It was that uncomfortable time of year when traveling was hot and sweat-inducing but the shade was so cold it could make one sick. Itachi, like he did with all things in life, made no comment about how bad the weather made him feel, but Kisame took advantage of a stream a bit off the road and insisted they stop so he could fish for lunch.
Fishing for lunch, of course, included stripping off his cloak and sword and jumping into the barely-four-foot-deep water to hunt with tooth and claw. During this time Itachi collected enough dry wood for them to cook with and ignited it with katon. He lay in the grass, listening to the sounds of his partner splashing around and musing to keep the queasiness at bay. He wondered whether the Uchiha line would end with Sasuke or whether his brother would have children. Would he teach them katon like they did in the old days when Uchihas reached maturity? What kind of child would his brother have?
After not too long a shadow passed over him and Kisame’s bloodied face smiled over his. That sight would send a lesser shinobi running, but Kisame was Itachi’s partner of two years. The sight actually brought a deep sense of comfort. “It’s hot out and you’re sitting near the fire, do you want to lose a layer?”
“No. I’m cold.” He didn’t mention how he felt nauseous and like he would throw up if his environment changed even a little bit. Judging by Kisame’s face though, Kisame figured he felt something like that.
So he sat up and Kisame retreated to scale the fish and cook it over Itachi’s fire. He caught something large that definitively did not taste too good and a few smaller trouts to char for snacks later. He sat back as they cooked and made an attempt to lick the blood off his teeth.
Itachi looked worse for wear, he noticed. He could kill time scouting around to give Itachi time to rest, but Itachi would probably see through that. His resolve was stronger than the scent of sickness and decay and cold metallic blood that hung around him at all times.
He cut a chunk off the large, mutilated fish and set it in front of Itachi. He cut the front half of the fish off, taking a bite out of it and chewing as if deep in thought.
Itachi ate slowly, because of the nausea and because the fish tasted a little like mud. “The next village we come to,” he told Kisame, “I will get salt even if I have to kill for it.”
Kisame cackled. He didn’t taste much of anything but he knew what smelled good and bad. Salt sure did make things smell better, for some chemical reason Sasori could probably explain to him. “I’ll find a village around here and get you as much salt as we can carry.”
“Sugar too?”
“Sugar, dango and sweetbreads and whatever else you want. We can raze the place and take all their food, and bring back their money for Kakuzu and something pretty for Konan.”
“Poison for Sasori, or a body. Something sparkly for Deidara…”
“Wouldn’t it be funny if we just got him toothpaste?”
“Toothpaste for Deidara,” Itachi corrected, and Kisame snickered. “What for Hidan?”
“Nothing for Hidan. Hidan doesn’t need anything.”
Itachi shook his head through giggles. “That’s mean, we have to give him something.”
“We are mean, and we don’t!” Kisame all but roared.
“What about Pein?”
Kisame thought for a moment. “Liquor. Guy seems like he needs it and he always smells like he’s fermenting in a basement somewhere.”
They took a few more moments to laugh by the stream, in the green summer grass under green summer leaves. When Kisame started packing up the smaller fish, Itachi remembered how bad he felt. He stood with difficulty and walked to the water, drinking some and scrubbing his face as if it would improve his mood. “Ready to get going?” Kisame called, and he nodded, and suddenly Kisame was right there next to him, cloak and sword back where they belonged. He scooped Itachi up not-quite bridal style and stood up. “Are you ready to go?” he repeated.
Itachi stared at him. For as little as he emoted, he seemed mad. “You’re my partner Itachi, you can tell me when it hurts. I can’t have you collapsing or dying on me.”
“Don’t show it if you worry about me. That’s not what shinobi do.”
Kisame smiled lightly, just enough to show the tips of his teeth. “I’m an ex shinobi, and so are you. Come on kid, you weigh less than my sword.”
Itachi didn’t protest anymore. He let Kisame carry him through the woods, to a village they may or may not lay to waste. He was still a shinobi, so he didn’t tell him that it never stopped hurting.