Zaman

Chapter 24

A/N: quick note going into this: I had been under the impression that Anko was of Itachi and Shisui's generation while writing this chapter but found out that that isn't actually the case like three minutes ago, so to avoid some weird age gap things, Anko is 18 in this fic!

Itachi could not often afford a day of respite. Between grueling missions and his father's crushing expectations, he found himself in a constant state of movement and work. Less frequent than a day off, though, was him taking a sick-day. He knew perfectly well that he was only human, despite what others may say while muttering in awe at his achievements, but he could not help but feel lazy at spending the day in bed.

It was nothing more than a nasty flu, his mother had told him, but it was enough to leave him bedridden for a couple of days. He had declined his mother's offer to call in the clan doctor since what was the point in bothering an already busy man with something as simple as a flu? He knew he would recover in due time; the waiting would just be irritating.

As he lay in bed contemplating the nature of his sick-day, he tried his best to ignore the dull throb in his temples as well as how much it hurt to draw a breath. He had no other symptoms of a flu: no fever, no muscle aches, and no nausea, but he hesitated to describe his sickness as a cold given the severity of his cough. Regardless, it would pass soon, as all simple illnesses did, and he would be once again thrust into the world of unrelenting work.

A gentle knock on his door brought Itachi back to the present.

"Come in," he said quietly enough that his voice didn't rasp.

Shisui popped his head in through the door and, seeing that Itachi was alone, crossed the threshold, sliding the door shut behind him.

"Wow, looks like the great Itachi Uchiha is human after all," he teased, taking a seat at the foot of Itachi's futon. "You look downright consumptive."

Itachi shot Shisui a weak glare. He was willing to let his guard down with Shisui. He didn't feel safe enough to do so with anyone else.

"It'll go away in another day or so," Itachi said, waving his hand in dismissal. "Until then, I guess I'll just have to put up with your teasing?"

"The teasing is chronic, hate to break it to you. There's no cure."

"Only cure is to kill you, I guess," Itachi grumbled, lips curving in a playful smile.

Shisui raised an eyebrow. "You wish you could even get close. In the weak, fragile state you're in now, you wouldn't last a second." For good measure, he tousled Itachi's hair.

Itachi's hand flew up to his head, immediately moving to smooth it back down. He only allowed himself vanity with his hair and Mikoto and Shisui often joked that he woke up so early every morning so that he could spend a good half hour brushing his long, silky locks in the mirror.

"Anyway, your dad's making me come into the police station today so I've got to run." Shisui rose slowly from the foot of the futon. "I know Mikoto-oba's out tonight, so I'll drop off some soup later."

Itachi nodded in thanks and leaned back into the pillows, letting his eyes fall closed.

The flu went away in a matter of days, as Itachi had expected, though he noticed a lingering tightness in his lungs which he attributed to a particularly stubborn cough. But the flu came back the next winter, and the winter after that, and every following winter, leading Itachi to believe he just had a propensity for nasty coughs. The pattern remained the same–three days of a terrible cough once a year–until one particular mission in Kusa when the illness came on suddenly and did not dissipate.