Chapter Twenty-One – Dangerous

"I should be going with you on the mission."

Of all the things Itachi could have said, this had to be the silliest. Not a day had passed since his awakening following his heart attack.

"You and your ridiculous notions of duty," Orochimaru shot down in a drawl, sending a pointed look at Itachi over his shoulder. "You are hardly in any condition to travel, Itachi-kun, much less able to act in the capacity the mission requires of a bodyguard. You would only be dead weight to me."

For someone who loved toying and dragging things out, Orochimaru could be surprisingly straightforward at times. This was one of those times, humbling Itachi in a way he had never been humbled before. He suggested accompanying Orochimaru on the mission out of habit, used to the burden of responsibility, only to have been bluntly put in his place. It was an unexpected outcome to say the least.

Finding nothing to say, Itachi settled for waiting until Orochimaru departed. He leaned back against the bedroom door, crossed his arms over his chest, and simply watched the other man prepare for the escort mission ahead.

"I should expect to return in a week," Orochimaru was saying, pausing to crouch in search for something underneath the bed, "granted, the idiocy of my client permits a smooth journey and isn't so insufferable. Escort missions have a tendency to be far more troublesome than they should be. I trust you will be fine in my absence?"

Another pointed look was directed his way, more severe than before. "You worry needlessly," Itachi said at a length unaffected by the concern, keeping his mask firmly in place. "I will manage as I always have."

There it was again, that resignation of managing to endure the harshness of life – words too old coming from someone far too young.

Orochimaru pushed the pangs of emotion aside, brushing it away as quickly as it had come. He masked everything with a veneer of disdain, walking up to Itachi intently. It would not bode well of him to linger on those thoughts; he did not join Akatsuki – much less fall so far – to feel such things.

"There is another matter I will take care of when I return, namely whatever this mess is." Orochimaru twisted his lips as he eyed the stubble roughening Itachi's jaw, looking as though he had sampled something sour. "You are in desperate need of a clean shave, Itachi-kun. And what is this?" he said as though he could not even begin to describe what 'that' was, pointing at the offending area.

Itachi realised that Orochimaru was referring to his hair. It was probably in a state of disarray, unkempt and neglected in light of the untimely heart attack. Still, even he was healthy, his hair would probably be in the same state. There was no rational need to be perfectly groomed, though it was clear Orochimaru thought otherwise. It made sense with how well maintained he kept his appearance, meticulously groomed to the point of vanity.

"This is how my hair parts after so many years." Itachi considered his appearance to be of little importance, the idleness to which he spoke with emphasising that, answering the question in a detached manner. "Wearing a forehead protector has made the crease more prominent. It has simply creased like that."

Orochimaru resisted the sudden urge to reach out and fix wayward strands of hair – to make Itachi better using his own touch. "That is precisely what I'm referring to." He made an imperious gesture to the area that had more of a crease than an actual hairline, left in a truly disappointing condition for all the beauty it could be. "Why do you 'simply' let it be, creasing as though you don't care at all?"

"You already know the answer, Orochimaru," Itachi replied calmly, unfazed by the narrowing of golden eyes. "The state of my hair does not bother me, so long as my appearance does not detract from what needs to be done. It is a matter of efficiency to prioritise things based on necessity."

The pang from before was back, sharper than any blade ever could be. Orochimaru found it was much more difficult to ignore this time.

From the shadowy roots of Konoha to the ravages of war, defying death only to then fall so far to experiment with life, Orochimaru believed he had seen it all. After living for so long, there were so few things remaining in life that unnerved him – nothing he had not already seen before. He no longer saw the world and everything in it as he once did, inured to its harsh and meaningless ways.

Orochimaru was bothered to realise he was wrong. Once again, Itachi was there to prove him wrong.

Being precocious was one thing; Orochimaru had noticed this quality about Itachi early on in their partnership. It was one of the qualities that had drawn him to Itachi initially in fascination. But for someone so young to deny the simple pleasures of life? That was a separate matter entirely, not at all something to take pride in to be viewed as a quality. It was unnatural – and not in the way he liked, twisting Orochimaru more than he would ever admit.

When Orochimaru turned to leave, he tried to hide just how much it twisted him.

It was another day of rest in Orochimaru's hideout.

Itachi walked through the library at a relaxed pace. The smell of wood, aged parchment and the mustiness of old tomes reminded him of another time – hours spent in the seclusion of Konoha Library. Where other children had played outside in their youth, he had spent a lot of time indoors, finding enjoyment in a different sort – the kind that was quiet and still, found only in the solitude among books.

Though times had changed since then, this part of Itachi still remained true.

Itachi approached one of the bookshelves slowly, considering the collection in front of him. A quick scan of the titles told him everything he needed to know. The bookshelf contained books on philosophy, immediately piquing his interest. He trailed his fingers over spines of books, stopping at a noteworthy one in pristine condition. It appeared to be a new addition to the library and recently published.

Spotting a nearby chair, Itachi pulled the book from the shelf and sat down. He looked at the cover thoughtfully, thinking of all that happened, enabling him to bask in the relaxation of reading.

The past few days had reminded Itachi of what it felt like to relax. So weighed down from the burden of responsibility, first with political tensions in Konoha then the darkness of Akatsuki, he had almost forgotten what it felt like to simply be. It seemed as though an eternity had passed since he last removed his mask, stripping away the disguise and forgoing the lies, simply to be himself underneath the duplicity.

Most of the days were spent reading, aside from the occasional exercise needed for his body to recover, easing into a routine of movement. When he ate, he often did so while browsing a book, alternating between lifting chopsticks to his mouth and turning pages. Evenings found Itachi lounging on the couch or curled up in Orochimaru's bed, pausing every and now and then in his perusal of knowledge to sip some tea.

Reading stimulated him in more ways than one, honing his mind in addition to broadening his mental capacity. It also gave Itachi food for thought to contemplate the sort of person Orochimaru was. From his selective taste in books, it was possible to glean a fair bit of information on the things Orochimaru liked, deducing patterns in recurring genres, themes and styles by examining his collection of favourites.

The information, though rather abstract, was nonetheless insightful. Then again, Itachi knew there were more intrusive methods of finding information on Orochimaru.

Following that train of thought, Itachi peered from the corner of his eye, shifting his attention from the book in his hands to the direction of the laboratory. Much like its owner, the entire length of the corridor leading to the laboratory was shrouded in darkness. The ceiling lights were switched off, concealing the path to perhaps an even greater goldmine of information than that of books.

Searching the laboratory was a line Itachi had not crossed for a reason.

It was not a matter of propriety since Itachi was resolved to do what was necessary, steeled enough to betray Orochimaru's trust if needed. That was beside the point. Too much hinged on the likelihood of Orochimaru discovering his laboratory had been searched. The task was too fraught with danger, the supposed reward of finding information a whisper at best, steeped so deeply in uncertainty.

For all Itachi knew, there could be latent traps inside the laboratory, perhaps something noxious with poison. Maybe there was hidden surveillance inside. It could be worse – there might even be prisoners housed within, soon to be used as test subjects. Dangers aside, there was only an illusion of choice – less of an actual decision to be made. He was not in a position to overstep boundaries.

At least, not yet. If that time ever came, Itachi would do what was necessary.

Itachi closed the book on philosophy, finding his attention on the pages to be slipping. The book was placed on the nearest table, along with a mental note to finish it later. He found himself wandering the library, looking for something else, anything. It did not take long for him to find something of interest; Orochimaru had a strange collection of items and oddities in the hideout. This item in particular stood out from afar, out of place.

The book lay open on one of the tables closest to the secret entrance. Judging by the its open state, coupled with the empty cup next to it, Orochimaru had probably been reading the book right before he left.

So as to return to the same section, Itachi slid a bookmark on the open page before closing the book. He then turned it over to examine the front cover, wondering what topic had caught the attention of golden eyes. An unfamiliar symbol stamped the front cover; the triangle depicted inside a circle was inverted, inked in red lines against a black canvas, creating an effect of dripping blood.

It was morbid, disturbing Itachi the longer he looked at it. The colours reminded him of the Sharingan in the worst possible way. The first few pages of the text was even more unsettling, speaking of a higher being that relished in ritualistic death – a god called 'Jashin'.

Was Orochimaru converting to this religious cult?

That sounded unlikely, given the layers he had peeled of Orochimaru hinting at greatness on a larger scale, though Itachi knew better than to assume. Perhaps he would find an answer later, asking Orochimaru sometime of his opinion on the religious cult. Sometimes transparency was useful in finding answers, untainted by the lies that twisted the truth and meaning of things.

For now, Itachi refrained from overstepping boundaries. He carefully removed the bookmark, returning the book to how it had been found.

Orochimaru returned later than expected, almost a week overdue.

Itachi was drinking tea in the kitchen when the front door opened. He rose to his feet, standing to greet the figure entering the house. "How was the mission?"

"Beneath me," Orochimaru hissed, irritated all over again by thinking about the mission spent in unpleasant company. "The only saving grace was that the mission took me to the Land of Rice Fields, giving me an opportunity to see the countryside." Spotting coils of steam from the teapot, he moved around the kitchen to pour himself a cup of tea. "Have you ever been there before?"

"No." Itachi knew little about the area, much less to have ever travelled there before. All he knew was that it was a civilian town.

"You should see the sights there one day." Orochimaru slid onto a kitchen chair, motioning for Itachi to join him at the table. "The pastures there are so green, stretching across the entire length of the countryside. During the day, the sun catches the reflection of the water in the fields – even more stunning to see at night with the moonlight."

The imagery from the description was vivid, layers of detail overlapping, forming a picturesque view of scenery in Itachi's mind. He pictured a vast, endless space of green pastures where the plants swayed underneath the sun and moon. A man of peace, he would love nothing more than to tour the countryside, taking in the sights of a life so far separated from shinobi. It would be so peaceful.

From his pensive expression, Orochimaru seemed to be imagining something as well, however the extent of what he saw in his mind remained to be seen. For a few seconds, when silence filled the void of conversation, Itachi wondered if they were seeing the same thing.

"To think that a hidden village is yet to be established there," Orochimaru remarked, fingering the rim of his cup. "The town already thrives from the economy alone, leading in the agricultural industry with its production of rice. Add to that its central location in the world for trade."

The Land of Rice Fields was an area of opportunity, its full potential untapped, lying dormant for the right person to shape it into something greater than it already was. Orochimaru had seen the possibilities with his own eyes, noting everything from the civilians, seeing how they bustled about in their daily lives, to the natural wealth of the land, having trekked across the countryside.

"A hidden village there would have everything," Orochimaru said with a smile, thinking of how easy it would be to conquer the country. The clans there were scattered, easily swayed in swearing allegiance to whosoever whispered the sweetest promise of returning to greatness. All it would take was a carefully worded whisper in the right ear. "They would have the best of both worlds. It seems most opportune."

Itachi eyed those pale fingers closely as he listened, hanging on to each and every word. There was some merit in the vision Orochimaru proposed, however it was at the expense of potentially ruining the lifestyle that made the town what it was. The armed presence of a shinobi force could clash with the townsfolk, perhaps even work in detriment to their duty of protecting, drawing the scrutiny of eyes from other villages in the world.

"Maybe it should stay that way," Itachi mused, offering a different perspective. He raised his chin, looking not at white fingers, but directly at Orochimaru. "Not everyone is cut out to be a shinobi – some people aren't even given an option to pursue their own path. Instilling the shinobi way of life could work against them, undermining the simplicity that makes the country what it is."

For someone who spoke little, Itachi had a knack for speaking well, making the few words count. Orochimaru found himself staring, realising he had missed conversations like these worthy of him. Being in distasteful company had frayed his nerves; it was a wonder he had not failed the mission, murdering the client in his sleep. Talking to Itachi like this, on the other hand, was certainly worthwhile.

The moment seemed to have passed. Orochimaru was unconcerned, casually asking, "Have you eaten already?"

Itachi shook his head, thinking of his abysmal cooking skills. If only Orochimaru knew how close he had been to burning down the kitchen in the last week.

"In that case, I'll start on dinner now." Orochimaru busied himself around the kitchen. "Did you do anything exciting while I was away? Find anything interesting of mine that caught your eye?"

Orochimaru sounded casual – far too casual in asking questions, fishing for something. It was almost like he knew.

Itachi played the question off coolly by giving a factual, if not rather plain answer. "I finished another of your books, one of the newer editions. The book focused on philosophy with schools of thought about the meaning of life, using a humanist approach." The book was a bit too vague for his tastes, alluding to abstract concepts, but was nonetheless thought-provoking. "It was quite insightful."

"Is that so?" Orochimaru was tempted to laugh, knowing the exact book in question. "How amusing because I thought it was one of the worst books about philosophy in my collection. The author goes on a tangent about finding oneself, labouring under the delusion that there is meaning in life – implicit that it can be attained." How such rubbish made it so far as to be published was beyond him. "That drivel could not be further from the truth."

"You speak of truth as if you know it," Itachi noted, listening with an open mind as he always did. He did not speak further, waiting until Orochimaru rejoined him at the table, using the ensuing silence to gather his thoughts. Once dinner was cooked and set on the table between them, he approached the earlier topic by asking, "What truth would that be?"

"There is no meaning in life." The way Orochimaru ate his food matched his manner of speaking. He picked apart his food with his chopsticks, prodding, toying with morsels – simply because he could. "One can only ever expect to find amusement in things, staving off the boredom that seems to ever seep into life – anathema to what it means to be living."

"Who determines what is the universal truth?" Itachi asked in turn, looking past the windmill in the analogy of boredom to the larger landscape. Fixation on the windmill limited the view, confining enjoyment to one thing, watching it for movement when the surrounding landscape already moved with life. "The premise of philosophy is that everything is subjective. One perspective on the meaning of life is different from the viewpoint of another."

Once again, Orochimaru caught himself staring, so engrossed that he no longer toyed with his food. He was aware that openly staring was considered impolite, however he could not look away.

"Since everyone has differing views," Itachi continued, still in that same even voice, "meaning is then arbitrarily defined. So long as an individual finds meaning, that should be what counts."

Orochimaru stared for a moment longer, uncaring if he was making Itachi uncomfortable. When he finally looked away, it was with a secretive sort of smile. "You have a fair point, Itachi-kun. Have you–"

Itachi tensed when Orochimaru broke off mid-sentence, jarred by the lapse in conversation. He maintained the illusion of eating, chewing his food – meanwhile his free hand slipped underneath the table, fingering the loop of a kunai he kept concealed on his person. It was a preemptive measure to always be armed, a necessary precaution he preferred not to use in violence, especially since their dinner had been amicable so far.

"Hold that thought," was all Orochimaru said before breezing through the front door.

With Orochimaru gone, Itachi relaxed his grip on the kunai somewhat, though never actually retracted his fingers. They remained in place when he moved to stand by the window, peering through the shutters. Orochimaru stood with his back turned, judging by the length of his long hair. He appeared to be talking to Zetsu, discernible by the moonlight filtering in through the trees, highlighting the telltale silhouette of vines.

The sight raised more questions than giving answers, shrouding Orochimaru further in the dark. How was it that he could sense Zetsu? By all rights, Zetsu was a spy – one of the best with his ability to meld in with nature itself. Somehow, someway, Orochimaru had discovered a way to sense Zetsu, always keenly aware of his presence in the vicinity wherever they happened to be.

More questions for another time. Itachi withdrew from the window, walking back to the table. He was pouring more tea when Orochimaru returned.

"Zetsu came to relay information about our next mission," Orochimaru announced smoothly, forestalling any questions. "There have been reports of gruesome murders in Yugakure, possibly the work of the defector Akatsuki wants to recruit."

Itachi nodded, having expected as much. After all, Zetsu would not visit them in the night for a friendly chat. "When do we leave?"

"Sometime early tomorrow morning to account for long distance travel." Orochimaru tossed the mission scroll onto the table. "Kakuzu will meet us somewhere on the border, most likely at a gambling stop knowing him," he added with a sneer, averse to working with the greedy likes of Kakuzu. The sneer turned critical when he raked his eyes over Itachi in assessment of his condition. "You appear to be in good health to travel tomorrow."

Itachi disliked the cold, clinical way eyes scanned him, narrowing on specific parts of his body. It served as a chilling reminder of the scope to which Orochimaru saw the world and everything in it, dissecting things with his eyes – even people. "I will be ready," he said flatly, putting an end to the experiment of sorts. "We should finish eating otherwise the food will get cold."

Thankfully, the remainder of dinner was a relaxed, quiet affair. The stream of conversation was steady; Orochimaru spoke more about the escort mission, with Itachi commenting every now and then. They touched on the Land of Rice Fields, coming together in a civil discussion despite having different viewpoints. Afterwards, Itachi went to collect the plates, seeing as Orochimaru had gone to the effort of cooking.

But an unexpected voice rang out, stopping him in his tracks.

"Leave the plates." Orochimaru beckoned for Itachi to follow using one finger, smirking just a bit when he got his way. "I have something else far more enjoyable in mind."

Minutes later, Itachi discovered what that entailed. Of all the things they could do, Orochimaru had to pick the least enjoyable way to unwind.

"Do you know what this is?" Orochimaru asked intently, turning to face Itachi ever so slowly in the bathroom.

Itachi knew exactly what was in those white hands. There was no mistaking its sharp edge and the way the object glinted, catching the light. Held between pale fingers was none other than a razor, an object that by no means was remarkable, except that it deviated from the norm. Unlike a standard blade he was familiar with, this was a straight razor, requiring the utmost precision and mastery to use.

That alone made the situation dangerous, casting Orochimaru in a darker light.

"What ever is the matter, Itachi-kun?" Orochimaru queried softly, tinging his voice between a rasp and hiss. The razor, taunting with its gleam, came to be placed near his face – right next to the edge of his smile. "Does this straight razor frighten you? Or do I?"

It was another twisted game of sorts. Itachi refused to play at such high stakes, dismissing the question by quoting words he had spoken in warning weeks ago. "As always, you see shadows of things where there are none."

Orochimaru brushed the remark away with a laugh. "You know," he began with studied casualness, drawling every word, "there are a lot of things I can do with this. I can wield it using the same finesse as I do with Kusanagi." He made a show of this, twirling the steel between his fingers before catching the handle, visibly unscathed. "Better yet," his gaze locked onto black eyes with sudden intensity, "I can give you the closest shave you will ever have."

Itachi remained firm in his resolve, warding Orochimaru away with clipped answers. "I can shave on my own."

"I daresay you could if this was a standard razor," Orochimaru acknowledged with another laugh. "Have you ever shaved with a straight razor before?" The answering silence told him everything he needed to know, hearing it as lovely music to his ears. "I thought as much."

Weapons were already dangerous; putting them in capable hands made them even deadlier. The sentiment had never been more apparent to Itachi when Orochimaru sauntered over, all smiles and intrigue, appearing far more dangerous than razor. He was being tested, that much was clear from the slow, almost lazy speed at which Orochimaru closed the distance between them, daring him to move away.

Itachi's resolve was further put to the test when fingers curled around his wrist, taking hold of his left hand.

"You can do a lot of things with these fingers of yours," Orochimaru remarked knowingly, guiding the hand to be splayed against his right hip. Goodness, considering that they had been intimate several times, he would surely know – something of an expert on that subject by now. "But as good as you are with your fingers, this is out of your area of expertise."

It took a few minutes to prepare Itachi for a shave. The process was tedious, requiring facial hair to first be dampened using a towel soaked in warm water, making it easier to cut. Still, Orochimaru was not bothered in the slightest, savouring every second for the stalling made the moment all the more sweeter when it came. The hand at his hip was still there, too – neither digging in nor pulling away, simply there. Perhaps that would soon change.

"Let's get started, shall we?" Lifting the razor to eye level, Orochimaru smiled in dark suggestion at its edge first, then at Itachi. "I'm going to give you the closest shave you will ever have."

Orochimaru might be an accomplished liar, but he did not lie about this.

It was indeed the closest shave Itachi ever experienced.

Itachi was intensely aware of it – so close that he could hear, breathe and smell everything of Orochimaru. It was an assault on the senses, the strongest of all that of sight, seeing nothing else but Orochimaru. He could not look away even if he wanted to, constantly having a white face slide into his vision. The hand snaked around the back of his neck ensured it stayed that way, always keeping him close.

The grip at his neck could be uncomfortable, other times relaxed. Controlling fingers indicated which way to look, turning his head this way and that, directing him here and there. Every angle was precise. Orochimaru could be forceful when he wanted to be, applying pressure with his fingers, digging in, demanding. Itachi noticed that he could also be gentle, soothed by the thumb continually stroking his skin, right at the sensitive junction between his neck and jaw.

Whenever Orochimaru leaned forward, Itachi was reminded of just how close they were. The closeness gave him the opportunity to view Orochimaru in a different light.

Seeing golden eyes up close was strange, finding it unusual for them look elsewhere when they always locked onto him. There was something about how they moved – slow and assessing, careful in their consideration. Itachi could see it in plain view without the weight of being assessed in return. It alluded to a meticulous mind, hinting at attention to detail, evident from the time-consuming shave that should have been a quick, menial task.

"Orochimaru."

So focused on shaving, Orochimaru barely registered his name, responding with an absent, "Hmm?"

"You don't have any facial hair," Itachi noted, eyeing the smooth expanse of a white jaw. He recalled the times they had been intimate, trying to piece the fragments of a greater picture together. "You don't have hair anywhere else on your body either, aside from your scalp and eyebrows."

The response was slow in coming, Orochimaru absorbed in the craft of his handiwork. "Consider it a side effect."

Pieces of a greater picture slid into place, revealing a sight chilling to behold. Itachi sought clarification of what he saw, pushing aside pangs of unease in pursuit of information. "Of what?"

"Of the things I've done to myself."

The implications behind those words were unmistakable.

In the back of his mind, Itachi had always wondered if there was an underlying reason for the inhuman essence he noticed in Orochimaru. From the snakes to the abnormal ability of extending limbs, something had always been off. The warning signs had been everywhere, whispering of strangeness not simply a trait innate in nature, running deeper beyond the surface. Now, he knew why.

Orochimaru had experimented on himself.

An opportunity arose from that revelation, presenting Itachi with an avenue of gaining valuable information. "You seem to have done a lot of things to yourself to have a curious range of abilities," he commented mildly, coming across as somewhat disinterested.

Orochimaru smiled, more to himself than Itachi. Not once did his gaze flicker upwards, trained on the area below black eyes. "You know what they say about curiosity."

"It drives people to go beyond certain boundaries." If Itachi had any doubts, living proof was right before him, assuming human form in the man pressed so close. He curled his fingers, securing a firmer grip on Orochimaru's hip in readiness of what he was going to say. Crossing into uncharted territory was always dangerous. "You were curious enough to procure a means of sensing Zetsu."

Orochimaru tilted his head to the side, twisting his lips in consideration of the question. "Do you really want to know?" he whispered, dangling a string of another secret. "I could show you things, giving you insight far richer than that of a simple book on philosophy. Unlike theoretical concepts," he looked at Itachi then, making direct eye contact for the first time throughout the shave, "this would be real."

As expected, Itachi ignored the dangling string, instead pinning him with an unaffected stare. Orochimaru was not disappointed in the slightest, if anything amused. He resuming shaving, easing back into the craft of making Itachi look better.

And he did look better, Orochimaru concluded by the end of the shave, stepping backwards to fully admire his handiwork. Clean-shaven and strong, having recovered from the heart attack, Itachi looked more familiar – more like the person that had initially caught his eye. The longer he looked at Itachi, the more he began to think that perhaps nothing had really changed. Itachi was still fascinating, much to his unending amusement.

Maybe the amusement did not have to end yet.

Spurred by the entertaining thought, Orochimaru set the razor on the bathroom sink. "Stay here," he told Itachi when he turned to leave, pausing briefly in the door frame. "I will return shortly."

Itachi wondered where this was going. With the unpredictable likes of Orochimaru, nothing was ever quite so simple, nor was it safe to assume anything. While waiting, he inspected his appearance using the mirror. A close shave indeed, he mused, seeing just how thorough Orochimaru was in his craft. His jaw was immaculate, unmarred by even the faint redness of cuts, cleaner and smoother than it had ever been.

When Orochimaru reappeared, he was not empty-handed. Carried in his arms was a plain box which was deposited on the bathroom counter.

"This is another secret I want to share with you. I consider this to be the greatest read of all among my collection." Orochimaru touched the box in emphasis, running his long nails over the surface. His hand was still stroking the box when he turned to ask, voice rife with insinuation, "You do want this, don't you?"

The stony look sent his way was priceless, Orochimaru finding it difficult to keep a straight face. It never ceased to amuse him how cold Itachi could be when, in the throes of passion, all of that ice melted underneath heat. He could always drag it out further by withholding information, however that might put a dampener on the evening. With that in mind, Orochimaru pried the lid off the box and backed away.

Itachi did not approach the box at first, weighing the decision. To be handed answers on a silver platter was alarming to say the least. It did not help that Orochimaru was nearby invading his space, still close. Perched on the edge of the bathtub with legs crossed, chin rested on the palm of one hand, Orochimaru was at ease to the point of comfort. He had settled in to watch, it seemed. Itachi kept that in mind when he examined the box.

The box could not have been more unassuming in size and shape, easily forgettable at a glance. Even its contents looked plain, consisting of reports in the form of thick stacks of papers, accounting for the majority of the weight. Glimpsing the title of the top report told an entirely different story. A chill ghosted down his spine similar to the pangs of unease from before – only it was worse. Far worse.

"Why are you giving me this?" Itachi sounded sharp, more cutting than he intended.

"You amuse me, Itachi-kun," Orochimaru murmured with a smile. It was not particularly winsome, more edges than curves with the sharpness of his teeth, but it was a smile nevertheless. "That is a good reason as any, is it not?"

Any reservations Itachi harboured were pushed to the recesses of his mind. If Orochimaru did things for his own entertainment, so be it. While he certainly disliked being a source of amusement to the other man, acting as the driving force propelling the windmill, he was not in a position to judge. Listening to his personal sentiments on the matter hindered his ability to carry out his duty.

The principle was straightforward, based on necessity. Or so he initially thought.

Itachi had exceptional emotional control, practiced and tested over the years under the weight of scrutiny. The immense pressure of his responsibilities had demanded no less than absolute control, lest he reveal his loyalties and face an outbreak of another war. Keeping his emotions in check was second nature now, ensuring that his mask was durable, never cracking even under the heaviest of pressures.

But no amount of mental preparation could have readied Itachi for the contents of the report.

Orochimaru had stooped so low to experiment on infants.

Within the first page of the report, Itachi felt unbelievably heavy, burdened with the knowledge that the experiment involved sixty infants. The aim of the experiment had been to replicate the First Hokage's Wood Release ability. It was carried out by first gathering a sample of test subjects, then injecting Hashirama's DNA in the hopes of creating a successful merger between the foreign and host cells.

Several noteworthy names were mentioned in the report. An unpleasant taste lingered in his mouth whenever he came across Danzo's name. Itachi should not have been surprised Danzo was involved, given what he had gleaned of the tactician from their exchanges. What did surprise him was reading that Danzo had partially funded the experiment by trafficking some of the infants across villages.

The reports followed a systematic, clinical format of detailing every measure and observation. All of the information was neatly handwritten, serving as another reminder that Orochimaru had a steady hand.

Halfway through the report, Itachi became acutely aware of Orochimaru still watching him. He carried on reading with a mask of indifference, trying not to dwell on the possibility that Orochimaru had looked at the infants the same way. They had played this game before wherein Orochimaru sought something very specific. Golden eyes devoured his every move for something he refused to give, playing for a reaction with the shock value of the reports.

The latter half of the reports changed in format, though not in its heaviness of weighing Itachi down. The results of the experiment were recorded in clinical observation, along with accompanying pictures of the infants. If Itachi had any doubts about the authenticity of the experiment, that perhaps this was just some disturbingly elaborate, morbid joke from Orochimaru, they were banished immediately upon touching the reality of the photographs.

A number cases were missing, but of the photographs shown, they conveyed the overall failure of the experiment. Some infants seemed to have died peacefully, looking like they were sleeping while others, mutated from adverse reactions to foreign cells, were unrecognisable. Even worse was the discussion at the end of the report. Implications for similar experiments in the future were outlined, indicating that the sample size was too small in the scope of achieving results too big.

By the end, Itachi was at a loss of what to say – if there was even anything to comment on at all.

Standing upright had drained him, worsened by the ache everywhere else. Itachi felt exhausted in the truest sense of the word, the heaviest toll of all emotionally, tugging at his heartstrings that had privately mourned for the infants. Another part of him was still in shock even if he never showed it, shuttered behind a blank mask. In truth, he had never expected to discover this extent information in the space of one night, much less to obtain it with ease.

"This is a lot to process," Itachi admitted, still coming to terms with everything he had read. "What does any of this have to do with Zetsu?"

"It has everything to do with Zetsu." Orochimaru cast a meaningful look at the box. "The experiment was a failure in merging cells to replicate Wood Release. But it was not entirely fruitless in learning new things. This is where it gets complicated." His lip curled at the tedious details, knowing they would be here all night through to the morning if he revealed all. "Suffice to say that I became familiar with Hashirama's cells."

Orochimaru tried very hard to contain his laughter, amused by Itachi pondering his words. He could almost see the gears turning in that head, anticipating the conclusion at any second now.

"Zetsu's body must be made up of Hashirama's cells," Itachi deduced after a few seconds, once again piecing fragments of a greater picture together. "It would explain his affinity to nature and your ability to sense him."

"That's not even the juiciest part," Orochimaru breathed through spasms of chuckles, the laughter finally escaping him.

Itachi ignored the amusement at his expense. "What do you mean?" His voice, deep and stern, cut through the humming laughter.

"Zetsu is but one of the beings I can sense," Orochimaru answered in all seriousness. "There is another being that comes and goes, affiliated with the likes of Akatsuki." He backtracked to the all the times he had sensed the presence, frustrated by the difficulty of pinpointing its exact location. "I can sense them sometimes at a distance, but the strength is somehow weaker when compared to Zetsu – half of what it should be."

Itachi found it difficult to match the description to a face. The description itself was strange – oddly detailed at certain specifics, other times vague in their assumptions. "Do you know who it is?"

"I don't actually know." Orochimaru looked away, averting his eyes to the bathroom tiles. The question had been on his list of curiosities to explore for the longest time, ever since he had joined Akatsuki all those years ago. He had first sensed it in Amegakure, intrigued because he had been talking to Zetsu at the time, preoccupied in their conversation when a fainter, somehow weaker signature encroached the vicinity.

Blinking the memory away, Orochimaru realised he had left the conversation hanging. Oh dear, how unbecomingly rude of him to do such a thing. "At any rate," he began as he looked at Itachi, easing back into the conversation, "I suppose it does not truly matter. It would be interesting to uncover to their identity, certainly, however that goes beyond the point of knowing in the first place."

Itachi took some time to contemplate those words. By no means was Orochimaru dismissing his curiosity, rather putting something else before it in precedence. When he finally spoke, he did so flatly, dulling the rise of interest that would have given him away. "What point would that be?"

"You tell me, Itachi-kun." Orochimaru waited expectantly, and when silence filled the lapse in conversation, he took the matter into his own hands. "What are your intentions to begin with? Blackmail? Killing them?" The corner of his mouth quirked upwards in a smirk. "With blackmail, I suppose knowing their identity would prove useful as leverage – granted, only to a certain extent."

"Appearances can be deceiving," Itachi agreed solemnly, the words ringing true. There was no need to look elsewhere to ascertain the truth of it. All he had to do was look inwards or better yet gaze in the mirror at his back, seeing living proof of deception.

Orochimaru held the same opinion, absently shifting the weight of one leg over the other. "Identities are fickle things. People change their identity like how they discard their clothes for a better-fitting outfit. You could lie to me, saying that you are not born of the Uchiha Clan. But your genetics would reveal the truth. That is the simplistic thing about science." His golden eyes were intense, full of certainty. "Genetics never lie – not to me."

The segue back to experimentation did not sit well with Itachi; the unpleasant taste in his mouth returned, sickening his stomach. He steered the conversation in a different direction, reiterating the point Orochimaru had brought up earlier. "What about killing someone?"

"Killing is actually rather simple." Orochimaru could have very well been discussing the weather, going by his nonchalance towards the dark nature of the subject, at ease that he even began to shake his leg. "When it comes to killing, difficulty does not arise when ending a life because that comes in between. Everything that happens before and after is difficult – for instance, planning the murder which takes time. The hardest part is living with what you've done."

All was silent in the bathroom as Itachi repacked the contents of the box. He rearranged the reports, avoiding the neatness of words and gruesome pictures, knowing that glimpsing them again would be a painful reminder of what had been done in the name of science. While fiddling with papers, he thought of all that had been revealed tonight, lingering on the mysterious the presence that even Orochimaru had trouble sensing.

Surely Orochimaru was not referring to Madara?

That sounded highly unlikely, given that everyone believed Madara to have perished decades ago. Only Itachi knew the man was still alive, working together on that fateful, bloody night of the Uchiha Clan Massacre. Then again, just as he had said earlier, appearances could be deceiving. Did the identity or name – even face for that matter – underneath the orange swirl of a mask hold any meaning if the irrefutable truth ran deeper?

"Planning on committing murder, Itachi-kun?"

The silkiness of that voice, smooth as velvet, drew Itachi from his brooding. Ever so slowly, he angled his body to face the owner of the voice, caution drawing his limbs to be taut. His eyes narrowed on the way Orochimaru sat – lying down more than anything, draped over the side of the bathtub. How Orochimaru managed to assume such a lazy position that was bound to be uncomfortable was beyond him.

"You aren't planning on killing dearest old me now, are you?" Orochimaru drawled, the slight rise to his voice hinting at suppressed laughter. When there came no response, he once again took the initiative to propel the moment, becoming the unpredictable wind himself. "Here's the thing, Itachi-kun. See the razor there?"

Two pairs of eyes flicked to the razor on the edge of the bathroom counter.

"From what I can see," Orochimaru said, still looking at the object in question, "the razor is closer to my half of the bathroom. Not only that, my fingers are more familiar with the razor than yours."

Itachi stayed silent, having nothing to refute because it was the truth. Indeed, the razor was lying predominantly on one side of the bathroom counter, more closer to Orochimaru. They were both within range of the razor in the closeness of the bathroom, but it would take Orochimaru less time to reach it, giving him the edge in distance to make up for his inferior speed. As for the razor, the earlier shave proved that Orochimaru had the edge there, too.

Orochimaru shifted into a sitting position, acting as if a thought had suddenly dawned on him. "Oh, how silly of me to get ahead of the point. There is no need for you to lunge at the razor when you could move faster altogether. I daresay you could move fast enough to slam my skull into the shower glass, using the shards as makeshift razors."

The shower was to the side of Orochimaru, even closer than that of the razor. Itachi conceded that it would be fairly easy to make the scenario a reality, and that in itself made the violent outcome all the more unappealing.

"I'll admit that I have never felt the piercing of glass before, but goodness – I'd imagine it would be quite the experience." Every word rolled off slowly, exaggerated on that silver tongue, casting an illusion of sorts that Orochimaru was imagining the scenario as he spoke. "Painful, but memorable."

All throughout the calculated observation, Itachi had not spoken a word until now. "You've thought this through."

Itachi was tested again, on edge when Orochimaru invaded his personal space by drawing close. This time around, the Sharingan swirled into existence in greater precaution, now armed with the knowledge of the lengths Orochimaru had fallen to. There was no boundaries when it came to Orochimaru, nothing he would not do. The tomoes of his Sharingan began to swirl, spinning in warning, deterring the outstretched hand reaching out towards him.

But the unexpected happened.

The Sharingan slowed down, tomoes no longer spinning when Orochimaru slid the handle of the razor into his hand. Itachi was rendered speechless when pale fingers shaped his hand, molding it like clay, fitted around the handle for the razor to be securely in his grip. To his growing disbelief, his hand was guided upwards until the razor reached an open area of white skin – right at Orochimaru's neck.

Orochimaru made a low, breathy sound in prelude of laughter, though he never actually laughed. "All things considered, I might as well give it up and make it easier for you – save you the trouble."

Itachi only just managed to keep his voice steady when speaking, alarmed at how close the razor was – so close that if either of them moved, it would surely break the surface of skin. "I doubt a slash to your neck would end your life."

"That's for me to know and you to find out," Orochimaru murmured in wicked amusement, the edges of his teeth bared through his grin. "And there is only one way to find out."

The implications were unmistakable, the gesture of giving him the razor blatant, playing for the strongest reaction of all. It would be effortless for Itachi, requiring just a little bit of pressure to slice into that neck and discover the truth behind Orochimaru's genetics.

Perhaps it would be the right choice in the long run, preventing further suffering, despair and future immoral experiments from ever being conducted. Like Itachi, Orochimaru stood out a cut above the rest, but for all the wrong reasons. Orochimaru was more dangerous than the rest because he lived in his own world. In that world, things breathed or slowed to a standstill on the whimsicality of amusement.

The razor inched backwards, Orochimaru leaning forward with it, drawing closer. He was too close.

"Go ahead and stop me," Orochimaru breathed, whispering at him to make that choice. "Do it."

In the end, Itachi did make a choice. It was not the reaction Orochimaru played for, nor was it the supposed right course of action for the long run because the uncertain future was still unwritten. He knew better than to make assumptions. This choice weighed on his shoulders alone of his own volition. Lips connected with his to seal the choice.

There was no hesitation in deepening the kiss, but Itachi did not loosen his grip on the razor, either.