"Shhh, shhh, shhh."

It would have seemed strange to anyone who didn't know them. The bigger of the two was the one who was crying, his sobs not yet subsiding to hiccups and sniffles. The smaller of the two held him gently in the midst of the field of battle, surrounded by blood and broken bodies.

If Kimimaro might not have experienced much by way of childhood affection as a human weapon he had since come to learn some from Orochimaru-sama and was now passing it down to this broken boy who had been placed under his care. He had only been with Orochimaru-sama for a few months before Juugo was brought to his room, dressed only in rags and looking like a scared little rabbit. He had hid behind Orochimaru's leg until curiosity had got the better of him.

Orochimaru-sama had introduced them and told a blatantly staring Kimimaro to find the new boy some clothes. And then the door closed and they were alone together.

"If I kill you, I'm sorry."

"You can't kill me."

Those were the first words that passed between them, and it was all that was really needed to reach their understanding.

Juugo picked up and tried to imitate his new friend's grace and manners, and sometimes he would get light laughter for his effort. He would agree with Kimimaro that Orochimaru-sama was the most beautiful, the most amazing ninja in the whole world, but privately he couldn't help but think that Kimimaro was the beautiful one. He would serve Orochimaru for the rest of his life for giving him Kimimaro, the only one who would not be killed.

Finally, locked in North Center, he sat in the darkness alone. He took it as penitence for the lives he had taken over the years. If this was the only way to stop it...

Kimimaro visited every week, during his day off from training. He would take Juugo out into the mountains where they would sit in silence, valuing each moment of their lives as no one else could.

But it seemed fated not to last. As Kimimaro got more and more sickly, Juugo's violence only increased. He would do anything for a cure to this madness, but the only thing he could give to Kimimaro in thanks for his years of friendship was the tattoo on the center of his chest. He was thankful to Orochimaru-sama that at least someone found a value to his curse, but still - but still - he couldn't stop the urges to kill.

And, finally, Kimimaro stopped coming. Juugo almost wished he could die.

All he could remember as he sat in that permanent darkness were the tiny, bird-fragile bones in Kimimaro's hands and his awkward touches. That snow-pale skin and solemn eyes, leaf-dry lips and undefinable faith. The tender touches that wiped away his tears and covered his eyes to his other side.