34: Kotoamatsukami and Fate

She’d changed from her school clothes. A pale blue dress, long-hemmed, falling to mid-calf. Her other hand was held behind her back, gripping something he couldn’t see yet.

“Shin!” Ino spotted him and waved. Brightened all at once, the way she did.

He walked up to her. Looked her over. “How long have you been waiting?”

“Oh, just a little while.”

“Would you like to come in?”

“…sure.”

The gate creaked when he pushed it open. The courtyard was what it was—mostly empty, one old tree, dry leaves gathered at the base of it.

She followed him inside, that hand still behind her back, eyes moving over everything—the empty yard, the old wood, the lit windows.

Inside: a few pieces of furniture, nothing unnecessary. The kind of house where you could see all of it from the doorway.

He turned on the lights. “Sit. I’ll get something.”

She sat and kept looking around. He brought water, set it between them.

“Sorry—it’s just water. I don’t usually have guests.”

“It’s fine.” She shook her head, then fixed him with a look that was half-reluctant and half-irrepressible. “You’re really not going to ask why I came?”

“Why did you come?”

“I—” She pressed her lips together. A small huff. Her hands rearranged themselves on her lap.

In Shin’s private assessment: she was still very young, and this was the kind of feeling that happened at this age and then faded and then later seemed like it had happened to someone else. He wasn’t going to do anything that made it worse for her than it needed to be.

“Today,” she said at last. Voice steadier now. Eyes down, one hand tight around whatever she was holding behind her, the other working a crease into her skirt. “In taijutsu class. You looked like you were hurt pretty badly.”

“Were you hurt?” he asked.

“I’m fine—” Her voice went soft without permission. “You were hurt much worse than me.”

She brought her hand out from behind her back. A medicine bottle. Held it forward with both hands.

“I brought this. You put it on—it helps it heal faster.”

He took it.

It would have been unkind not to. She’d been standing outside his gate, probably for a long time, holding medicine with both hands.

“Thank you, Ino.”

Her smile arrived in full. She nodded several times, decisively.

He set the bottle on the table. Looked up to find her looking directly at him.

“…”

“…”

The silence lasted just long enough to consider becoming uncomfortable.

“Put it on,” she said.

“…Now?”

“Yes.”

He looked at the bottle. Similar to the medicine Mikoto had used—same type, slightly smaller. The one at the Uchiha house had been a family-size. Probably fine, he thought, without entirely committing to the thought.

Tomorrow. Shisui. Shuriken. If this put him on his back until noon—

“I’ll apply it before bed,” he said. “I can manage.”

She looked at him without blinking.

“I could—” She sat up straight. The words came out with visible effort, syllable by careful syllable. “I could help you apply it.”

She had made her father explain exactly how to do it before she left the house.

“…”

“That’s—” He cleared his throat. “No, thank you.”

She looked at him without blinking.

“…I’ll do it,” he said, resigned.

“Okay.” Quietly deflated.

He rolled up his trouser leg. The skin underneath was flushed and crossed with a dozen marks. Mikoto’s medicine had done most of the work already—the walk back from the compound had let it set—and what was left was less pain than a general awareness that the leg existed. It went cool as he applied the new layer.

He worked methodically. Across from him, Ino sat still.

She was watching his face.

He was looking at his leg. The lamp did what lamps do—soft light, warm-toned, finding the angles of things—

She forgot to do anything except watch.

Time passed.

Shin capped the bottle. Rolled his trouser leg back down. Looked up.

Ino was still watching him. Completely still. Something in her pale blue eyes that caught and held his reflection.

“Something wrong?”

“Ah—oh!” She startled, both hands flying to smooth her skirt, over and over. “No—nothing.”

He felt something soften in his expression before he could stop it. “It’s getting late. You should head home.”

The sky outside the window was fully dark. Stars scattered across it.

“Oh.” She blinked. “Right.”

He walked her to the front step. Shoes back on.

“Shin—”

He paused.

She hadn’t quite looked at him. Instead she’d tilted her head back, one hand absently scratching her jaw—looking at the sky.

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“…the stars are really nice tonight.”

He looked up. A handful of faint stars. A few clouds.

“They are,” he agreed. “Better later, though. You should go.”

A beat.

“Do you have time tomorrow?”

“Hm?”

“Never mind.” She half-turned. “It’s nothing.”

He watched her.

She turned a little further. Not quite managing to look anywhere that wasn’t vaguely near him.

“I have training tomorrow,” he said.

“Oh.” The word went slightly flat. “Right.”

She started moving toward the gate.

“But I should be free by evening.” He couldn’t help but speak up when he saw that she seemed a little disappointed.

She stopped.

Didn’t turn. One second. Two.

Then she turned—quickly, all at once—and looked at him from the gate.

“Tomorrow evening. Five o’clock. The park by the lake.”

Then she ran.

The gate creaked shut behind her.

Shin stood on the porch and watched the space she’d left behind. The stars overhead were faint and scattered—honestly, not particularly impressive.

He sighed.

Shook his head.

A rueful smile, small and helpless, came and went.

---

Night. Konoha’s forest.

Itachi leaned against a tree trunk, head tilted back toward the sky. He wore his ANBU uniform, mask pushed up to his brow, a standard-issue tantō across his back. Stars filled the dark overhead—dense enough to cast pale light on the ground below, cold and clear.

Beside him, a waterfall ran white through the dark, its roar filling the silence between the trees. The wind off the water was sharp. It pulled at the edges of his mask, his collar, the loose strands of hair against his face.

A sound moved through the forest.

His eyes dropped from the sky.

Shisui?

“Come.”

The voice was faint. Itachi pulled off his mask and followed.

……

Above the waterfall, Shisui stood with his back to him.

Even at a distance, in the dark, Itachi could see it. The set of his shoulders. The way he was carrying too much of his weight on one side.

Battle damage. His mind moved immediately to the obvious conclusion.

Danzo.

Shisui turned.

Itachi’s pupils contracted.

Two lines of dried blood ran down his cheeks from both eyes. His right eye was closed—the lid sunken, collapsed inward, wrong—and his left eye fixed on Itachi with something that should have been his ordinary gaze but was thinner now. Dimmer. The face beneath it was pale and drawn.

“Danzo obtained information about my eye,” Shisui said. His voice was calm. “He took the right one. Today’s fight—what’s left in the other isn’t enough. I can no longer execute the Kotoamatsukami plan.”

Itachi said nothing. Shock moved through him before he could stop it.