of my face would make small children - and some grown adults - cry. The only place I could ever live peacefully is somewhere like this."

Kisame arms tightened around Itachi almost imperceptibly, and that was the only warning Itachi got before he pulled back abruptly and seized his shoulders, giving his a rough shake. "Don't think like that!"

"Don't look at me!" Itachi cried, trying to cover his face, but Kisame stopped him.

"Wake up, Itachi! There is more to a man than his appearance, and more to a face than the scars upon it!"

Something in Kisame's tome alerted Itachi that there was more weight behind his statement than casual observation, and he stopped struggling and tilted his head up to Kisame's searching gaze, which he could feel burning against his fallow cheeks.

"Kisame, are you… I mean, do you… have scars, too? Like me?"

Kisame's grip on Itachi's shoulders tightened and it was a long moment before he spoke again.

"I have… a little confession to make about why I took this job. I had three job offers almost identical to this one, but this was the one I chose. And do you know why?"

"No," Itachi whispered, almost afraid to breathe.

"Because the patient in the job I took was blind, and I was hoping… well, I don't know what I was hoping for, but I wanted a sense of anonymity, somewhere where I wouldn't be judged for how I look. Because judgement is everywhere."

"Why?" Itachi choked out. "What makes you the same as me?"

Kisame didn't answer in words, but let his hands travel down from Itachi's shoulders until they were holding his hands, which he slowly brought up to his neck. From all the times Kisame had embraced Itachi before, he knew that his caretaker favored high collared shirts, but he'd never wondered or bothered to ask why. The question was now answered, however, when Kisame led Itachi's hands up to rest against the skin of his neck under his collar, and Itachi felt hard ridges of raised flesh morbidly decorating what should have been smooth skin.

Kisame stood still, hardly breathing, as Itachi's fingers explored what his empty eyes had lost the power to see. There were four scars on each side of his neck, perfectly symmetrical and too cleanly purposeful to have been an accident.

"Who did this to you?" Itachi asked quietly.

The snort Kisame gave was almost derisive. "You mean you're not going to assume I made them myself?"

"Please; I have a self-inflicted scar. I know what they feel like, and this isn't it. Now, are you going to tell me who gave them to you or not?"

Itachi felt Kisame throat jump as he swallowed. "You're a strange man, you know that?"

"That's what they told me when I got here," Itachi joked weakly, and Kisame's grip on his shoulders tightened.

"Don't say things like that," he admonished quietly.

"Then tell me who did it," Itachi pressed.

The scars on the sides of Kisame's throat jumped again as he swallowed once more. "Fine, but it's not going to be pretty."

"There's not a single one of us in this world that could claim their story to be entirely pretty."

The words seemed to draw boldness from Kisame, and he drew himself upright and began to speak.

"I was… eighteen when I got the scars. My family's business wasn't exactly 'savory', so to speak, and it was this, indirectly, that caused it to happen. For generations before my, family had been high-ranking members of a gang involved in organized crime in New York City. I mean, they did everything - embezzlement, racketeering, dealing, murder - you name it, we did it. Even as a young boy at the tender age of eight, by father recognized my talents and set me to be trained. I excelled at everything, physical and mental, but there was one talent, one unique skill, I had that surpassed all the others: when I was just twelve years old, I killed a man with my bare hands."

Whatever Itachi had been expecting, this certainly wasn't it. His fingers slipped away from Kisame's neck of their own accord, and Kisame caught them with his own hand.

"I'm sorry. Was that too much?"

"No, no, it's fine," Itachi gasped out, twining their fingers together. "I'm no stranger to death, after all. It just took me by surprise."

"You sure you're okay?" Kisame asked uncertainly. "I've never told someone this before, so I don't know if I'm doing it right."

"You're doing fine." Itachi reached forward blindly, finding Kisame's cheek almost by accident and tracing the line of his jaw until he found his hairline, shorter and spikier than he had expected it to be, then dropping back down to the scars on his neck. "Just be honest, and I'll understand."

"Okay," Kisame almost whispered. "Well, after I … killed … that man, my father saw the potential in me and trained me to be his personal assassin. I don't know how many people I killed for him - dozens, hundreds, maybe - but it was never enough. There was always someone else to kill, someone else who'd broken the rules and needed to be made an example of, or someone dangerous to him to be taken care of, and I was the only one he looked to, the only one he trusted. But the worst part was this: I liked it! I was good at what I did and was proud of that, and I liked the feelings of accomplishment I got when my father thanked me for a job well done. I knew he didn't even like me, that he was raising me to be his tool and nothing more, that everyone else hated me because they didn't want to show weakness and fear me, but I couldn't bring myself to care."

"You were only a child," Itachi soothed, but Kisame only gave a humorless laugh.

"I knew what I was doing. I kept following my father's orders, killing anyone he pleased, until the day he sent me after a man I wasn't ready to take on. He was a leader in a rival gang, and they captured me easily and held me for ransom. My father, of course, wouldn't pay it, so he gave me these scars as a warning. Eventually, my father's men came for me, and broke me out, but on their own terms. The message was clear: I was not a comrade in their eyes, I was simply a tool, and once I outlived my usefulness, I would be disposed of. I had been given a second chance, a way to redeem myself in the eyes of the gang, but I didn't take it. I took my little sister and ran as fast and as far away as I could. I took care of her and tried to put myself through college at the same time- but you know how well that turned out."

"So you made it out, then?"

"Barely." Itachi felt Kisame shudder through their connection. "I have the feeling sometimes that they're still watching me, and I never really escaped their clutches. Gangs like that never really let you go."

All of a sudden, Itachi let out a little giggle. "I know it's terrible, but I have to laugh because that's almost like what happened to me. My family isn't a gang, but we have a similar hierarchical structure. My father sent me in to deal with a ghost I wasn't ready to face, and this," he gestured to the room around them at large, "is the end result of that. In that way… we're a lot alike."

Itachi felt Kisame's hand settle gently on his face. "More than you know."

Kisame's thumb rubbed a soft contact against Itachi's cheek, brushing against the bottom edge of his scar. Abruptly, Itachi realized that Kisame had tricked him into keeping his face uncovered this whole time, and he blushed scarlet and tried to jerk away to bury his face back in his hands, but Kisame prevented him from moving.

"Not now. Let me look at you. I let you touch mine, didn't I?"

Trembling, Itachi bit his lip in unsure consideration. Kisame had let him touch his scars, so wasn't it the right thing to do let him understand Itachi's in return? But the louder, more terrified part of his mind screamed that Kisame had eyes; why couldn't he satisfy his curiously just looking at him? Why did he have to bare himself to the unknown, the thing that frightened him the most?

As if sensing his hesitation, Kisame started to draw his hand away. "Sorry. I shouldn't have asked-"

Without meaning to, Itachi grabbed Kisame's hand and kept it on his face. When he realized what he'd reflexively done, it was already too late and he couldn't take the movement back, and he felt his cheeks heat with embarrassment. "I don't… It's not that… I mean, you can touch them if you want."

"You sure?"

No. But Itachi only gave a slight nod, and Kisame leaned forward to get a better look at Itachi's face as he traced his fingers over the scars.

It was strange to think of someone else touching what had used to be an unexemplary part of his face and was now the most private place on his body. Having nothing but the bandage pressed against his skin for years had made the scar sensitive almost to the point of being ticklish, and Itachi was having a hard time sitting still without flinching as Kisame explored the area with his rough fingertips. Kisame didn't dip his fingers into the empty eye sockets - which Itachi was eternally grateful for; that would have been way too much - but his fingertips traced around the edges in their quest of discovery, skirting around the forbidden land without touching it.

Kisame's nose brushed against Itachi's suddenly, and he jumped, not realizing how close the other men had leaned in toward him. The shared jolt dissolved some of the mounting tension between the two, and, unable to stop themselves, dissolved into almost identical giggles.

"Sorry," Kisame apologized, still with some laughter in his voice, getting off the bed. The removal of the weight caused the mattress to spring up under Itachi, and he waited patiently as Kisame's footsteps moved a couple of paces out, then back. "Here's your bandage."

Itachi held his hand out to receive it, and after a few seconds' hesitation, Kisame deposited the scrap of cloth in his hand. "Don't be sorry. You didn't do anything wrong."

"Maybe, but that doesn't mean I did anything right, either."

Tightening his hand around the cloth bandage, Itachi said, "I hate it when people apologize for things that aren't their fault."

A harsh chuckle came from across the room, where Kisame had retreated to retrieve Itachi's shirt. "Duly noted."

A smile playing on the corner of Itachi's mouth, he considered the bandage in his hand. After what had happened, it seemed a shame to put it back on, but he knew he needed to. There was, after all, a reason past aesthetics for why he was wearing it: the doctors who'd performed the surgery that had removed the mangled remains of his eyes before they could get infected and spread the disease through his body had tried to close the holes with skin grafts, but his body had rejected the artificial covering, and they'd been forced to operate again, this time taking even his eyelids away and leaving him with the gaping eye sockets he now had. The result was that Itachi's immune system was constantly attacking the healing skin, leaving him with perpetually half-healed and tender scar tissue on the inside of his eye sockets. The phenomenon had stumped the doctors, but Itachi knew the reason why: it was his Sharingan trying constantly to fix itself, but without a target, its aggressive action was forced into damage instead of healing. The bandage protected the tender skin from getting damaged or too dry.

With a sigh, Itachi pulled the bandage over his empty eye sockets and started wrapping it around his head, but slowed and stopped as an idea struck him. It really was horrible to cover up the most defining aspect of his humanity with the sterile trappings of a hospital. Carefully, he removed the bandage, centered it over his eyes, and tied it behind his head with two sharp movements. The result was similar to a bandana tied like a headband or sweatband, and Itachi rather liked it.

Kisame's footsteps came closer to the bed again, and he paused slightly when he saw Itachi's new look, but didn't comment on it. "I got your shirt. How the hell'd you get it all the way on the other side of the room?"

"I threw it, obviously." Itachi held both hands out in front of him, and Kisame deposited the shirt in his grasp. It was still slightly damp and reeked of sweat, and Itachi wrinkled his nose up at the offending garment. "Actually, I think I'll get myself a new one. This one smells worse than a landfill in the summer."

He stood up and tried to skirt around the obstacle in his path that was Kisame, but his caretaker grabbed his arm and forced him to sit back down on the bed. "I'll get you another one."

"I can get it myself," Itachi griped. "I'm blind, not an invalid."

"And this is my job, and I'm overpaid for it. Just let me get you the shirt."

"Fine." Itachi crossed his arms and legs with a huff. "Do whatever you want. I don't care."

Kisame's footsteps sounded strange on the floor as he walked over to the shelf - soft plastic, of course; wouldn't want the lunatic to do anything rash - until Itachi remembered that the area was covered in a soft carpeting. "Why'd you throw it?" He asked, the sound of his voice reaching Itachi's ears mixed with the sound of rustling cloth.

"Oh, you know, nightmares, waking up in a cold sweat, the irrational feeling of suffocation - the usual. And make sure you bring me one with a rounded neck hole. The v-necks are for sleeping in."

"Then why did the shirt you were wearing have a rounded neck hole?"

"Because sometimes I'm lazy and don't bother to change my clothes before I go to bed. Don't act like a saint and pretend like you've never done it before."

That drew a laugh out of Kisame. "Fair enough." He walked back to the bed and handed Itachi a shirt. "Here you go."

"Thanks." Itachi made as if to draw the shirt over his head, but Kisame caught his arm.

"Wait a second."

"Why?"

"I just… want to look at you a little longer."

Itachi gave a delicate snort. "I'm fairly certain I'm not exactly what you'd call an 'eyeful', now am I?"

"That's not what I meant." Kisame reached out and touched Itachi's cheek again, letting his thumb brush teasingly over the bridge of his nose. "I want to be able to remember you like this, vulnerable but strong at the same time. Your tenacity amazes me."

"I know that was meant as a compliment, but I can't help but take offense at the tone of surprise."

"As does your wit," Kisame added with a chuckle. "You're not the man everyone else has you pegged to be."

"Good, because I'd hate to be that crazy motherfucker."

Itachi could almost feel Kisame shaking his head in disapproval at his comment. "Whatever the case," he said, his rich voice going deeper than normal and practically melting in Itachi's ears, "I'm glad we had this moment here to ourselves, just the two of us." He reached his other hand up and traced along the pathway of Itachi's scar, following it despite the cloth barrier between it and him. "I've memorized this right here, its shape and form. I'll never forget it."

Itachi wanted to say something snarky and witty, perhaps a sarcastic apology for the nightmares surely to come from having such an image burned into one's corneas, but the words died in his throat when he realized that Kisame was being completely serious. Swallowing harshly against the lump suddenly forming in his throat, Itachi instead reached a hand up to the horribly perfect lines on Kisame's neck and said, "And I'll never forget these, either."

Kisame leaned forward and touched his forehead to Itachi's gently, and they sat there quietly breathing each other's breath until Kisame broke the silence.

"I know I shouldn't, but I really want to kiss you right now."

"Then why don't you?" Itachi challenged breathlessly, fisting the material of Kisame's shirt collar in his hand.

"Because I'd get in trouble, then I'd get fired, and then I'd never get to see you again." Contrary to his words, Kisame's face drifted closer to Itachi's, his breath fanning over Itachi's lips like a light breeze.

"I have a simple solution," Itachi said mischievously, wrapping his arms around Kisame's neck. "Don't get caught."

"That's easy for you to say, but not so easy for me to do."

Kisame's nose brushed Itachi's, sending a delicious shiver down his spine. "What are you talking about? It's simple, really. All you have to do is make a plan and follow through with it." To prove his point, Itachi pressed his lips delicately to Kisame's for a few seconds, then pulled back. "See? Even I can do it. I thought about doing it, then I did it. It's as easy as that."

"Don't temp me," Kisame growled.

"Don't? My dear, that's what I've been trying to do all along."

The words were barely out of his mouth before Kisame grabbed the back of Itachi's neck and captured his lips is a searing kiss that drove even the concept of cold out of his mind. It had been a while since he'd been kissed like this, his mind idly wondered, since before the Orochimaru incident at least. And boy, had he missed it.

Clinging tightly to Kisame, Itachi vehemently kissed him back as he bared down against the young Uchiha. But Itachi wasn't about to let him take control completely, so he pushed back until they were almost equal, daring Kisame to try and dominate him. In return, Kisame slipped a hand down Itachi's back with just enough pressure to make him inadvertently moan into Kisame's mouth. The slip of control embarrassed Itachi but seemed to embolden Kisame, for he demanded entrance into a mouth that was, after some prodding, willing to relinquish its solitude. One hand on Itachi's lower back and the other at his neck, Kisame completely took control of him through his open mouth, and Itachi lost the need to battle him for dominance.

The flames between them were blazing hot and almost out of control, the sounds muted but strong and the passion more than skin deep, and then-!

And then they sprung away from each other as abruptly as they'd connected at the warning sound of the handle on the door turning inwards. Kisame stood up from the bed quickly and Itachi seized his shirt and started pulling it up over his head, instinctively starting in the middle of a conversation.

"-and again, thank you so much for looking at that. I wasn't sure if I hit it hard enough to bruise when I took that tumble yesterday and it was a little sore last night, so I was a little worried that I'd hurt myself."

Luckily, Kisame picked up on the thread of conversation as easily as Itachi had. "Well, don't worry yourself about it; it's hardly even red, and there's no scratches. You're just as fine as could be."

"Itachi."

It was the voice of Itachi's father.

Completely ignoring him, Itachi stood up and walked to the table, turning to Kisame as he sat down. "So, what'd you say was for breakfast this morning? Oatmeal again?"

"Yeah…" Kisame said, trailing off as his focas almost tangibly changed back and forth from Itachi to his father. "But they sent some sugar and cinnamon today, so it shouldn't taste quite as bad as the last time. Though it's probably gone a little cold sitting there."

"I don't mind." Itachi ghosted his fingertips across the tabletop until they reached the tray, then he pulled it toward himself. The oatmeal was covered, he discovered, and he pulled the metal cover off and cast it aside, action sending a plume of sickly healthy-smelling steam directly into his face. The urge to wrinkle his nose assaulted Itachi, but he pushed it aside, grabbed the spoon, and started shoveling the messy meal into his mouth. "It's better than that weird gritty thing they served the other day. By the way, how's the weather outside today? Is it raining?"

"How'd you know?"

"Your shoes squeaked a little bit on the floor when you first got here, so either it was raining or you stepped in a puddle on the way."

"Impressive."

"I try."

"Itachi." His father's voice broke into the conversation, but Itachi ignored him again.

"Hey, I've been wondering what's been going on in politics lately. It's 2016, right? Isn't that an election year? How's the candidates for president?"

"Abysmal." Kisame reached past Itachi and grabbed something from the table, then handed him a napkin just in time to prevent a bit of oatmeal dripping off his spoon and landing on his shirt. "I'm almost afraid to vote."

"You're a Democrat, right?"

"How'd you know?"

"According to demographic research, it's statistically the most likely option. What's wrong with the Democratic candidate?"

"Itachi!" There was anger in his father's voice now.

"Itachi?" Kisame asked uncertainly, and Itachi grabbed his arm in a half-begging, half-ordering grip.

"What's wrong with the Democratic candidate?" He repeated, trying to convey through his grip the panic inside him.

"There's nothing particularly wrong, it's just that they're not a great option, you know?"

Itachi's father suddenly switched his tactic. "Kisame!"

There was no way Kisame could ignore a direct statement from his employer, Itachi knew, so it was with a sinking heart that he heard Kisame turn towards his father.

"Yes, Mr. Uchiha?"

The gritting of teeth was almost audible in his voice. "Might I have a moment to speak alone with the patient?"

Itachi's grip tightened on Kisame's arm, and he hesitated, then said, "That's not really allowed…"

A wash of pure relief flowed through Itachi, but was cut short by his father's next words, dripping in superiority.

"Do you know who I am?"

"Yes, Mr. Uchiha, I know who you are," Kisame answered with was a slight tremor in his voice.

"Then you know that when I ask to be left alone with the patient, you will leave me alone with the patient. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Mr. Uchiha, it's clear-" Kisame started to respond, but Itachi cut him off quietly.

"Please don't leave."

Itachi turned his face up to wear he knew Kisame was looking down on him, hoping that his facial expression could convince him to make a stand against his father. The one thing he couldn't do right now, after digging up all the earliest memories of his incarceration, was be alone with the man who had put him here.

Eventually, Itachi felt Kisame square his shoulders and take in a deep breath, and he gave a tiny exhalation of relief.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Uchiha, but in my profession the needs of the patient come before anything else, so I'm obliged to abide by his wishes. If you wish to speak to him alone, you'll have to come at a time when I'm not on duty."

"I am the one paying your salary, Kisame," he said in a dangerous tone.

"I'm aware of that."

A long pause of compressed emotion flooded the room, making the inside of Itachi's mouth taste foul. Or it could have been the leftover flavor if the oatmeal; it was impossible to tell.

Finally, Itachi's father snapped, "Fine. But what gets said in this room is never to be repeated, you hear me?"

"My entire job is steeped in confidentiality," Kisame replied without missing a beat. "You don't have to worry about me spilling secrets."

"Good." Itachi's father took a few - squeaking - steps toward the table. "Itachi?"

Itachi refused to even tilt his face in the direction of his father.

"Itachi!" This was accompanied with a heavy fist slamming into the table, jumping Itachi.

"What?!" Itachi snapped back, pulling his arms into his chest in a subconscious gesture of self preservation. "I don't really want to talk to you right now, Father."

"And why is that?" He almost hissed with rage.

"Because, for the first time since you locked me up here, I have someone willing to have an actual discussion with me rather than just preaching at me, so I've come to realize how mediocre my life really was before he came. So forgive me if I'm not exactly ecstatic that you came to visit me. You see, that tends to happen when you insult someone's intelligence for years on end."

"I've taken care of you and kept you from hurting yourself or anyone else for the past eight years, and this is the thanks I get?" Itachi's father seethed, stalking back towards the door. "I simply come in here to tell you something in my infinite benevolence, and you turn on me like a rabid dog!"

"Like a starved dog," Itachi muttered quietly under his breath.

Unfortunately, not quietly enough. "What did you just say?!"

"Nothing," Itachi sneered right back. "What did you want to tell me?"

"Hmph." Itachi's father gave a distasteful noise. "Just that my wife and I will be leaving soon to check on … something, so I won't be visiting for a while. Not that you'll miss me, you ungrateful bastard."

"And just for that comment, I think won't miss you, you arrogant sod. Tell my mother to have a wonderful trip, if you can even manage to stand looking her in the eye while speaking of me. Wish my baby brother well when you see him."

The door handle clattered and Itachi father angrily yanked it open. "I don't have to stand here and listen to the uncivil ramblings of a madman!"

"Uncivil?" Itachi stood up himself, slamming both palms flat against the surface of the table and almost upsetting his tray. "I've been nothing but civil to you, and in the last few minutes alone, you've called me a madman, a bastard, and a rabid dog. And unless they changed the definition of the word civil since you locked me up in the madhouse, I think the uncivil one has been you."

"Goodbye, Itachi," his father said spitefully, then slammed the door with a harsh, resounding crash.

As soon as he was gone, Itachi collapsed back into his chair. "God, I hate him so much."

Kisame sat down in the chair opposite Itachi, righting the silverware he had upset with his hit. "Is he usually like that around you?"

"The arrogance, yes. The insults were new, though. Though it was the first time I'd fought back like that." A sense of hopelessness took over Itachi, and he laid his head down on the table. "What was I thinking, Kisame? He'll never let me go. I'm a blemish on the family name. I'm already legally dead; I'm just sitting here waiting for my actual death to catch up with me. I'll never see the sun again as long as I live."

"No!" Kisame siezed Itachi's chin and made him raise his head. "I will get you out of here! I made a promise that I would, and I'm not one to go back on promises. Don't you believe me?"

The dark queasiness in Itachi's stomach lightened at the words, and he couldn't help but feel hope at Kisame's statement, even as he tried to convince himself it wasn't possible so he wouldn't disppoint himself. "I believe that you'll try."

"Then that's good enough for me. Because I'll try, and then I'll succeed."

Perhaps, after all, a little hope now and then wasn't a bad thing.