The spores have its way of finding her. Whether in the presence of her comrades or amongst the distilling silence of her solitude, it stalks her. Willpower is what keeps her conscious afloat, but the spores beckon like a guardian light beneath an amplifying darkness. She drifts in and out between reality and the world she cannot visit. And somewhere between her thoughts and her physical, she feels the warmth of a hand and senses the blurring imagery of a billion blackened spores.
"Izumi, stay focused."
Shisui's voice is somewhere far away.
Closer to her is the sound of running water and the smell of open wound.
"Why are you here?"
Itachi's voice has that evaluative edge that manifests as composure.
His imagery may be indistinct, but her conscious is highly attuned to his presence.
For several long seconds, Izumi remains in speculative silence.
What am I doing here?
I'm here again.
Itachi is here.
The thoughts are perceptible yet clearly associated with one another. Then the feelings return and she is wedged inside that older body again.
Her environment is a discernible lodge that overlooks the surrounding mountainous terrains. And the more transfixed she is on the Itachi before her, the faster the spores dissipate from her vision.
"You don't believe me, do you?"
She hears her tentative whispers and the way it contravenes the inquisitive mindset she has for this scenario.
Itachi's back is facing her, but she gets the intuition his expression speaks vigilance.
"Even if I did, there is nothing I can do about it."
Izumi's conscious may have been absent for the past few hours but returning to this older body provides her with a full update on what she has missed. She likens it to the combining of two bodies and two minds in one. Fourteen is the age that piques her interest in Itachi, yet twenty-one is the age that commands her thoughts and the proceeding unfamiliar sensations.
"You merge with your existence if you attempt to enter another world. This is because we originate from one chakra origin and not multiple different chakras in parallel worlds. The dominant world will be the one that manifests."
Shisui's explanation does not account for the caveat seen in her current situation - the older Izumi is not from this world, and neither is she, the younger one.
"Then why does it matter if I followed you here?"
She speaks faintly, albeit with an assertive edge to her tone.
"I placed you under that genjutsu. Are you still that willing to be close by?"
"You had every right to be wary," she answers.
He says nothing.
Eventually, Itachi closes the silence through a succession of ragged coughing.
"Itachi!"
Her body staggers, but it is her mind that halts out of caution. So she remains there, fixed to the ground in a state of contradiction.
At her sudden movement, Itachi gives an involuntary wince that demonstrates his increasing vulnerability.
"You are the same, no matter the world," she says quietly and when he does not answer, she continues rigidly, "I'm not here to change anything. I'm just…a very long way from home. But… you are still Itachi, no matter where you are, so I am not going to leave you like this."
She stares vacantly at his hand, and the way it moves to cover the blood-stained fabrics of his handkerchief.
Internally, her mind rages a catastrophic war between the fragmented memories of the younger Izumi and the intensifying need to act on the desires of the older one. But it is Itachi's degrading condition and the deprivation of his consciousness that renders a sudden need for cooperation between the two Izumi's.
"No matter how great of a shinobi you are, that ailment is robbing you of your ability to evade the most basic of attacks."
She stares haphazardly between his right upper arm and shoulder blade. Beneath the thickened fabric of his cloak, she remembers the broken skin and the deepened lesion that forced his retreatment from battle. Perhaps it is an overt justification for her presence? Itachi's astuteness, however, has already bypassed Izumi's explanation for being here.
"Sorry, Izumi, but I can manage on my own. The best use of your energy-"
"Please, for once will you just put yourself first?"
She did not mean to layer the interjection with anger, but Itachi's constant practice of deflecting his needs is what often fuels her reproach.
Itachi's response is unusually stoic, as if he did not anticipate the assertiveness nor her resounding frustration that has manifested in tears.
"You can already see. I barely have any chakra left, so I am completely defenceless. You're no less vulnerable than I am. And even still, you have more than enough power to overcome me."
She speaks lowly, albeit firm.
Beneath his impassive watch, there are minute traces of resignation that denotes his agreement. But intuition speaks to her in ways she cannot always comprehend – Itachi's wariness may not have anything to do with her defenceless position.
When he remains silent, Izumi closes the gap between them.
"I'll re-dress your shoulder," she says tentatively, "please."
He does not answer, so she takes it as a cue to continue.
Itachi's wound may be deep, but it is his illness that arouses concern. It takes her several tries to properly attach the dressing due to his vicious coughing bouts.
From then, his consciousness deteriorates.
"Itachi," she takes his sallow-stained face, "hold it together, please."
But he falls to her shoulders and remains abnormally still.
At the sight, her breath halts and she is falling through a procession of blurred memories. That same terrorising feeling that gnaws at her like blinding pain. Except, it presents in the form of unstable grief. In her world, she lost him to this very same destruction and in this unfamiliar world, she will lose him to it again.
"No...not again…"
Her whispers rebound back and forth like recoiling waves. And in that moment, Izumi is seeing her older self from an objective point of view.
I'm detaching from her.
Time may have stagnated, but there is still mobility between her, the older Izumi and Itachi.
Her conscious, however, is precarious. Between the two worlds, she hears their calling and the forceful pull that draws her inwards – back to the world where she belongs. Still, she holds to the very fragment that links her mind with this strange world. It is a place she cannot acclimatise but its separation from her is agonising.
"He's cold, he's so very cold," the older Izumi says.
And just like that, the two merge again.
Itachi's body is like a frozen limp corpse, and the longer she clings to him, the more she feels the uncanny presence of a foreign chakra.
But the pervading thoughts are filtered solutions of revival. She thinks of the way chakra is seen – a heavy source of vitality.
"Warmth, chakra…skin contact," she murmurs.
Despite the incredulity, perhaps one that stems from the younger Izumi's immaturity and lack of experience, Izumi unclothes – herself first, then Itachi.
And without hesitation, she is pressing her naked torso against the icy surface of his chest.
"Itachi, stay with me…please," she whispers.
There is a small part of her that begs for relief. She is not used to the intimacy of said situation, regardless of age, but a portion of her conscious is heavily anchored on Itachi's survival. It dismisses those demure thoughts and the curiosity that follows. The very thin thread that holds her between this world and hers is splintered by Itachi's sudden words.
"Your chakra," he says softly, "it really is you, Izumi."
Perhaps it is the reassurance or that very moment of weakness that allows her comrades to draw her back?
In between faint bouts of blackened spores, she detaches from the older Izumi. The scene she sees is a pressing desire of her imagination, perhaps a world she wishes to remain in exchange for the minutes felt between her other self and Itachi. She holds to the imagery of their intimacy, the way their bodies attune to each other, the remnants of heartened conversation and the way their lips sporadically merge with intensifying affection.
But the scenery may be far from contentment. Amidst the adjoining walls, there is a blackened substance that is leaking from the edges. She sees the darkened skies and the way it illuminates the shadows of the lodge's occupants. Izumi. Itachi. There is a shadowy third figure that is seemingly human-like. And she watches the way it falls in and out of those adjoining walls.
The blackened spores infiltrate like an active beehive and it is Shisui's face that she sees.
"Izumi, keep it together," he says.
She assimilates her surroundings. The white ceiling, the clinical curtains and the velvet skies that percolate through the rectangular windows. Konoha Hospital.
"Izumi, are you okay?"
She hears Itachi's voice, and immediately, as if conditioned to react, she sits upright and collides with Shisui's arm.
"Ouch!"
"Izumi, are you hurt?"
"That was unexpected."
"Izumi!"
There is a conglomeration of voices but she cannot ascertain their owners.
Between the opened doors, she sees the nurses and two unfamiliar shinobis. And to her right is Shisui, who is looking half exhausted and half relieved. Itachi, however, remains somewhere by the end of her bed. She cannot look at him for fear he may see her thoughts or the world she has just witnessed.
"Izumi, you seem well," Shisui says.
She nods.
"You removed them did you not? The spores?" she asks quietly.
"We did," he answers uncertainly, "but there are residues, though not strong enough to pull you away again."
He pauses and when she does not respond, he continues earnestly.
"Izumi, what made you want to stay there?"