Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.

The town they were in was an overcrowded community of houses built on top of each other. With no nearby settlements and cursed with rocky terrain, the people kept the few flatlands they had for farming. Shops were littered between the many rooms that doubled as their residences, selling everything from trinkets to old meat. Men and women loudly called out to any who would listen, trying to get them to buy their wares with false claims about how their products differed from all the rest.

Clotheslines hung from rooftops, dangling alongside numerous wooden bridges that connected the entire town. The many passages formed a maze of back alleys and winding paths. There were a dozen ways to enter one area, along with an unspoken rule about which ones were for carts and which were for people. The clink of metal was a recurrent ring that echoed in the alleyways, and the air had the distinctly overpowering scent of iron.

The residents didn't typically receive visits from ninjas, except when they requested aid to deal with herds of enraged boars. So, when the heat dimmed with the evening and rain began to pour, Hinata and Itachi became walking spectacles as they took cover in the town—both poorly prepared for such dreary weather. But at least it wasn't cold. It wasn't a depressingly chilling downpour.

Many gathered for the sole purpose of staring at them, while others pickpocketed the sorry fools that did. Their deathly pale skin and armor were a stark contrast to the sun-kissed tones and cotton vestments of the people around them. Many of whom, were caked in dirt. A testament to their long day of labor. But even grime couldn't mask the disbelief in their eyes.

In an effort to ease them, Hinata smiled. They took a collective step back when they got a better sight of her eyes. Itachi admonished her with a glance, but otherwise remained silent. He resisted the urge to make his eyes bleed red to distract them from staring at her with such distrust.

"Is there an inn nearby?" Hinata asked, struggling with her sopping wet clothes that had doubled in weight from the rain.

Her words snapped them from their stupor. An older woman stepped up and silently pointed them in the direction of the town's sole inn. The citizens gave them a wide berth, allowing them to pass through with relative ease. As if they were afraid something terrible shadowed their heels. They didn't blame them.

The inn was a small establishment nestled in a tiny corner beside even smaller houses. It quickly became apparent that they were the first guests in a long while because the hostel had no embellishments to speak of. Nothing to attract travelers or merchants. Just chipped wood and a flickering lamp outside the door, making the shadows of the trees more terrifying. It was the kind of place one would miss if they weren't careful; easily dismissed, if unneeded.

Itachi peeked through a cracked window, finding a woman leaning against the countertop. She spoke to a hidden figure. A maid, he judged by the outfit she wore. Itachi reckoned that if they still had help, then they were still in business.

Foregoing knocking, Itachi flung the door wide open and stepped inside, trailing water all over the floorboards. The woman yelped in surprise and banged her elbow against wood. While the innkeeper—a heavy set man that stood behind the counter—looked ready to reprimand them. He was silenced, however, by the sight of the burning irritation on Itachi's face.

"We need a room," Itachi said, pinning them with a stare. The woman flinched at the color of his eyes. Her gaze darted between him and Hinata, trying to make sense of what was happening.

"A room," Itachi repeated, slower this time. He made sure to emphasize every word. His patience was running dangerously thin right now. His wounds ached from the mission they'd just finished, and the bandages that Hinata had tenderly wrapped around his legs were sopping wet. "We'd like to rent one for the night."

"She isn't a child, Itachi," Hinata admonished.

"Clearly."

They eyed each other sidelong. Both more than tired from their journey that had been stalled—again—because of the downpour.

The innkeeper coughed, straightened his shoulders, and smiled—too wide to be real—as he registered their garments before their words. He gestured to them with the kind of false enthusiasm only those on the brink of desperation had. He was ready to milk them for all of their worth as he opened his arms in welcome.

"Yes, of course!" the innkeeper said, flashing them a smile filled with missing teeth. "We'll have it prepared right away. Not much business 'round these parts. Have a seat by the fire, while Saki gets your rooms ready."

Saki jumped to attention. "Right away, sir."

"Room," Itachi repeated, before she escaped earshot. They watched as Saki quickly hopped up the stairs, giving no indication that she had heard.

The innkeeper excused himself to look for towels which they had no doubt they'd have to pay extra for. Itachi eyed their surroundings, as they waited for Saki to return. As soon as she did, she glanced up at them nervously, giving them both the feeling that they wouldn't like what was coming.

… And they were right.

"Upstairs to your left," Saki muttered, shakily handing Itachi two keys and staring fixedly at the wall that had suddenly become incredibly interesting.

Itachi's eyes narrowed and Hinata poked his back, silently telling him to drop it. He had never been one to anger easily, but he had reached his limit hours ago when some hardhearted ninja decided to stick a team of genin on him as bait. Itachi didn't like hurting children; their screams always rang the loudest whenever he awoke in the dead of night. He hated Hinata's horrified look when she was forced to pin one to a tree with her signature palm strikes even more.

Itachi bit the inside of his cheek. The vein on his forehead looked dangerously close to popping. He opened his mouth to speak, but conceded to Hinata's silent demand after another harsh poke. Were her fingers made of steel? He swore she was bruising him.

On their way up, Itachi dropped the extra key inside an empty vase in retaliation. And only when they were inside their shared room did he allow himself to fully uncoil, spewing out low curses in an impressive display of his creativity. It was followed by a string of words she couldn't make out. Spoken too fast and with too much raw hate for the profession he excelled so greatly in.

There was one thing at the very end that she did understand though. It was said as clearly as if he'd whispered it in her ear:

"I want this day to end."

Itachi sighed and leaned against a nearby nightstand, accidentally making a small statue clatter to the ground. The room they were in had been stripped down to the bare necessities. A chair and bed in the corner, an unbalanced dresser beside it, and an unlit candle sitting precariously on top. There was a cracked window that overlooked the forest they'd found their targets hiding like rats in; an eerie reminder of what they'd done.

Given the condition of the inn—which they hadn't even bothered to learn the name of—privacy, at least, was well enough that they didn't need to worry about being overheard. There were no other customers, and the boisterous noise that filtered in from the tavern two houses down covered their softer tones.

Itachi sat on the rickety bed with his elbows on his knees and a displeased frown marring his features. This was going to be a long night.

He took off his shirt and armor with more force than necessary, then folded up his pants to replace the bandages on his legs. It wasn't the tidiest job he'd ever done, rushing as he was, but it also wasn't a grievous wound. Hell, he could hardly call a few unsightly bruises and gashes wounds in the first place.

Finished with the meager self-care, Itachi fell on the bed with a burnt-out sigh that stemmed from his very soul. He wanted to sleep off the memories of death, until the sun rose to wash them away like the rain had done to the blood that littered his frame. He didn't get the chance to, however. His eyes cracked open, reluctant as a cart pushed uphill, when Hinata suddenly sunk into the space beside him. Unlike him, she was on her hands and knees. She produced a small, damp towel from her pack and slowly began the banal task of drying his neck, shoulders, and chest as best she could with the already wet thing.

Even though they weren't married yet, she sure took care of him like how he imagined a wife would—through swift, instinctual support. Perhaps it was because of her shy demeanor as a child, but Hinata had a knack for knowing when to break silence and when it needed to be left alone. She knew when thoughts needed to be left in the dark to take root and settle, instead of being talked about and dragged out before their time. Itachi didn't want to speak right now. She was good at reading him.

Itachi seized her wrist, then used his free hand to throw the towel on the floor. It was done all in one motion. He helped her shimmy out of her damp shirt, then brushed away the dark strands clinging to her face so he could get a better look.

There was a look of hard grief there that he didn't like.

The two of them, although similar in their values and principles, operated in fundamentally different ways. For all of the things he felt revulsion for, Hinata felt sadness instead. As far as he was concerned, hers was more dangerous—even though his was more consuming. Sorrow ruined people in a different way. A way that vacuumed motivation, until the person was left standing in place. Rage sometimes made people twist their lives into hollow husks, but at least it was in a constant state of transformation. It ebbed and it flowed, ensuring that the bearer never stood in the same place for very long. When a person was moving, then the possibilities that lay before them were endless.

Hinata didn't resist when Itachi pulled her down to lean on his chest or when he wordlessly wrapped his arms around her and closed his eyes. She simply breathed, then let loose all of the tension in her body, until she was sobbing into his shoulder. He knew how this went for ninjas like her. Coping was restricted to private places like this; a place to rid one's self of all of the binding, pent-up misery and frustration. She'd cry tonight, then wake feeling, well, not renewed, but close to it. Hinata might hesitate again in the next fight, but as surely as dawn bathing light over the horizon, she'd return to her usual capabilities.

Itachi was different. He got by with sheer determination and the ability to channel his emotions in a way that made him the perfect ninja. He always felt deeply. His bonds were forged by fierce hate and even fiercer love. Although nightmares plagued him and he got exceptionally high-strung at times, he wasn't the sort that needed to release his grief through tears. He had other outlets in the form of weaponry at his disposal.

Sometimes, Itachi wished Hinata would choose a different life. A heart could only hold so many memories after all. He'd rather she hold ones of a loving family than of a battlefield. But Hinata would need to choose that for herself. He didn't exist to make choices for her.

Itachi rubbed circles on her back. Loops and loops of winding comfort too firm to be faked. His chest stuttered with every shaky exhale that came from her lips.

He didn't know when either of them fell asleep, but when he opened his eyes again, the sunlight, gold and syrup-thick, bled through the window's cracked panels. It was enough to scald the cheap wood in their room chestnut brown.

Itachi looked to his side.

Strange, how weeks of travel, of bleeding, of his chakra and physical prowess being used to kill for the sake of a village that needed money—all of it made easier by this: the weight of Hinata beside him, her hands gripping one of his own as if he might disappear if she didn't. This was exactly where he belonged.

In that moment, Itachi never felt more needed.

A/N: Please review.