ii.

Itachi has spent a great deal of time meandering around the world since the massacre, and his last few weeks have been settled beneath the thick cloud cover of the Village Hidden by Rain. Kisame's and his next mission has sent them south where they walk deep in a field of sweetgrass billowing in the gentle Fire Country breeze in a way that looks like ocean waves, his entire being at peace to see it and smell it and feel it. He greatly missed the wide expanses of Fire, probably more than he missed the forests if he were honest. The sky is a blue so deep his heart aches to see it, though he's sure part of that ache is the relief in his sore lungs after breathing nothing but humid smog for weeks.

He unhooks his black cloak, letting the warm wind flow over him like an anointment and taking in a deep breath. It smells earthy, and he trails his hands along the blades of grass to find them soft against his fingertips, tickling his palms. Itachi is not a short man, but he's not really tall, either—especially not compared to Kisame, and the deeper they wade through the field the more consumed by it he becomes, until it's up to his knees.

But speaking of Kisame, he's been lagging behind for a few minutes now. When Itachi glances back the first time, he's greeted through the tassels of his straw hat by the sight of his partner slicking his hair from his eyes, a fine sheen of sweat glistening on that handsome face. He flushes and turns back, making a few lightning-quick assessments and slowing his steps with calculated deliberateness. Kisame has not been cruel, always keeping his speech polite and fussing over him to eat more and to get better rest. For a native of the Village Hidden in Mist who'd also just spent the last few weeks in Rain, Kisame is likely far out of his element beneath the bright sun. Even Itachi, by all accounts loving the weather, wears his hat to keep the rays from burning his skin. Accommodating him and not drawing attention to his struggles is the least he can do.

A guilt creeps in, though, when he realizes the other man is getting even further behind. He is not slow by any means, as any civilian traveler could hardly be expected to keep even that pace, but Itachi had assured his partner that the beauty of Fire Country was unlike any other, except maybe a few spots here or there in Cloud Country and the Land of Waterfalls. But though the man has not uttered a word of complaint and likely never would, he is sweating and sluggish.

Itachi, then, will do his best to make it up to him.

"If we make camp tonight," he offers quietly, "we can rise early and catch the fog rolling in." You would like that, I think, he wants to add. "The forests at dawn are quite different from a field pelted all afternoon by the sun."

They are both shinobi, and murmurs can be heard from quite a long distance to experienced enough ears. He pretends not to see Kisame trying to hide his smile behind his collar and turns.

"Well," hums Kisame, "that saves us the trouble of having to find an inn, at least."

He waits until the other man has caught up. They exchange a glance; though Itachi has trained his body to stop feeling paralyzed at the mere sight of his partner, there is still that jump in his heart to be standing so close—and he swears Kisame keeps glancing in his direction, too. He manages to shake it off even as they walk side by side for some time, but he brightens with an uncharacteristic excitement when he hears, off in the distance, the quiet bubbling of a creek.

He cannot possibly speak; it would give far too much away and he still has a facade to maintain, after all. Instead, he stops and points straight ahead. It is a poor move, for Kisame tenses and braces as if for battle—until he can hear the water too, and then a look of recognition flashes over him before giving a toothy smile so utterly beautiful that Itachi feels his ears go red to see it. Against his better efforts he smiles too, and does not miss that Kisame catches it only briefly.

There is that tense air in the space between them all of a sudden, and it is his partner who first breaks that tension by untying the jug of water he keeps at his hip and pouring its contents over his own head. Itachi nearly looks away in a hot feeling not unlike shame, to watch the way his hair dampens and sticks to his forehead and ears, how it trails down his muscled neck before disappearing down into the collar of his cloak.

Then Kisame darts off, leaving Itachi so relieved that he swears under his breath.

He makes his way slowly to the brook, watching intently as he does. His partner has stripped from his cloak and is splashing cool water over his face, and it does not escape his notice that as he approaches, the other man shivers when their eyes catch.

...It has been some time since Itachi has done anything he would consider fun. But Kisame has been acting strangely all day, and his own feelings have been similarly foreign. It is in his nature as an older brother to tease, and he draws upon that strength and finds his pulse racing at how familiar and new it feels all the same as he produces his own canteen. He does not break eye contact as he raises it to his lips, nor as he feels the warmth from within it slither down his throat. When he swallows, Kisame swallows. Hard. The way his chest is rising and falling is intriguing, almost like he's nervous. But then the water comes to rest in Itachi's belly, the canteen emptied and the show over.

Kisame fumbles when the small flask is tossed to him, but manages to catch it. He seems intimidated in a fascinating way while Itachi watches him fill it. He even flinches when their fingers brush, but it would not be a kind thing to draw attention to it.

"Are you ready, Itachi-san?" he asks, jerking his head towards the faraway treeline.

Again Itachi does not dare speak. Surely there would be something perceptible in his voice of his thoughts, which were far from appropriate for a mere business partner and not befitting a clan-killer. So instead his answer is to simply hop the creek and carry on at each other's sides.