PLEASE READ NOTE AT END.

To the reader who asked, Kisame's nickname for the MC, Yaseishi, means 'wild one.'

For the other fabulous commenter, yes! Yaseishi can talk, but it is difficult for her for anatomical reasons. Because physical limitations suck and aggravate readers and I love making you scream :3

And to clarify, at this point Yaseishi is basically a canid with human levels of logical and emotional intelligence, but does not understand human logic or emotion.

Also thank you all SO MUCH. I am stunned at the reviews this story continues to get, and it's what's motivated me to continue writing so far, and to enroll in a college writing class to continue getting even better for you guys!! Hope you enjoy! :D (ps having a part time professor sucks)

And, uh. It's been two years. Sorry ;v;

•Listen, Mark My Words, One Day•

It's still early morning when they return to the hideout.

Her knees ache in protest as they trek through the pine forest. An hour of sleep was not enough for her tired eyes after the... harrowing first meeting. Sleep deprivation and irritable joints make for a very poor hike.

Curse those creaky knees.

Despite the fatigue, she finds herself rejuvenated by the forest. The melancholic, somber mist glows as rays of teal light peek through pine needles. Slow songs begin to sound from the gentle sway of the canopy above, the call of the songbirds rising. The scent of morning dew is fresh on the laces of moss, delicate and thin, held captive to the dark skins of the trees. The shadows of the trees cast long, skeletal frames on the ground and hover above bright, red mushrooms like cloaks that guard them from the morning's earliest light; blue, bright and ethereal.

The only sound is that of the coos of mourning doves and the thrum of ovenbirds in the canopy. The snapping of twigs under Kisame's feet are the sole evidence of life under the liveliness of the treetops. Her own feet are silent on the first floor— soft, furred, padded and large, muffling the breaking of sticks under her paws to soundless steps. She feels content to watch him walk before her, almost like a spectator watching the world go by without her.

Languid, she blinks and fights off a yawn as Kisame murmurs something unintelligible. She notices a shimmering, invisible plane in front of them, and perks up in curiosity at the sight.

Could it be a jutsu?

Despite living in this world for quite a while— the Fight Pits were a confusing, sunless place, but she's certain that she's at least two years old now— jutsu isn't something that she's seen often. The place was full of peculiarities (some that she should find highly questionable but can't quite remember why) and she could often see the flashes of jutsu off in the distance, but jutsu that wasn't meant to control the dogs was banned near the Pit Ring.

The barrier sheen reminds her of a time someone was caught cheating in the crowds of the Pit, using a protective jutsu on her opponent to keep her teeth from sinking into his jugular. It was the last time she'd seen that man in the stands, and it was after a few fights later when she smelled his smoke-ridden scent in the ground meat they fed her.

She shakes off the memory as quickly as it comes. Some things are better left forgotten.

She shuffles a little closer to the blue man as they approach, keeping an eye on the bubble-like iridescence of the jutsu.

Kisame is unperturbed, walking through the Justus barrier unbothered. Maybe she should be concerned, but she was dead to the world in Kisame's arms the first time they arrived before he had set her down and all hell had broken loose, but she figures that an S-Rank shinobi would be aware of such a justsu, and there's no need for her worry.

She stops at his side when they halt in the path, Kisame raising his fingers in the Rat Seal as he utters a release under his breath. The shimmering light— Pein's genjutsu, the one Kisame had to set up again after their first arrival— disappears in a shower of small glitter to unveil a stone complex. It was about the size of a traditional Edo Period household, and looked more like a giant cement brick with a door and some windows stapled on. Her ears flicker as she becomes wary of the entry, her nose twitching excitedly at the scent of mildew and the distinctive, mottled smell of human life that rushes her senses.

There's a sudden tenseness in the way Kisame's slumped shoulders straighten as he takes an almost protective step in front of Yaseishi. Regardless of his obvious hesitance to bring her in, she ignores his subtle glances and wags her tail, giving a gentle whine as she bops his leg with her nose.

Her first impression hadn't been the most sterling thing in history, but she can't suppress the fangirl crave to meet her childhood heroes. Or villains.

Hidan had tried to murder her the moment she walked in, screeching "R.O.U.S!" (whatever that was), and things had just spiraled down from there. Somehow, Kisame had been able fend off Hidan long enough to take her outside for a walk while Itachi stayed behind to smooth things over with Konan, who had made an unscheduled visit to the group's Kusa waypoint.

A deep breath brushes past Kisame's lips, weariness within the exhale. His brow furrows with a troubled smile at the doggish canine that tilts it's head in confusion at the strange look on his face. He reaches down and cups Yaseishi's ear, scratching the base of it and stroking the pan of it with his thumb. She placidly accepts the affection, leaning her head towards his palm as her tail wags uneasily. It's still strange to be touched by a hand without pain following as a result, and she forces herself to keep from snarling at the gesture. He seems to sense her caution and withdraws his hand with another gentle ruffle to the top of her head.

"Let's head in, Yaseishi. Stay behind me this time."

The door creaks open and, with a glance to Yaseishi, Kisame walks in. The click-clack of Yaseishi's claws scraping the cement seems as loud as nails on a chalkboard when they step over the doorstop divider, all eyes in the room flickering to the pair.

Yaseishi takes a second glance around the receiving room to take it all in, now that she isn't being assaulted by a deranged albino.

In her humble opinion, these S-Class criminals are either extremely lacking in creativity or perhaps they just have a terrible interior decorator. Or maybe Kakuzu was just stingy when they decorated.

The walls are made of bland, dark concrete, rough in sight and the floor chills her flesh even through the thick pads of her feet. The kitchen is simplistic but roomy with a round, nondescript table, cabinets, and a gas cooking stove. The living room has nothing but a black, square cut in the wall that she guesses was once used as a fireplace from the heavy scent of ash and dust gathered in it. The charcoal stains just make it obvious.

The only piece of furniture beside the kitchen table and chairs is a sunken leather couch with a few rips in it and a bit of stuffing strewn about, as though a wild animal had torn at the stuffing. Maybe Hidan got to it.

That filthy animal.

The opening door (with a 'Go Away' mat she's stepping on, she now realizes) stares straight into a hallway that is just as bland as the rest of the base lined with doors and looking every bit like it belongs in a horror movie like The Lazarus Effect that Yaseishi watched once upon a time and in a very different world. Her ear twitches in discomfort at the thought.

Konan and Itachi stare at her from their places at the kitchen table. Their gold and black eyes make an intimidating pair as Yaseishi shuffles behind Kisame, uncertain of her fate.

They haven't killed her yet. That's good, at least.

"Kisame," Konan says with her soft, solemn voice that makes Yaseishi lift her head to listen. "Itachi says you claim that the dog is special."

Kisame nods.

"In that case, make sure it rids this place of the parasites and doesn't disturb the members. Otherwise, Pain-sama does not care what you do with it in your free time. If it becomes a nuisance, take care of it."

Well.

At least the death threat wasn't a direct one.

•You Will Pay, You Will Pay•

The tour is short and concise, but it clears up a few questions and sets some clear boundaries.

The first is that she has resolved to never, ever enter the room that smells like iron. Not only does the muffled screams of Hidan (whom Kakuzu had chopped up and literally tossed into the room) dissuade her from wanting anything to do with the place, but the sheer amount of gore and death that permeates from the room doubles the effect; she doesn't want anything to do with his sacrifices, either.

Kakuzu's room is off-limits (an unspoken rule) and that many of the members she knows about aren't currently using the base. It makes sense if she thinks about it a little.

Similar to Orochimaru, the Akatsuki undoubtedly has many enemies. Amassing a large criminal organization has that sort of side effect, and as such, they have to move around constantly to avoid being detected. Maybe they had gotten the idea from the snake sannin himself after his integration, as she always felt as though the Akatsuki would have centered in Amegakure instead of a smattering of secret bases, but perhaps it's a newer implement.

Her thoughts slip from her as Kisame cracks open his door, and a rush of smells crashes over her like a freight train.

The scent of the open ocean greets her. It doesn't smell like the beaches in her memory (she had never seen a beach in this life, and suddenly wishes she had. The color of ocean water is almost too distant to remember) which had smelled of man and the distant burning of gasoline. Salt and ash rush her nose, reminiscent of seaspray on her face and the warmth of a bonfire touching her skin. The juxtaposition must be because of the distinctive, sharp scent of Itachi on one of the beds in the room.

Curious, she trots over to the bed on the left covered with a smooth and neat black cover. It's a bit odd that Akatsuki would make two paranoid S-Class shinobi room together, but perhaps it was Kakuzu's stinginess that demanded a cut in room numbers. The diversity among them must cause an insane number of spats, more than the anime could have ever shown her.

She wonders how much Pain puts up with it, if he does at all.

She sniffs the bed, her ear twitching at the click of the door as Kisame walks in and shuts it. The blue bed (how original of Kisame) across the room creaks in pain as he sits down on it, the mattress caving where he lands. She feels his eyes on her as she hops onto the bed, her tail wagging slightly at the familiar scent. Itachi's bed smells like cloves and ashes, juniper and caramel. Thoughtlessly, she dives down onto the cover, rolling on it and rubbing her neck into the blanket. A few happy snuffs and sniffs wet the bed with a dog boogers (hopefully Itachi won't mind) and spreads dog hair over the pristine surface. Kisame snorts at the odd show, watching in amusement as she ruffles and musses the once perfectly made bed into a tangle of comforters and linens.

Flipping over from wiggling her back atop the sheets, she snuffs in satisfaction when she smells the bed's scent mixed into her fur. A sharp whistle catches her attention, and she turns to see Kisame with a wide grin as he pats an area next to him on the beaten mattress. Excited, she bounds over happily and shoves his hand aside to sniff the bed, taking in the sweetly reminiscent scent of sea and wind, with an odd splash of wet earth in the aroma. Yaseishi rolls over the small spot beside Kisame (who takes up most of the bed) and shakes, bumping into Kisame's arm or hip in determination to spread her own scent over it. Kisame mock-scoffs beside her.

"Societal norms don't seem to apply to you, do they?"

But the smile on his face has yet to recede, and when she stands again to shake, his hand plops a playful ruffle between her ears. Bemused, she allows the action and wags her tail. A loopy grin is slapped on her face as she sits, basking in the attention.

It's an almost warm and comfortable moment, the first she's had in this world since the time Kisame first broke her out of the auction cage.

She wonders why he did it. No shinobi would ever care about the life of a random stray. Maybe he truly felt melancholic? Maybe he really wanted her for the... R.O.U.S'es or whatever those things are? Questions and questions keep piling up, but she doesn't want to care. She just wants to be in this moment; to be happy and feel loved even if it's only for a short time, even if it's fantastical. She shoves her doubts away with a tired yawn and presses against Kisame, preparing for a long and comfortable nap that nothing can take from her.

But nothing good lasts long in a world where men with unspeakable power think themselves gods and children are massacred in Academies for funsies.

And in this world, the same as any other, death comes in many forms. Some people die when they're fifteen and aren't buried 'til they're eighty-six. Some people convince themselves they're alive while they're barely breathing. Some people (every single one, eventually,) die in the physical sense. Sometimes death is carried in the forms of memories, like greyscale photographs of twin towers burning into dust that returns to the earth. Sometimes they're within the hearts of those left behind on earth, sometimes it's written in an epigraph worn away by too many falling rains.

And sometimes, it's carried in the air conditioning by a creature so vile and putrid that her nose shrivels at the scent of it.

At first, she wonders if it's simply a kind of mold- it's clear no one at the hideout cares enough to disinfect the place with Hidan being the filthy creature that he is- or if it's something concerning Kisame that she honestly doesn't ever want to think about (because who ever wants to know if S-Class criminals pass gas), but when the shark-man clutches his nose with a hiss and jumps up with his kunai in hand, she realizes it is neither. Concerned, she leaps from the bed to his side, grimacing at the unknown smell that burns her nose like the scent of maggots in black flesh.

Kisame turns his head a few times before pointing in the general direction of his closet, marching towards the burgundy sliding doors and nearly gagging when the smell triples at the opening of the closet. He stumbles away from the door, gasping onto the last breaths of clean, non-vile air in the room, wheezing as he shakily points to the source of the stench. He tries to speak, but he shakes his head and rushes out of the door, half-yelling something along the lines of 'febreeze.'

Horribly confused but not one to stand idle in the face of (apparent?) danger, she steels her gut for the stench and approaches the closet.

Attempting to breathe through her mouth breeds decent results, even though the scent leaves the taste of bile that sticks on the back of her throat. The closet is dark and surprisingly spacious for a wardrobe. A pair of spare cloaks hang and drape downwards to brush the floor, and mixes of mesh shirts and black fabrics blot the light that creeps through the door crack, smelling of Kisame as the ones that are all likely Itachi's still dangle neatly above.

Ration dampers in her mind as it races at the assault to her senses, her black nose twitching as it seeks out the vile source. Her vision narrows again. Color bleeds into her sight as something urgent and primal seeps into her veins, and it echoes in her like the rattling of the skeleton forest.

She feels like skin and bones, something akin to clarity as the world shifts around her. Her eyes feel keener than a hawk's as they spot something rustle through he darkness, and she lurches towards it.

She regrets it when the source unleashes a blood-curling cry and launches itself at her throat.

She retaliates, snatching the creature in its strike. Her head twists and shakes, her mouth full of fur and grime and blood. She growls (excited, thrilled at the hunt) and feels energy rush into the roots of her teeth, sharpening and elongating the ivory bones. It squeals when her fangs pierce its hide and the thing twists before it sinks it's long cutter teeth into her cheek. It's a sharp, burning sensation that sets fire to her blood and makes that strange energy roll through her like an unfurling wave.

New strength fuels her as her teeth crunch the creature's spine with a snap! A last, dying squeal pierces the air before the thing becomes limp in her jaws.

She pants and steps back, dropping the creature. She bends to sniff its prone form, biting down on the neck and shaking it a few more times to ensure its death. Blood seeps from the wound on her cheek and trickles into the canyon of her nostril, filling her sinuses with the stench of copper. She snuffs it out, shaking her head as the blood makes a different path down her jaw.

The almost imperceptible thudding of Kisame's feet on the floor alerts her to his return, and she quickly scoops up the creature. At the sound of a spray can hissing, she trots out of the closet with her tail held high and wagging as she holds the creature up in her mouth to show off her trophy.

Kisame either doesn't see her or ignores her despite her prideful posing, because the way he shoots the scented mist into the air almost makes her gag at the strength of it and her eyes start to sting. Desperate to make him stop, she drops her kill and barks, loud and deep, dropping her front and wagging her tail. Kisame looks over with a furrowed brow that untangles at the sight of the giant, dead rodent between her paws.

"Oh, hell yeah," Kisame says, a criminal grin ripping across his face as he takes in the mangled corpse. He grabs it by the tail and quickly ruffles her head before marching out into the hallway, announcing it's death with a loud, victorious shout.

She trots after him happily, proud that her hard work has been appreciated. Her grin is perfectly doggish and self-satisfied as he shadows him to the main room. Kakuzu sits on the sofa in the adjacent room to the kitchen and entrance, watching with sharp eyes as Kisame happily holds the vermin far ahead of himself with two fingers pinching his nose. She doesn't notice his quick, inspective gaze as Kisame halts her at the door and goes out on his own.

With the door closed, Yaseishi takes the time to clean herself of he aftermath. The blood is thick after drying, but a few swipes of her tongue loosen the crusted blood on her muzzle.

When he returns to the room (empty-handed and smelling faintly of burned rat) Kisame kneels down to face her, cupping her face as she whines and stares at him with big, sad eyes at the loss of her kill. His brow quirks with his smile as he ruffles her jaw fur, thumbing her muzzle and inspecting beneath her eye where blood from the gash had dried.

Oblivious, she takes the time to sniff at his palms and administer a quick lick to both (which he had furrowed his brow at but ignored for the sake of whatever he was doing to Yaseishi's face) and bask in the warmth his skin brings to her cold nose. Kisame's eyes narrow as his thumb rubs away the last bit of crusted blood on her fur only to see clear, unbothered skin.

The fur had not grown back and the area was still an upset red, but the flesh had already stitched itself back together.

His eyes run a quick, suspicious search in her eyes, but what stares back satisfies him as he stands with a long sigh, his fingers combing through his navy hair.

"Must've been my imagination..." he grumbles, standing back up and ruffling the fur on top of her head.

"Kisame."

Kisame looks up to Kakuzu, whose eyes are once again pinned to his ledgers.

"Zetsu dropped by while you were... doing whatever that was. You're on grocery duty," he says, tossing over a bag of coins that looks tiny in Kisame's hands.

"Do not use it all again," Kakuzu warns, taking he time to peer over the papers with a sharp look to Kisame who gives a sheepish grin. Shoving the pouch into his pant pockets, he hesitates at the sight of an eager Yaseishi.

"Sorry buddy, but you're needed here," he says, ruffling the top of her head again. Yaseishi scowls as he ducks out the door after another sharp look from Kakuzu.

Unsure of what to do now that her meat shield-- Kisame-- is gone, she stands awkwardly in the middle of the room. She sits and her paws slide down as she lays, staring at the door.

Seconds turn into minutes as they turn into an hour, the silent ticking of the clock like a metronome as it counts the time. Midday falls into dusk like sleep comes upon a lazy cat, slow and wonderfully. Her eyes open and close with a bleary delight, content to soak the orange rays of dusk falling through the window. Her fur reflects the warm glow of the sunset as she basks on her side. The quiet, occasional crinkle of Kakuzu's ledgers break the comfortable silence, a little reminder of his presence that makes her ears twitch and swirl.

She wonders, distantly, why getting groceries would take so long, but the peaceful atmosphere is like a haze in her mind that soaks it in. She feels relaxed; an elusive emotion that has evaded her ever since coming to this world. She supposed that she should not feel safe with an S-class criminal ten feet away, but there's an odd layer of trust in the fact that he would not bother with her as long as she did not bother him. It was like having a spider spin a web above her head, or hear a bee buzz by her ear. It is a comfort in knowing that, as long as nothing disturbed the peace, she is safe.

Her stomach roars loudly, demanding food.

Kakuzu's papers stop crinkling and she freezes. As the sun sets beneath the horizon, the temperature chills as she slowly opens her eyes. Kakuzu stares at her from across the room, papers in hand, with an indiscernible look upon his face. She stands when he places the sheets down onto the coffee table, preparing to quickly dart away as she shuffles out of his path to the kitchen.

She watches, curios, as he passes her without so much as a blink and opens the refrigerator. The inside is near blinding with the fluorescent lighting, and appears almost empty as he rummages through. He pulls out what looks to be an old take-out container, and shuts the door. Without a word or glance in her direction, he opens the box and leaves it on the floor before grabbing his papers and disappearing down the hallway.

Her eyes follow him the whole time, her form slightly hunched in a submissive stance and her ears tilted backwards, occasionally swiveling to pick up the small noises he causes in the process. Edging a few steps forward to glance into the hall, she sees his door close shut with a tiny click, and she relaxes a little. Something about him makes a more demure part of her come out. Perhaps it is the natural authority he exudes.

Pushing the thought away for later with a last glance in his room's direction, she turns her attention to the box. It smells cold and faintly of teriyaki, but inside lie chilled noodles and the remnants of some sort of fish. A quick snuffle and lick reveals a less than savory taste, but the tight ache of her stomach urges her to bite down. The noodles shatter as she eats them and the fish is stringy, but the chill blurs whatever foul taste there might have been.

Yaseishi's vision becomes tinged with grey and white as the light from the final vestiges of dusk are swept beneath the horizon and the room becomes shrouded with the darkness of night. The open area is an eerie sight, so she quickly trots down the hall to Kisame's shared room. The door is still slightly ajar when she pushes it open with her nose, sliding inside and nudging it back to it's almost closed state. She feels as she always does after that strange energy emerges; a little more worn, a little more tired than usual.

She slinks across the floor, silent paws accompanied by the gentle clack of claws that have grown too long. She contemplates sleeping on the bed, but decides against it. She crouches down and crawls beneath Kisame's bed. I feels like a den; dark, warm, and comfortable, even with the cool scrape of the concrete against her bits of exposed skin. The silvery glow of the moon seeps through the dark lime window drapes, casting an ethereal glow about the room. The distant hoots of a horned owl and the orchestra of crickets outside encumber her eyes and slow her breathing of the sweet scent of fall.

And soon, she succumbs to sleep.

•Karma's Gonna Come Collect Your Debt!•

OMAKE

(EXTRA)

Itachi has had a long day. His ears pick up on the faint breaths of Kisame's pet beneath the other bed, slumbering away. He sighs and shrugs off his cloak, hanging it in the closet and patting out the creases. His nose crinkles in a slight, disgusted motion at the smell emanating from the closet, and freezes as he feels something wet seep into his leftmost sock. Stiffly, he bends down and takes off the offending wardrobe to hold it up and inspect the cloth.

He gags when he realizes that it's rodent blood.

Kisame, he hisses to himself, casting a glance to the snoring behemoth. That brute must have forgotten to clean up the mess from the ROUS.

Disgusted, he places the soiled sock into the trash bin and tosses on a simple shirt and sweatpants to sleep in. He places a hand on the bed to maneuver himself onto it, and stiffens when the covers feel cold and damp.

"..."

He's going to kill Kisame.

I'll be going back in the chapters to edit some details (because now that I am more dog-knowledgeable, I regret a lot I wrote in the Fight Pit Arc) and fix some plot holes for the future. Rereading is optional ;) also, do you guys feel like any of the Akatsuki are ooc? I wanna make them as close as I can to how they are in the series, but I have to make them a lil soft with because this is supposed to be a gross feel-good story.

Also sorry for the kinda hoppy chapter ;v; I just really wanted to get sumthin to you guys.

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