A/N: For some reason, people seem to really like this story, it's by far the most popular thing I've written and seems to be getting a lot of attention recently. I guess it got linked somewhere or something. Anyway, because of that, and also because I've gotten back into the manga again recently, I thought I'd add a bit more. I had a lot of fun writing this.

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Overflow

It is raining over the southern borders where the Forests of Fire meet the high-backed Ridge of Okama. These craggy lesser mountains breaking against the skyline mark the end of the Leaf's influence and the beginning of the sweeping landscapes of the Country of River. Here the trees begin the climb up the steep-sided slopes in fitful bursts, pausing around the rims of dells and vales where the mists gather thickly and the drip of rainwater echoes strangely in the silence. In this place a small dirt road winds its way up the mountainside, slipping through the trees and crossing empty glades on its path into the heart of the country the Akatsuki call their own.

It is some time between early morning and midday, the exact hour lost to the blanket of grey mist and the pale diffused light that finds its way below the canopy of the trees. The steady drip of water gathering at the tips of the remaining leaves marks a hollow rhythm in a muted world where the soft curl of the mists obscures the distance before and behind. In this strange hush two figures fade into view with the faintest chime of bells and the coiling fog meets the darkness of their forms and breaks against them.

Hoshigake Kisame walks with one hand curled around the hilt of the Samehada and the other loose in his sleeve. At his side walks the Uchiha, his face turned down and his chin buried in the obscuring neck of his cloak. Above the dripping of water from the leaves Kisame can hear the boy's breath catching somewhere deep inside his body. It is a small thing, barely noticeable save to one so intimately acquainted with the rhythms of the other. Every so often the boy coughs, a muted sound that he conceals behind the thick black fabric.

Kisame ignores the sounds and offers no comment. Instead his gaze remains fixed upon the coiling walls of fog that rise up around them, obscuring the path and making the world seem at once bright and subdued. The scent of earth and loam fills the mist, permeating the waterlogged air with the fragrance of rot. It is nothing like the mists of Kirigakure, laden as they are with the salt tang of the sea, and Kisame wrinkles his nose and sniffs in distaste.

The road beneath their feet makes a sharp twist and suddenly the incline is much steeper, rising sharply up towards the crest of the pass far above. Now, below the hush of the mists, there is the rushing of water and the path ahead is slick and treacherous with the channelled run-off from the peaks above. Somewhere in the distance there is the slow, lazy roll of incoming thunder. Neither of them slow and Kisame makes no comment, his gaze on the path ahead. Beside him the Uchiha coughs and covers it discreetly with his cloak.

oOo

It takes them two days to cross the jagged back of the ridge and begin the slow descent into River Country. On this side of the mountains the trees are beginning to thin away as the slope sweeps downwards into the rich farming land of the River proper. They make it over the peak some time just after midday, their view of the country below obscured by the low-lying cloud.

It has been two days and still it rains. The mist and drizzle has given way to a steady, monotonous rain now, miserable in its chill and ominous in the thunder that growls intermittently overhead. Kisame tuts and glares at the sky, his eyes as dark as the black of the gathering clouds. He thinks of the cave that they often use for shelter when passing this way; it is close and they will reach it some hours before they would usually stop. Beside him Itachi coughs and pulls irritably at the neck of his cloak. Kisame decides then, naming the place out loud and his companion nods impatiently. The Mist-nin sniffs, indifferent to the Uchiha's foul mood, and sets off down the slope. Itachi coughs, spits discreetly and follows him.

oOo

Autumn is turning towards winter, the countryside changing from the glory of muted golds to a stark, skeletal black. A cold, blustery wind is chasing across the fields, gusting the raindrops from side to side and stirring ripples like waves in the long grass. Kisame stands at the entrance to the cave and looks out over the landscape spread below. One thick shoulder leans against the wall, the chill of stone seeping through the cloth of his cloak and surrounding him with clammy dampness. The ribbons of his hat flutter against his cheek, the charms chiming softly as the breeze touches them. In the fields far below, a woman bends low to dig at the earth.

This far up the side of the mountain, the only sound is the low keening of the wind through the high passes and the skitter of raindrops on leaves. A steady drip-drip of water from the ledge above mirrors the slow fall of droplets from deeper within the cave. Occasionally the crack and spit of Itachi's small fire punctuates the stillness of the inner cavern, the sound echoing sharply between the stalactites. Kisame blinks and takes a step away from the cave mouth as the wind flicks a sheet of rainwater into his eyes.

Outside, afternoon is beginning to fade to early evening and the first of the farmers are on the road home, baskets on their backs and tools slung over their shoulders. He watches them trudging slowly, tiny forms dark with distance, their heads bent against the buffeting of the wind. Almost he envies them the warmth of the waiting fire and the company of other men. Simple lives full of basic needs. With a sour twist of his lips he glances back over his shoulder at the young man seated in front of the fire, his back to the cave entrance.

It will be dark soon and it will not be long before the light of the fire becomes a twinkling beacon to any who care to lift their gaze to the mountainside. Burying his chin deeper inside his cloak, Kisame pulls his hat down against the rain and slips outside. Itachi does not move as his partner steps out of the cave, but Kisame knows from the shift of the boy's focus that his departure has been noted.

It would have been better had the Uchiha done this, with his delicate genjutsus and knack for subtlety. But he and the Uchiha are not speaking, even if Kisame is no longer entirely sure why. Crouching down at the side of the cave mouth, he casts around for a suitable twig with which to draw. Even if his skill lies more towards raw power and aggressive jutsus, Kisame is still a shinobi of the Hidden Mist. Or had been once, a lifetime ago.

The archaic symbols are almost invisible in the dirt, but the chakra flowing through them burns them into existence far more deeply than any etching could. Clasping his hands in the opening seals, Kisame lets the lines of the kanji funnel his chakra into the weave of a concealing jutsu. A short sequence of gestures and a quick flick of his wrist releases the cantrip and for the briefest of moments, the space between one heartbeat and the next, there exists a pulse of radiance, a slice of another reality. And then the jutsu burns away, leaving a sickly yellow afterimage hanging in his vision. Blinking, he tosses the twig into the bushes and scanning the surrounding area warily, ducks back inside the cave.

The change in temperature is marked, the glow of Itachi's small fire enough to blunt the edge of the autumn chill. The cave is damp and smells of wet cloth from where Itachi has hung his Akatsuki cloak to dry between two stalagmites. The boy himself is sat close enough to the flames that his toes must surely be near to singeing. Kisame pauses just inside the entrance, checking the weave of the concealing jutsu, before ducking fully inside and casting around for somewhere to sit. Eventually, having shrugged out of his own cloak, he hangs the thick material over the rocks next to the fire and seats himself opposite the Uchiha.

Outside the rain picks up and the keening of the wind through the trees marks the rising of the gathering storm. Kisame pulls meat and bread from his pack and sets it by the fire to warm. His partner has set out a kettle over the flames and he reaches out to pour himself a cup. The youth's eyes follow the other nin's movements and the half-glance that Kisame throws his way reveals the sullen gleam of the Sharingan whirling slowly. Pursing his lips, the Mist nin takes a sip of the tea and grimaces. Itachi is not good at making tea and the liquid has stewed for too long turning it bitter and gritty.

The wind moans amongst the crags and Itachi coughs, shudders and pulls his shoulders in tight against the chill. Kisame watches him from across the fire, hearing beneath the noise of the rain the catch and stutter of breath in the youth's chest. He knows from long experience that Itachi, with his slight build and bird-bone frame, feels the cold most keenly. To Kisame, born of the restless coasts of Mizu no Kuni, the chill is a discomfort that numbs his skin but fails to penetrate the thick muscle that wraps his body. He considers offering the boy his blanket for extra warmth, noting the shiver of the boy's muscles beneath the blanket he already has pulled tight around his shoulders. One look at the dull gleam of the Sharingan lazily spinning convinces him otherwise.

The Uchiha is not usually a sickly youth, and Kisame doubts that his current malaise will do much to alleviate the boy's habitual brooding. The Mist nin stares into the fire, listening to the drumming of rain and the rushing of water down the mountainside and thinks of Kirigakure. Sometimes, when there is nothing left to do, when they have found themselves fallen into a lull in their endless quest, and there is nothing more to say, Kisame thinks of how it used to be. He remembers the wash and drift of the tides around his home village, hears the cry of the gulls riding the sea breeze and stands once more with his six brothers of the sword and looks out across the bay to the endless horizon. Life was very simple then. He takes a thoughtful bite of dried beef and chews slowly.

Life back then had been blood and mist and cold, silver steel that reflected light along its edge like the crests of waves rolling in the starlight. Listening to the rustle of the leaves in the distance and the steady thrum of rain in the darkness, he thinks to himself that not much has changed.

His eyes are drawn suddenly by the flash of lightning that flickers at the entrance of the cave and the crack of thunder that follows directly on its heels is shocking in its intensity. The storm has finally broken loose. Kisame's gaze flicks back and across the shifting flames he meets the burning hellfire eyes of the Uchiha. They glow red in the shadowed hollows of his face and something inside Kisame freezes as he feels the medusa power of the Uchiha's gaze plucking at his mind.

No, he thinks as he watches the Sharingan spin, my life has not changed, but the stakes now are that much higher.

oOo

Uchiha Itachi is feeling unwelcome by the universe and somewhat ill at ease in its embrace. There is a throbbing pain behind his eyes and his chest is thick and full with viscous liquid that makes breathing a labour. He can feel it salty and slick in the back of his throat every time he coughs.

It started three days ago somewhere back in the Forests of Fire between one damp inn smelling of wood rot and the next cold, uncomfortable night under the sky. Something slipped in past the Uchiha's supposedly impenetrable defences and spread its poison throughout his body, so subtle that he did not note its presence until the damage was done. The greatest Uchiha of them all, the pinnacle of the bloodline's progeny, brought low by a fever of the blood. And fevered he is, and shaking so hard that it hurts him to hold himself still.

He stares into the flames and feels them creeping in around his vision until all he sees is red and glowing gold. Itachi hates illness, because illness is a physical flaw, a representation of the weaknesses of the flesh and an acute reminder that for all his achievements he has yet to transcend the bonds of the body that holds him to this plane.

And besides, when he is ill his head is full of darkness and the shadows stir strangely. He has never told anyone this, for caution's sake – a genius shinobi child who suffers delusions when fevered is an incident waiting to happen. Itachi was never a foolish child and he readily perceived the ways of an adult world and the interactions of those in the positions of power. And all those interactions fully indicated that selective accounting of his condition was the way to maintain his own personal power and place untouched in the world.

He'd wondered again three days ago when the first shadow flickered at the corner of his eye, what it is that causes it. Itachi has always known that when the shadows lengthen strangely and all the angles in the world seem off by a fraction of a degree, then his body has fallen prey to some ailment. He wonders if perhaps, as his body weakens it is losing its tenacious grip upon his spirit allowing it to slip free and drift between the worlds like a ghostly traveller. It is the only logical explanation that Itachi can come up with. As his anchor to this world weakens, so his spirit presses closer to the next and at the edge of his vision he perceives the first flicker of its otherworldly outlines.

It's an interesting theory and the only other person he has ever spoken of it to is Orochimaru. It had been a peculiar circumstance and Itachi had been very ill at the time and thus perhaps more than usually lax in his reticence. He had coolly and succinctly (as far as he was aware) explained to the legendary Sannin the path of enlightenment and spiritual advancement that he sought to follow. The leaving behind of this world and the evolution of self, until the greatest of his limits had been reached, and he completed the puzzle he had set out for himself.

For Itachi in all his glorious dark beauty, has a theory. And it is this theory that he is testing each and every day of his short, fateful life. It was this premise that, in the midst of his fever on that day some years before, he quietly and succinctly explained to the morbidly fascinated snake Sannin.

It was not long after that Orochimaru left the Akatsuki for good. Itachi wrote him off as another spirit burnt out and fallen by the wayside of true greatness.

The flames of his small fire crackle and spit and he watches as Kisame tosses another piece of deadwood onto the pile, blinking at the black and acrid smoke the action creates.

Kisame.

Itachi frowns and pulls the blanket tighter around his neck. He has long since accepted the hulking Mist nin's presence at his side. Accepted it, incorporated it, forgotten it. Kisame slipped into place like rising water or a blade gliding deftly between the ribs. The Uchiha blinks slowly. No, not like a blade. Not like anything so treacherous that he need guard against it. He wonders if therein lies the rub. He wonders if therein lies the problem.

He looks up and across the flames at his companion, watching the shadows play in the hollows of pale eyes as the fire weaves. A flickering sheet of white light suddenly flares into existence casting the other nin's face into harsh planes and filling the cave with the whip-crack snap of thunder. Kisame glances up; Itachi meets his gaze and looks deep as if he can discern his answers there like an oracle foretelling the future. He thinks perhaps, if he used the Sharingan, he could.

The fall of rain outside their sheltering cave turns into a downpour that hisses dark and thunderous and unwelcoming. A sliver of breeze teases through the entrance of the cave to curl around the Uchiha's neck making the youth shudder against its touch. He breaks gazes with Kisame and moves to pull his blanket tight closed around his chin. The Mist nin watches him in silence, gaze frank but devoid of intent. Any other shinobi's gaze would have been carefully neutral, calculations hidden behind a shroud of disinterest. This one has forgotten to plot, or perhaps never had any interest in such things from the start.

Colleague, associate, back-up (No, Itachi has never needed back-up - he doesn't need anyone) sympathiser, companion-in-arms, dead weight.

Itachi coughs suddenly, long and drawn out and Kisame frowns, leans forward. Itachi ignores him and settles down on his side, turning his back to the fire and the other nin.

Itachi doesn't need him.

oOo

Kisame lies in the dull glow of the dying embers and wonders what has awoken him. Outside the rain hammers down; he can hear it gushing in rivulets down the side of the mountainside towards the fields below. Overhead, thunder grumbles, ominous and fatalistic, like some unseen predator lying in wait. The flash of lightning that precedes it tells him that the storm still hangs in the area, reluctant to leave the mountains and move on across the lowlands. Beneath the mournful complaints of the wind in the crags he can hear the harsh rasp of Itachi's breathing, uneven and uncomfortable.

Kisame turns his head to the side a fraction and finds the Uchiha's eyes across the dull light of the embers. They reflect the light, shining with fever and the slow twist of the Sharingan. The Mist nin pauses a moment to gauge his partner's reaction and when the focus of his gaze does not alter, he rolls onto his side to take a closer look.

The people of the Water country are tall and muscled, with broad shoulders and wave-sculpted bodies, and to Kisame, born of the Eastern Coasts, Itachi lies huddled like a child, or a doll with fine porcelain features brushed red with paint to make it blush. It is, like the very essence of Shinobi, an illusion. Kisame has seen the pure steel inside the Uchiha's slender body, felt the razor-sharp touch of his intellect, and seen the movement of his flesh, coiled and graceful and swift like no other. If Kisame is the sword angel, then surely Itachi is the saint of the wire garrotte; subtle steel whose hold is unbreakable and final.

He lifts himself up on one elbow and to that Itachi does react. His gaze slides up to meet Kisame's and his pupils are wide and unhealthy-looking, beyond even the fey light of the Sharingan.

"It is cold," the Uchiha observes.

"Let me warm you," Kisame replies mildly.

He shifts to the other side of the fire, slipping down beside the Uchiha and there is a moment's hesitation as the other man watches him over his shoulder with something flat and unfriendly in his gaze. But Kisame has dealt long enough with the boy genius from Leaf to know how far he can push before being bitten. He pulls the blanket out from beneath the other man's form and inserts himself under it, flinging his own blanket over them both as an extra layer. He's going to be hot, even if Itachi isn't, but it is of no consequence, he has suffered worse in his time.

Itachi is shivering beneath his blanket and his skin is hot and damp with sweat. Kisame slips his arms around the youth's shoulders and cannot help but raise his eyebrows as the other pushes back into his embrace to better reach his body heat. The Mist nin rests his chin on top of black hair made greasy with illness and purses his lips. Itachi is very good at concealing weakness, and even he had not realised the extent of the boy's malaise. He had been hoping to coax Itachi into something more than a simple embrace, but feeling the youth's tightly controlled shuddering, he resigns himself to disappointment. It matters not. Kisame can be a patient man.

Instead he brushes the palm of his hand along Itachi's arm and listens to the rain pounding down outside until he feels the youth stop shivering and relax against him. Kisame remembers somebody doing that to him once when he was very ill as a child, but for life of him he cannot remember who. He is busy working his way through the threads of half-memories to find an identity for the person when Itachi shifts in his arms and turns himself round to lie facing his partner.

Kisame lets him move, lifting his arms to take the weight of the blankets and peers down into glazed eyes that burn with the embers of the Sharingan. Itachi hooks his fingers into the weave of Kisame's hair and pulls him close, pressing his lips hot against the other man's. The Mist nin is surprised, but collected enough to not draw back, and he lets Itachi push against him, pressing the length of his body down Kisame's own.

Itachi's kiss is clumsy, like the kisses they shared when he was still sixteen and learning what it was to kiss another person, and his hands fumble at the back of Kisame's neck. Kisame, for his part, knows delirium when he sees it, but with the red of the Sharingan hanging inches from his own eyes he is loathe to provoke the youth to cruelty. Itachi, after all, is swift to fall back on his Bloodline Limit if he perceives a situation to be turning away from his control.

And so Kisame lies back beneath Itachi's awkward, drifting ministrations and lets the youth push aside his vest to scrape his nails along the flesh and ribs beneath. Itachi follows along the scratch marks and places small kisses upon Kisame's skin that make the Mist nin snatch a deep breath through clenched teeth and pull the youth's hips in tight against his own. Itachi protests with a snarl and digs his fingers hard into the flesh at Kisame's waist, twisting cruelly, and the Mist nin laughs softly and releases him.

Outside the rain hisses against the crags and thunder prowls amidst the peaks, hiding itself between the shoulders of the mountains, coiling around their crowns like a dragon looking down at its kingdom. Kisame allows the sound to soothe him as he lets the Uchiha youth continue his play. He lifts a calloused hand to the other's shoulder and is again rebuffed. Itachi snarls something at him in a Leaf dialect that he does not recognise and then returns to his clumsy lovemaking, muttering words that Kisame cannot comprehend.

Eventually, Itachi lays his cheek against his partner's chest and breathes out a long, slow sigh. Kisame lifts a hand softly to his hair and gently combs his fingers through it, parting the strands across Itachi's back into threads that cling to the sweat of his fevered skin. The youth shudders beneath his touch and squirms, mumbling something incoherent before subsiding.

Kisame sighs beneath the lean weight across his chest, shifting the youth slightly so that he does not press into too delicate an area, and wishes for the morning. In his arms Itachi shifts, raising his head, and in the gloom of the embers Kisame can see the swirl of the Sharingan. The tension in the youth's body returns sharply and he says something short and curt in a Leaf dialect that is still obviously aimed at his partner.

It is the first and only indication Kisame has that anything is wrong.

oOo

Itachi is burning.

He can feel the flames of his chakra welling up in his chest, flowing out from him with every breath he releases, and as it flows outward it takes the heat with it so that he is left cold and shivering. Across the wall the real shadows stir, hiding behind the false ones thrown by the dying flicker of the fire's embers. If he closes his eyes their voices emerge from nothing, whispering that seems to come from within the mountain itself. He tracks their movements with the Sharingan, watching as they fold away into the rock when he focuses on them.

He knows it is his own body's weakness betraying him. A fever of the blood and the mind causing him to perceive that which is not there. Something in the back of mind stirs and he remembers an old theory, something about spirits and travelling outside of the body, something he believed in the daylight hours. He can't remember now.

Instead he listens as outside one of the great daemon lords coughs and growls. It seems important to him then to stay still and quiet, so that its attention will not be drawn towards them…Itachi frowns.

He is a master of illusion and the shadow worlds and this wild delusion is beneath him.

Drawing his thoughts in he opens the Sharingan out and looks at the world. Kisame stares back at him and Itachi blinks slowly. He can hear the rain pounding down outside and the flash of lightning, bright and etching the cave in monotone, hurts his eyes. The wind whispers across the floor and the thin blanket does nothing to blunt its claws. He says something, words that he has forgotten as soon as he has spoken them, and Kisame shifts, rises and moves closer. Itachi regards him balefully, not interested in company in the midst of his misery. Still, when the other man slips in behind him his body moves instinctively closer to the warmth.

Held in the other man's arms, Itachi drifts, half-dreaming. The shadows return and he feels the press of people around him, like it was long ago. The shape of their shoulders and the tilt of their heads tell him that it is ANBU operatives, and the chink of a mug informs him that their mission is over and it is time to relax and recuperate. They look to him for permission and the glow of the embers glints off Shisui's teeth as he grins. Permission to stand down, sir?

Disturbed, Itachi rolls in Kisame's arms, intent on banishing the shades by keeping hold of the one thing he is absolutely certain is a genuine part of reality. He reaches for the other man's lips with his own and behind him his squad mutter and laugh amongst themselves.

Kisame is warm and Itachi drinks it up and focuses on the pattern of ribs beneath his lips. He is angry. Frustrated and furious at his body's betrayal, but mostly incensed by his inability to clear his thoughts and banish the voices of people long dead. They banter and joke behind him, unwinding after their long mission and the only thing that stops him joining them is the pulse of life below his fingertips and the rustle of the Mist nin's breath.

Kisame reaches for him and Itachi wants none of it. He digs his fingers into flesh, twisting skin to warn the other man off and continues his ministrations. This is not for Kisame's benefit, it is for his own, to keep him focused, though why he must do so with kisses is something that never crosses Itachi's mind.

All he feels is the frustration of uncertainty and the dull fury that he cannot simply close out the shadows in his head. To be forced to rely upon another human for focus is unforgivable. A weakness begging to be exploited. Perhaps, when he is well again, he should find another focus, one that does not breathe, or want, or speak.

As he runs his lips over pale flesh he answers the questions of his squad. Yes, we can stop here for tonight, he says. No, let Megumi-san take the watch. Keep the fire low, there may be more out there. And they nod and agree and sit back around him as beneath his fingers his partner shifts and sighs in contentment.

Itachi drifts. In his dreams his body is burning and it is with the bright fire of the Sharingan, of Uchiha. He can feel it searing away the weakness of his flesh, turning sinew and bone to ash so that his spirit can rise, perfect and whole. But he is trapped, pinned to the earth by the arms that encircle him and enraged, he struggles against them. Kisame, he realises, and his wrath boils through his being. The other nin is a dead-weight, a noose around his neck and in that moment Itachi wants him dead.

Cut his throat and throw him in the river as you did to me, Shisui suggests.

I can't, Itachi replies. He would simply swim away.

The dreaming fades and Itachi drifts listening to the rain, allowing his senses to spread outwards and check for any remaining traces of the Cloud nin that he and his squad have been hunting. There were eight of them confirmed, and he knows that his hunters have accounted for all of them, still there is something in the air here tonight, the scent of thunder that makes him wonder.

He can feel the hot press of Kisame's body beneath him, lean and muscular in the way of his people, but it is simply too much effort to move and the heat is better than the chill wind that he can hear gusting through their shelter.

They're coming, Shisui whispers.

He is brought sharply to awareness by the note of peril in his cousin's voice and when he opens his eyes he sees through the full crimson bloom of the Sharingan. Out there, in the darkness and the whip-crack strike of the lightning, there is movement.

"Enemy nin," he whispers to his squad in the dialect of the Leaf ANBU, and when he realises that they have already gone, to Kisame, "Moving up from the south. They're here."

oOo

Kisame sees the outline of the foreign nin pass across the entrance to the cave and freezes, not even breathing. The stranger pauses, seemingly by chance, and looks towards the cave mouth. Lightning flares and in its wake Kisame sees the shinobi's forehead protector: it bears the four vertical strikes of the Village of Rain. Brave, he thinks, this close to the border with Fire.

For a heartbeat the Ame nin regards the cave mouth, then turns away and takes a step onward. Kisame feels nothing, not even satisfaction. He had known his concealing jutsu would hold, there had been no question of it. The prudent course of action now for them both, this close to the patrol ranges of the Leaf, would be to wait out the passing Rain nin, allowing them to move on to whatever doom awaited them across the border. Kisame wonders if they are lost, turned around from their usual route by the storm and following the line of the mountains to get back home. He moves to suggest as much to Itachi, but the youth is already moving in a swirl of black and red. Kisame stutters the beginning of his sentence, then breaks off to curse, rolling to one side and up, his hand already around the hilt of the Samehada. With a leap he is following Itachi, his lips stretched back in a feral grin that reveals sharpened teeth and entirely too much enthusiasm for the coming killing.

He has a moment to feel the flicker of his concealing jutsu as he passes through the entranceway to the cave, and then he is out amongst the driving rain and the howling of the wind. The twelve Rain nin crouched in the clearing outside turn dark, horrified eyes towards them as they erupt from the cave and Kisame has only a split-second to take in the second and third groups stationed further off amidst the trees before he is down amongst them. They shy back from him, scrambling backwards out of the reach of the Samehada, cries of alarm on their lips. Amateurs, he thinks as beside him Itachi cuts a quick, bloody swathe through their midst.

The second and third groups come to their senses, leaping forwards to surround them and the air is filled with the thrum of kunai falling faster than the pounding rain. Itachi wheels around and from somewhere he has a katana in his hand, its edge reflecting the lightning in brilliant streaks. He darts amongst the shinobi of the Rain, and as he passes their bodies fall lifeless in his wake. Kisame grins wildly and sweeps the Samehada around himself in a wide arc, laughing out loud as he feels the bodies of the Ame nin break beneath it. The blade hums in his hands, singing a gleeful dirge for the slain.

And that is when the jounin squad leap from the trees in a rush of chakra and the flickering of concealing jutsus dropped. They're swift and focussed, snapping out offensive jutsus even as they cover their descent with a sweep of kunai. They land between Itachi and Kisame and the Mist nin leaps backwards, his feet sliding in the mud until he comes to a standstill. He frowns as two of the Ame jounin join hands and point in his direction. Behind them he sees Itachi turn to look backwards over his shoulder and for one brief instant his eyes meet the Uchiha's and then the Ame jounin's combined jutsu arcs towards him in a bolt of brilliant lightning.

Hnn, Kisame thinks. They know Cloud techniques. Fancy that.

He brings the flat of the Samehada up in front of his body to block the attack and the jutsu rips into the blade only to shatter harmlessly against its surface. The force of the attack is not spent however, and Kisame feels himself pushed sharply backwards by the impact. He skids in the mud, almost slipping with one leg and takes a step back to steady himself. His foot finds empty air and his other foot slides unable to find purchase in the mud. Kisame gasps sharply in surprise as the weight of the Samehada propels him backwards and over the lip of the cliff he has been backed up against. Across the clearing he sees Itachi's eyes narrow into crimson slits and briefly the shining arc of the katana as it sweeps round into the necks of the two lightning wielding jounin.

And then only sky and the emptiness of space at his back.

Damn it, he thinks.

oOo

Itachi cuts through the necks of the two jounin and watches as six more sweep past him and launch themselves neatly over the edge of the cliff after Kisame. There are three more at his back and as he turns to meet them he fixes them with the full force of the Mangenkyou Sharingan. It fails and the closest of the approaching jounin punches him squarely in the face.

Itachi reels backwards with the force of the blow, a surprised grunt leaving his lips as his feet slide for purchase in the mud. Bringing the katana up before him to guard his body, he stumbles for both chakra and balance. His balance he finds with the aid of a small amount of chakra to his heels, but the main bulk of his reserves are gone, eaten up by his illness and his constant if unwitting use of the Sharingan throughout the fevered night. Belatedly he realises that he has not the chakra to maintain the full jutsu and will be forced to make do with but the basic level of activation.

Bending low he sweeps the blade around in a tight arc that neatly removes the legs of the nearest jounin just below the knee. The man screams as he falls and Itachi uses his body as a solid base from which to push off, leaping into the air and scattering a brace of kunai amongst the milling chuunin that have drawn in close. They yell and scatter below him.

In the back of his mind he can still feel Kisame's presence, familiar and strong and not at all dead. Satisfied, he lands next to the nearest jounin and slashes for the woman's face. She blocks the arc of his katana and falls instead to the kunai that he rams into her neck with his other hand.

Itachi doesn't remember the Cloud being quite this pathetic, but then, he doesn't quite know how Kisame got to be on his ANBU squad either. If he sees the Rain symbol emblazoned on the forehead protectors of the shinobi surrounding him, his fevered brain simply translates it to something that will fit more easily into his delirium, as is the way with fever dreams.

Spinning on one heel, he defuses the remaining Rain jounin's poison jutsu almost without looking and sweeps on into the nearest gaggle of terrified chuunin, their faces stark and white in the illumination of the lightning, full of horror at the sight of the oncoming demon whose eyes burn a baleful red in the darkness.

oOo

Kisame twists his body as he falls, trying to bring himself around to at least land upright. But in the darkness and amidst the howling of the storm winds and the lashing of rain he cannot even begin to judge where the ground is. As it is he meets it far sooner than he expects and thus he hits the earth almost entirely on his back, feeling the shrieking pain of ribs breaking as he does. The Samehada lands on top of him driving what little remaining breath he has in him right back out again.

Around him he hears the soft landings of six other figures and frowns when he realises that for some reason he is completely unable to sense them by their chakra signatures. He assumes from the layout of shinobi he had seen on the plateau that they are very likely to be part of the jounin squad from above and he frowns further when he realises that the only reason he knows that is because he has seen them wearing the ridiculous striped jumpsuit of the Ame jounin. He levers himself to his feet quickly, ignoring the pain that stabs through his chest with the movement and glares around him into the rain and the darkness.

The rain pounds down in thunderous resonance and the wind lashes it into his eyes, distracting him with its fury. Shrugging mentally, he closes them and reaches out with his other senses. He's never had very good night vision anyway. He smiles as he hears it, soft and subtle amidst the driving rain, the sound of someone blowing water from between their lips, trying to breathe silently and listen at the same time. They do not know where he is, and he has yet to pinpoint them all. Concentrating on the location of the one he can hear he checks it over for signs of chakra.

Nothing.

Unnaturally so.

Kisame grins into the darkness.

There is a vacuum of presence to his immediate left too and three more to the right, one more in front of him. With the water blowing one directly behind him, that means they have him surrounded. Six of them and one of him. Good odds for me, he thinks and wheels sharply, ducking low and driving the point of the Samehada upwards and out. There is a strangled cry and the blade sings rapturously as it drains the man of his chakra and his life. Kisame feels the flood of power and knows from its flow that jounin or not, the Rain nin was nothing special. The revelation hardly surprises him, the Country of Rain is not well known for its powerful shinobi.

It's a surprise then when the 5th circle lightning jutsu crackles out of the darkness behind him and almost blows him off his feet. Finely honed senses warn him of the danger in time however and he is already bringing the flat of the Samehada around to block the attack even as it arcs through the air towards him. In the flash of its dissipation he sees three of the Rain nin standing together, two of them with their hands on the shoulder of the third who has her hands extended towards him in the final activating seal. As he slides backwards through the mud he thinks to himself that there is no way such petty jounin could cast a jutsu of the fifth circle without some kind of ritual beforehand or…and here something clicks, unless they were somehow combining their powers without ceremony...

He doesn't have time to consider the implications of that because a second bolt of lightning crashes into the ground at the spot he has only just vacated. Snarling, he dodges sideways and sweeps wide at the fourth jounin who fractures into six and leaps away in all directions. Spinning, Kisame sweeps Samehada onto his back, his hands flickering in the seals of a 6th circle jutsu, one that will call a dragon of water out from the crashing rain around them. The dragon roars into existence and thunder rolls from its mouth as it dives after the fleeing jounin. It catches the water clones with ease, slamming them into the ground and snapping the neck of their creator with the impact.

Kisame turns to face the darkness and the five remaining voids of chakra. For a second, both sides hesitate assessing the situation, and then lightning splits the sky, illuminating the area for them all to see. They see the scored headband of the ex-Mist nin and Kisame sees the Amekage robes that the central one is wearing. He grins. They do not return it.

Kisame leaps.

By the time the fight is over, he can barely stand. Blood is running down his shoulder from where a fork of lightning took him from the left, and his gut hurts where one of the jounin slammed a kunai into his side. The blow went wild as he twisted away from it and the wound is long but reasonably shallow. For all that though it's bleeding like a bitch and it's dragging at his concentration to have to keep the flow of blood staunched with a chakra seal. He looks around into the darkness and listens carefully. He can hear the rain hissing down around him, making a subtly deeper drumming where it hits the bodies of the six jounin lying facedown in the mud. At least, there appear to be six jounin, but Kisame is no fool. He knows the Amekage was not amongst the ones that fell to his blade.

He waits, listening for the faintest step that will give away the ruler of the Rain shinobi, and as he does the blood wells from beneath his cloak where the rain is preventing the wound from clotting. He can smell blood, his and theirs, and it makes him long for the fight.

Village of lesser shinobi or not, the Amekage is still a Kage of a ninja village and his attack comes from nowhere. He materialises out of the rain, his body forming from the raindrops and the chasing wind and the katana that he brings down in an arc towards Kisame's head glows balefully with the light of a poison jutsu. Kisame blocks the blow with the edge of the Samehada and the wakizashi that the Amekage sweeps towards his stomach only barely misses its mark. The Mist nin snarls and kicks the other shinobi hard in the gut. He twists away gasping, and vanishes into the rain leaving Kisame crouched warily.

The next attack takes him from behind, and Kisame has just enough time to turn and slam aside the poisoned katana before the wakizashi finds its mark in his uninjured shoulder. He grunts in pain as the blade slams home and his hand spasms, the Samehada dropping from his grasp. He lets the blade fall with a snarl and with his other hand reaches up and grabs the Amekage's wrist, the one holding the poisoned blade. Twisting the man's arm he wrenches him around and knees him as hard as he can in the kidneys. The man lets out a low bark of pain and falls to his knees dragging Kisame down with him. Locking his grip, Kisame twists fiercely and the man's wrist snaps with a crunch of splintered bone, the poisoned blade falling with a wet clatter into the mud.

With a howl of fury, the Amekage brings his uninjured fist around to punch at Kisame's groin. The Akatsuki blocks it with his elbow and rolls sideways grabbing for the fallen katana. The Rain Shadow pulls back and as Kisame scoops up the softly glowing blade the man draws his good hand back to strike. They lunge for one another and as the Amekage's fist slams into Kisame's chest he looses the lightning jutsu he has summoned. It explodes in a blaze of white light and Kisame grunts and coughs blood between his teeth. In front of him, the Amekage makes a strangled gurgling and his shaking hand reaches up to clench around Kisame's own where the Mist nin has driven the poisoned blade up and through the other nin's breastbone.

They kneel together in the driving rain as the thunder of their jutsus dissipates around them, and then the Amekage's hand falls away from Kisame's and he slides over backwards to land with a muddy splash on his back. Kisame kneels with one hand pressed against his scorched chest and thanks his vicious, bloody ancestors for giving him the ability to use chakra armour.

He remains there, in agony with the hilt of the wakizashi still sticking out of his shoulder and tries to catch his breath. His head is spinning with pain and blood loss and the rain is driving down so hard he can barely lift his chin against it. He looks down bleakly at the dead body of the Amekage and his eyes come to rest on a small glowing crystal amulet that has fallen loose of the other nin's robes. He stares down at the dead Kage and wonders what the hell he was doing out here so close to the border.

He's dripping blood on to the other man's chest and without thinking he reaches out to grasp the crystal and lift it out of the way. As soon as he touches it he feels it respond to him. Normally, Kisame would not have been foolish enough to touch an unidentified charmed object without thorough inspection first (preferably by somebody else), but he's battered and close enough to falling completely into shock that he doesn't consider his actions. The crystal reaches out and wraps its jutsu around him and Kisame winces at his mistake.

Through the lowering haze of exhaustion and pain, he recognises the jutsu for what it is. A heavy duty concealment affair, ritualed up to last for some hours more. "Oh," he says out loud. "So that's how they were doing it."

And then, because he really has lost a lot of blood even for a man his size, he keels over forward in a dead faint.

oOo

Itachi feels Kisame's chakra signature wink out of existence and pulls up short. Two chuunin flash by on either side of him, unable to stop in time and he guts one almost casually as they pass. In the same instance as his partner's life force vanishes, some twenty more flare into life around him and suddenly something deep inside Itachi's mind clicks into place.

His eyes narrow as he looks around and arrayed before him he sees two full attack squads of Rain shinobi staring back at him with varying degrees of horror and rage. Itachi frowns. These are not Cloud nin and Shisui has been dead for years.

Something, somewhere, is not right. Reaching inside himself for his chakra reserves he finds them almost empty and it is then that he notices the state his body is in. He feels the fever still flushing his skin and the disgusting cloy of phlegm in his throat and chest, and suddenly it all makes perfect sense. He looks around himself and for the second time realises that Kisame is not there. Should be there, is not there. Was there until a few seconds ago, close by, and now his life force has…stopped.

Itachi's eyes narrow to crimson slits, and the gathered shinobi take a step backwards.

And then the real killing begins.

oOo

The last of the Rain jounin scrambles down the slope in the direction he saw the Amekage leap in pursuit of the giant sword wielder. Behind him he can hear the screams of his comrades as the crimson-eyed demon tears his way through them, butchering them without hesitation. The man must be demonic because he fights like he is possessed, his eyes narrowed slits and his mouth drawn into a fearsome flat line that betrays his wrath better than any howl of rage.

The jounin slips in the muddy water that gushes down the mountainside, and a flash of lightning illuminates the jagged rocks that his knee barely missed. It also gives him a brief glimpse of the clearing below and he takes in a strangled breath at the sight before the night is dark again. Down below where the storm runoff has turned the slope to pure mud, the bodies of his jounin companions lie in disarray, the mud around them black with their blood. And in the centre of it all the giant sword wielder lies over the body of the Amekage.

With a howl of fury the jounin launches himself downwards, sliding and stumbling until he reaches the bottom. He staggers across the clearing, ankle-deep in sludge and throws himself at the side of his lord. Furiously he grips the sodden cloak of the huge nin that has fallen over the other man and hauls him to one side. It takes all his strength because the man is truly huge, and once out of the way, the Rain nin searches frantically for a pulse in his Kage's neck. He finds nothing.

His eyes turn to the man lying in the mud beside them. He is covered with blood and mud and the hilt of the Amekage's wakizashi is still sticking from his right shoulder. The rain pounds down around them as the Rain jounin reaches out a hand and checks for a pulse. There, below his fingertips, a heartbeat, strong and sure even with the wounds the, the Mist nin, the ex-Mist nin he corrects himself, has taken. The man is lying in a faint and grief and rage floods through the jounin as he thinks of the damage this one man has wrought. With a snarl, the Rain jounin reaches out and clasps the hilt of the wakizashi. Wrenching it out of the Mukenin's shoulder he takes a firm grip on its hilt and as the Mist nin's eyes snap open with the pain of the removal, he stares down at him, tears in his own eyes and draws the wakizashi back to end the man's life.

The blade never falls. The hand that wraps around his wrist halts the arc of the blade in midair, and a voice in his ear, low and calm, says simply, "No."

Horrified, his eyes roll to the side to meet the slow swirl of crimson and black, and then the Rain jounin's body convulses as the blade of a kunai enters his chest and finds his heart. Itachi lets the body fall to one side and blinks down at Kisame, his gaze moving slowly between the Mist nin's pale face and the bloodied kunai he has clenched in one shaking fist.

Itachi blinks. "You're still alive," he says.

Kisame laughs wetly and coughs. "Of course," he gasps. "It was only the one Kage, Itachi-san." And then the kunai falls from his grasp and he faints.

Itachi stares down at him unmoving, as the rain falls around them and the sky rolls with thunder. And then he bends down and with an effort, drapes his partner's arm across his shoulders and hoists him unsteadily to his feet.

oOo

It takes him almost three quarters of an hour to drag Kisame back up the slope through the mud and the lashing rain and the shuddering fever-induced weakness in his own legs. Once back in the cave, shivering and coughing, it is all he can do to throw some oil on the fire to get it going again, tossing on some wood before dragging Kisame's body close to the flames. He peers down at the other man's wounds, and wearily pulls a needle and thread from his pack, huddling close to the fire as he sets about stitching the big man back together again.

Kisame has lost a large amount of blood, but Itachi knows he is unnaturally resilient like most of his Water Country brethren. Moving carefully, he applies salve to the burns on the nin's chest, pulling him out of his filthy cloak as he does so. He peers closely at the charm the Mist nin is clutching tightly in one hand, but does not touch it. The faintest whisper of the Sharingan tells him what it is and suddenly he comprehends why Kisame's life force appeared to snap out of existence. Blinking down at it he realises that its proximity to him is masking his own life force from the outside too and he shrugs mentally. It is not wise for them to be remaining this close to the scene of the Amekage's murder anyway, but there is no way that Itachi can move them both through the storm in the condition that either of them are in. The effects of the charm will only be a benefit.

Sniffing a little, he lays himself out beside Kisame, warming the larger man with the heat from his own body and pulls both the blankets over them. It would not do for either of them to succumb to pneumonia after all that.

He lies there in silence, his blocked nose making life truly miserable and listens to the scrape of Kisame's breathing over the hissing of the fire and the roaring of the rain on the mountainside. Carefully, he monitors his body's condition and notes wryly that his fever appears to have broken. Certainly he has had no further ghostly visits from long dead ANBU or sacrificed cousins.

He turns his head to look at his partner and remembers suddenly his earlier ire at the man. Dead weight, he had labelled him in his fever. Itachi sighs ever so softly and closes his eyes.

Dead weight. Focus. All one in the same.

Maybe tomorrow he will consider the problem again, if he remembers.

When Itachi dreams that night he is high up in the mountains, lying in the flood waters of a mountain stream swollen to a river with the storm. He floats on his back in the midst of the channel whilst the water roars past him on either side, soaking him through yet somehow unable to carry him away. Somewhere beneath him, he is certain Kisame is swimming, his body streamlined in the dark waters, and his eyes bright pinpoints in the gloom.

Itachi lies back in the water, still and composed amidst the furious torrents, and stares up at the stars through the veil of the Sharingan.

oOo

They leave the cave the next day at first light, Kisame limping noticeably, the Uchiha wrapped tightly in his cloak. They step over the mud encrusted bodies with infinite care, and Itachi bends low pulling bodies and weapons into telltale positions. Kisame leans on the Samehada and watches the story of betrayal emerge from Itachi's careful placement of limbs and weapons.

When he is done, the Uchiha stares down for a moment at the scene and then nods briefly in satisfaction. Kisame unwraps the cord around his wrist and places the crystal amulet in the outstretched hand of one of the jounin women lying dead at the edge of the circle. It lies in her palm, winking softly in the weak light, its jutsu burnt out sometime just before dawn, not long after the storm finally cleared.

Then Kisame straightens, and together he and Itachi pull their hats low over their eyes and disappear soundlessly into the early morning mist leaving behind no trace of their ever having been there.