Death is a Lonely Business
Cephied Variable

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Orochimaru doesn't just watch Sasuke carefully when he fights. He watches the way Sasuke breathes and eats and dresses himself and the casual way he ends conversations before even starting them. By the time Sasuke is fourteen, no one tries to approach him anymore. He's never killed anyone but there is death in his eyes, in his words and in every carefully executed movement he makes. Sasuke is turning himself into a weapon.

"He might be better than you, Orochimaru-sama." Kabuto observes dully as they watch Sasuke practice

"He is." Orochimaru answers simply, admiring the graceful arc Sasuke's sword makes in the moonlight: a perfect cresent. He smiles, and Kabuto sighs in exasperation, "If you're about to tell me how dangerous this is, Kabuto, it has already been duly noted. Frequently."

"He's aware of his own mortality," Kabuto replies seriously, "You, on the other hand, are entirely too concerned with yours." and he leaves, a rustle of grass and silence.

Kabuto is right of course, but Orochimaru doesn't care. He remembers the placid gaze in his mother's eyes when the medic nins brought her back to Konoha. He remembers the hazy resignation on Sarutobi's face as he coughed up blood, a proud man reduced to little more than a self-aware corpse.

Sasuke's gaze is dull and heavy-set; although he fights, he's already accepted the inevitable. It's a disgusting to see it worn so blatantly on such a lovely face.

'Sasuke-kun,' Orochimaru thinks wistfully, 'I will make you into a piece of art. I will show you how to defeat death.'