The morning air was crisp, carrying the lingering chill of the night before.

Hana moved through the streets of Konoha at a steady pace, her mind still wandering back to her unexpected conversation with Kakashi the previous night.

She hadn't meant to stay up talking with him.

And yet, there she had been—sitting on her porch, finishing a bowl of ramen, drawn into an exchange that had felt far too natural for only their second meeting.

Kakashi was a strange one.

The streets of Konoha were peaceful, the warmth of the late morning sun casting soft golden hues across the village. Hana walked at a leisurely pace, letting herself take in the sight of the village she had once only visited in fleeting moments.

It had changed.

Not in structure, not in its heartbeat, but in spirit. There was a lightness now, something different from the war-torn years she had once known. She had watched Konoha rise from ashes, from battles fought both within and beyond its walls.

And yet— There was always something lurking beneath the surface. Her instincts, finely honed over decades of survival, had been restless since her return.

A quiet hum of unease. Something was coming. She could feel it.

But before she could dwell on the thought for too long—A sudden, urgent flicker of chakra brushed against her senses.

Hana's steps slowed, her body instinctively shifting into heightened awareness.

A presence. Familiar.

Then—

A blur of striped fur leapt from the rooftops, landing gracefully on the ground just ahead of her.

A tabby cat, sleek and well-fed, its amber eyes gleaming with sharp intelligence. One of her summons. And judging by the way its tail flicked erratically, ears flattened slightly

Something was wrong.

A tabby cat, sleek and well-fed, with striking amber eyes, stared up at her.

Shiro.

One of her summons.

One of the few that only ever sought her out when it truly mattered.

And judging by the way his tail flicked rapidly, his ears flattened in agitation—

Something was very, very wrong.

Hana crouched slightly, levelling her gaze with his.

"Shiro," she greeted, voice calm but firm. "What happened?"

The cat's whiskers twitched as he huffed dramatically, pacing in a small circle before flicking his tail.

"Finally! I've been tracking you for over an hour—do you know how hard it is to follow a shinobi who doesn't want to be found?"

Hana arched a brow. "If you've been searching for an hour, then it must be serious."

Shiro stilled, his playful tone vanishing in an instant.

His golden eyes locked onto hers, intense and unblinking.

"It's about him."

Hana's breath hitched.

She didn't need to ask who.

There were few people Shiro ever spoke of with true urgency.

And only one that warranted the grave look in his eyes now.

"…Itachi?"

Shiro flicked his ears. "Yes."

Hana exhaled, her posture shifting slightly, her entire focus sharpening.

"What happened?"

Shiro sat down, his tail curling neatly around his paws.

His voice, when he spoke, was low but edged with tension.

"He's injured."

Hana's fingers twitched slightly.

Not many things could injure Itachi Uchiha.

Shiro continued, his words careful but urgent.

"He's hiding outside the village. Not far, but he's not coming in. I think… he doesn't want to be seen."

Hana stilled.

She understood immediately.

If Itachi had returned to Konoha without being seen, if he was wounded but had not sought help, it meant one thing—

He didn't want anyone to know he was here.

And if that was the case…

Hana exhaled slowly.

"…He called for me?"

Shiro nodded. "Didn't say it outright, but you know how he is—always too damn noble to ask for help. He knew I'd find you."

Hana closed her eyes briefly.

Of course, he did.

She rose smoothly to her feet, her mind already calculating her next move.

"Where?"

Shiro's ears flicked, his tail lashing once.

"North of the village. The river near the abandoned shrine."

Hana's jaw tightened. He was too close.

If anyone else had found him—if someone had already noticed—

She didn't waste another second.

She turned sharply on her heel, already moving.

Shiro bounded onto her shoulder with practised ease, keeping pace as she leapt onto the rooftops, her calm exterior hiding the quiet storm brewing beneath.

She didn't rush.

She didn't need to.

Speed wasn't the issue.

Stealth was.

If Itachi had returned without making his presence known, it meant he didn't want to be found.

And if that was the case, she wasn't about to risk leading anyone to him.

Her movements were deliberate, each step light and soundless as she slipped past watchful ANBU patrols, weaving effortlessly through the village's outer districts before reaching the open wilderness beyond the walls.

Shiro clung to her shoulder, silent now, his golden eyes flicking toward the trees ahead.

She could feel him.

A flicker of chakra, faint and carefully restrained—but unmistakably his.
The forest stretched around her, the quiet hum of nature a stark contrast to the tension settling in her chest. Hana moved swiftly but precisely, slipping through the trees like a shadow.

The moment Shiro had told her Itachi needed her, she had known something was wrong. And now, as she neared the abandoned shrine, she could feel it—the flicker of his chakra, steady but restrained, controlled to the point of suffocation.

She had seen many warriors like him. People who carried the weight of the world in their silence. People who suffered but refused to ask for help. She had healed countless wounds, and saved countless lives—But some people made it far too difficult.

And Itachi Uchiha was one of them.
The shrine was quiet. The river nearby whispered as it passed over smooth stones, its rhythm unbroken. And there, sitting with his back against an old log, was Itachi.

Even before she approached, she could see it. The faint tension in his posture. The way his fingers curled subtly against his sleeve.

The fatigue in his gaze. Not from battle—from strain.

Hana exhaled through her nose. "You look like hell."

Itachi barely reacted. His dark eyes, dulled without the glow of the Sharingan, shifted toward her.

"Hana."

She stepped forward, her sharp gaze flicking over him.

No blood. No obvious injuries. But his eyes— That's where the problem was. He must have caught her assessing him because he sighed softly, shifting slightly where he sat.

"It's getting worse."

Hana stilled.

Then—understanding settled.

"…Your vision."

Itachi nodded once.

She had suspected it before, but now, looking at him up close, she could see it.

The way his pupils reacted just a fraction slower than they should. The way the skin around his eyes held the faintest traces of exhaustion, the beginning signs of strain that could not be undone by rest alone. Hana knelt in front of him, her hands already moving to untie the pouch at her waist.

"You should have come to me sooner," she muttered.

Itachi tilted his head slightly. "It wasn't necessary until now."

Hana snorted.

Uchiha men. Always waiting until the last possible moment before acknowledging their fragility. She reached forward, fingers delicate but firm as she tilted his chin up slightly.

His breathing remained steady, but she could feel it—the way his muscles tensed beneath her touch.

"…Relax," she murmured. "I can't heal you properly if you're stiff as a board."

Itachi exhaled slowly, forcing himself to loosen slightly.

Hana studied him for a moment longer before closing her eyes.

Then— A slow, gentle pulse of chakra extended from her fingertips.

It was subtle, controlled, a hum of pure healing energy flowing into him. She felt it immediately—the strain, the deterioration of the optic nerves, small but accumulating damage from years of overuse.

Hana hated the Mangekyō Sharingan. Not because of its power. But because of what it did to the people who bore it.

"Your nerves are damaged," she murmured, her voice slipping into the soft, authoritative cadence of a healer. "It's minor, but if you keep this up, it won't be."

Itachi said nothing.

She sighed, adjusting her position. "Close your eyes."

Itachi hesitated for only a moment before complying, his long lashes casting faint shadows against his pale skin.

Hana placed her fingertips just above his brows, her thumbs resting lightly at his temples.

And then—She let her chakra flow. A warm, golden glow enveloped her hands. Unlike most medical ninjutsu, Hana's healing ability was different.

Stronger. More refined.

It did not just mend wounds—it reversed damage, sought out injuries buried deep within the body and corrected them at their source. This was the gift that had made her a legend in wars long past. The ability to heal what others could not.

Her chakra seeped through the delicate, overused tissues of Itachi's eyes, restoring what had frayed, and cooling what had burned. She felt him inhale slowly, his body instinctively responding to the sudden relief.

"Good," she murmured. "Let it settle."

Itachi remained silent, but she could tell—he felt the difference. His strain, his discomfort, the dull ache behind his eyes—all of it was fading. It wasn't a complete fix. She couldn't undo everything the Mangekyō took from him. But she could buy him time. And for now—that was enough.

After a few more moments, Hana finally withdrew her hands. Itachi's eyes remained closed for a second longer before he slowly blinked them open. His breath hitched just slightly. Hana watched him carefully.

"…Better?"

Itachi blinked again, his pupils adjusting much faster than before.

Then, finally—

He gave the smallest, almost imperceptible nod.

"Yes."

Hana sat back, satisfied. "Good."

Shiro, who had been lounging nearby, flicked his tail. "You should be grovelling in gratitude, Uchiha. Hana's healing isn't something just anyone gets."

Itachi turned his head slightly.

Then, in a perfectly even tone—

"…Thank you, Hana."

Hana snorted.

Shiro huffed. "Okay, well, that was unsettlingly smooth."

Hana shook her head, rising to her feet. "You'll still need to be careful," she warned. "This isn't a permanent fix."

Itachi's lips quirked slightly. "I understand."

Hana exhaled, rolling her shoulders. "You should stop using the Mangekyō so often."

Itachi tilted his head. Hana stilled.

For a long moment, she said nothing.

Then, finally—He sighed."…No."

Hana shook her head, muttering under her breath. "Stubborn Uchiha."
Itachi chuckled afternoon sun filtered through the trees, casting dappled golden light over the river's surface. Hana sat with practised ease, her body relaxed yet entirely aware of her surroundings. Across from her, perched on a flat stone near the water, was Itachi Uchiha.

This wasn't their first meeting. And it wouldn't be their last. She had known him since he left Konoha. Since he abandoned the place that raised him, stepping into the shadows to carry a burden no one else could. And despite the chaos of war, of shifting alliances and betrayals, their paths had always managed to cross.

A battlefield. A hidden village. A chance meeting in a rain-soaked alleyway.

They had sought each other out again and again, sharing fragments of intel, whispers of the world's movements, truths no one else could speak aloud.

It was a relationship built in secrecy, necessity, and quiet understanding. Hana sighed, running a careful thumb over the bandages she had wrapped around his eyes earlier.

"They should feel less strained," she murmured. "You pushed them too far again, didn't you?"

Itachi hummed, neither confirming nor denying it.

Hana clicked her tongue in irritation. "You're impossible."

A soft chuckle. "And yet, you still patch me up."

Hana huffed. "Only because you'd walk into a battlefield half-blind if I didn't."

She didn't miss the slight upward curve of his lips. It was the smallest hint of amusement, but it was there. She let a beat of silence stretch between them before tilting her head.

"You don't usually ask for my help."

Itachi exhaled softly. "I needed to see you."

Hana stilled.

His voice was as smooth as ever—calm, deliberate, unreadable.

But the words—They meant something.

Hana narrowed her eyes slightly, studying him. "For information, I assume?"

Itachi's gaze remained steady. "Among other things."

Hana exhaled, shifting slightly. Their relationship had always been like this—a careful game, an unspoken dance between ally and something else.

She had known for years now. Itachi was interested in her. Not just as an informant. Not just as a trusted ally. But as something more. And yet, he had never pushed. Never spoke it outright. It wasn't in his nature.

But she saw the way he sought her out, the way his carefully neutral expressions sometimes softened when she was near. She felt it in the way he listened to her so intently, the way his presence always lingered just a fraction longer than necessary.

Hana leaned back slightly, watching him.

"Alright, then. What is it you need?"

Itachi was silent for a moment.

"I need to know what Konoha is planning for the Chūnin Exams."

Hana wasn't surprised.

She had been keeping an eye on the situation herself—the influx of foreign shinobi, the increase in security, the heightened tension beneath the surface.

But still, she frowned. "Why?"

Itachi didn't answer right away.

Instead, he watched her—calm, calculating, as if considering how much to reveal.

"I believe Orochimaru will make his move."

Hana's breath hitched. Her fingers curled slightly against her sleeve. That name. That damn name. She had spent years tracking Orochimaru's movements, waiting, watching for the moment he would strike again. And now—

Itachi was confirming what she already suspected. Her voice was quiet but edged with steel.

"What do you know?"

Itachi's expression remained unreadable. "Not enough."

Hana exhaled sharply. "That's not an answer."

Itachi tilted his head slightly. "And yet, it's the only one I can give you."

Hana's jaw tightened. He knew more. But he wasn't telling her. And that—that irritated her more than it should have. She shook her head, sighing. "Fine. I'll keep watch on my end."

Itachi inclined his head slightly. "Thank you."

Hana clicked her tongue. "You always ask for favours. I should start charging you for them."

Itachi smirked. "Would you?"

Hana smirked back. "Depends. What's your going rate for information?"

Itachi hummed as if considering. Then—so smoothly it almost made her pause— "For you? Whatever you ask."

Hana stilled. Not because of the words. But because of the way he had said them. Too even. Too steady. Like a confession wrapped in neutrality. She exhaled through her nose.

"Careful, Uchiha," she murmured, tilting her head slightly. "You almost sound like you mean that."

Itachi didn't blink. "…And if I do?"

Hana's heart skipped once. It was subtle. Barely there. But she felt it. She met his gaze, eyes searching for something in his expression—something to tell her whether he was serious or simply playing another one of his quiet, impossible games.

But Itachi was Itachi. He never played games. Not with her. Hana huffed, shaking her head.

"This is why people don't trust Uchiha," she muttered.

Itachi let out a soft chuckle.

Shiro, who had been lounging lazily beside them, finally huffed. "You two are unbearable. Just date already."

Hana snapped her gaze toward the cat, scandalized.

Itachi, to his credit, looked completely unfazed.

Hana scowled. "Shiro, I will throw you in the river."

The tabby grinned. "Wouldn't be the first time."

Hana rolled her eyes, pushing herself up to her feet. She should have left already. She should have returned to Konoha, should have resumed her duties, should have kept her distance. But Itachi had stayed. And that meant she stayed, too.

She wasn't one to waste effort on lost causes. And yet—here she was. The first day had been about his eyes. She had healed the worst of the damage, and restored the delicate tissue that the Mangekyō had burned away with each use. But the underlying strain—the exhaustion, the slow wear and tear of his body—would take longer.

And so, she stayed. Each day was the same. She monitored his vision, adjusted his bandages, and cooled his burning retinas with her chakra, careful not to undo his power, only softening its cost. And each night, Itachi let her. There were no protests, no stubborn attempts to push her away. Perhaps, after so many years, he had learned that she was just as impossible as he was.

Elsewhere—Back in Konoha

Meanwhile, in the heart of Konoha, her absence had not gone unnoticed. Particularly by one overly energetic blond shinobi.

"Where the hell is Hana-baachan?!" Naruto's voice rang through the streets, his expression a mix of concern and impatience.

Sakura sighed, rubbing her temples. "Naruto, stop yelling. She's not missing—she just… hasn't been home in a few days."

Naruto pouted. "That's weird! She never disappears without telling anyone!"

Sasuke, arms crossed, narrowed his eyes slightly. "She's a shinobi. She's allowed to have her missions."

Naruto groaned. "Yeah, but still! It's weird!"

Beside them, Kakashi remained silent. He had noticed it, too. Hana hadn't said a word about leaving. No indication of a mission. No signs of where she had gone.

"…I know you will."

And for someone like her—*who had been settling back into the village so comfortably—*that was strange.

Hana had left.

The third night at the abandoned shrine was quiet. The fire crackled softly between them, its warm glow flickering against the darkened forest. Hana sat with one knee drawn up, watching the flames dance, her thoughts drifting.

Itachi sat across from her, quiet as always, his eyes half-lidded with contemplation. His vision had improved—significantly—under her care. The strain in his chakra network was no longer suffocating, and the damage was no longer irreversible.

And yet—She still hadn't left. She should have. She should have returned to Konoha days ago, and shouldn't have let herself linger like this.

But something about Itachi—about his presence, about the way he held himself even when no one else was watching—kept her here.

And it reminded her of someone else. Someone she had not allowed herself to think about in a very long time.

Itachi shifted slightly, reaching for the kettle she had set beside the fire, pouring himself a cup of tea. His movements were silent, practised, and careful.

Hana watched him, and without meaning to, her mind betrayed her.

Another time. Another fire. A different man sitting across from her. A different presence that once haunted these forests. Hana inhaled slowly, closing her eyes briefly.

Madara.

She had not spoken his name aloud in decades. She had not let herself truly remember him.

Not since he had fallen away from the world, taking his ideals—and a piece of her history—with him. But now, watching Itachi, she felt it—the echo of something too familiar.

It wasn't just the Uchiha name. It wasn't just the Sharingan. It was the way Itachi carried himself. The way he saw too much, knew too much and still held it all so close to his chest.

Madara had been the same. Brilliant. Unrelenting. Burdened. And so, so alone.

Hana shifted, looking away from the fire.

"Hana." She blinked, pulled back to the present by the sound of her name.

She glanced up—Itachi was watching her. He must have noticed the change in her posture, the way she had withdrawn ever so slightly. Of course, he had.

She exhaled softly, shaking her head. "It's nothing."

Itachi didn't look convinced.

Hana smirked faintly. "You're staring, Uchiha."

His lips barely curved. "You were lost in thought."

Hana hummed, reaching for her cup of tea.

"Just a trip down memory lane," she admitted.

Itachi blinked.

Hana hesitated. For a long moment, she debated whether to say his name at all.

Then, finally—

"…Madara."

Itachi's expression remained unreadable. But she knew the name was not unfamiliar to him.

She could see it in the way his fingers paused just slightly against the ceramic of his cup.

"Madara Uchiha," he murmured. "You knew him well."

Hana huffed a quiet breath. "Once upon a time." She turned her gaze toward the sky, where the moon hung low above the trees.

"Before the war. Before everything." Before he had chosen his path. Before they had all become pieces on a battlefield too large to control.

Itachi said nothing.

Hana smirked slightly. "He would have liked you."

Itachi raised an eyebrow as if questioning that.

Hana chuckled. "Well. He would have liked your mind, at least. Your politics? Not so much."

She exhaled, shaking her head. "You're both insufferably intelligent. You think too much. Take on burdens no one asked you to bear. And neither of you know how to accept help when it's given."

Itachi tilted his head.

"And yet," he murmured, "you're here."

Hana stilled. The fire crackled between them, the warmth of it doing little to ease the weight in her chest.

She sighed.

"Yeah," she muttered. "I am."

And that was the problem. She had stayed for Madara, too.

And in the end—he had been lost to her anyway. Would Itachi be the same?

Would he follow that same lonely road—only for his name to become nothing more than a whisper of what could have been? She didn't know. She wasn't sure she wanted to.

Itachi studied her for a moment before speaking again.

"What was he like?"

Hana chuckled softly. "Madara?"

Itachi nodded.

Hana took a slow sip of her tea before answering. "He was…" She paused, exhaling. "Complicated."

Itachi hummed. "I see."

Hana smirked. "No, you don't." Itachi blinked.

Hana shook her head. "Madara wasn't just a warrior. He wasn't just a leader, either. He was fire—wild, consuming. He could be impossible to reason with, but when he believed in something, he would burn the world down for it. She swirled the tea in her cup.

"And he was lonely."

A long pause.

Itachi watched her carefully. "…Are you comparing me to him?"

Hana exhaled, setting her cup aside. "You have some similarities," she admitted. "But no."

Her gaze softened just slightly.

"You're not him, Itachi." And, for some reason, that mattered. Because as much as she had cared for Madara—as much as she had mourned him—

Itachi wasn't just another ghost in her past.

He was something else entirely. Something present. Something she wasn't sure how to define.

The fire burned low.

Hana sighed, rolling her shoulders before casting Itachi a glance.

"You should sleep," she said. "Your eyes need the rest."

Itachi huffed softly. "You always tell me what to do."

Hana smirked. "And yet, you listen." She stood, stretching her arms above her head before turning toward the shrine.

Itachi watched her go. His gaze lingered, thoughtful.

Then, finally— "Hana."

She paused. She turned slightly, glancing back at him. "Hm?"

A beat of silence.

"…What would you have done, if Madara had asked you to stay?" Hana froze.

She felt her breath hitch, her fingers curling slightly. She knew what he was asking. And she knew what he meant beneath it.

She looked at him for a long moment. "…I don't know."

A lie.

And Itachi knew it. But he didn't call her out on it. He simply nodded, his expression unreadable. Hana exhaled, turning back toward the shrine.

"I'll see you in the morning."