Divided Loyalty

A/N: Hi, everyone! I am sorry for the long delay in update. It was a very stressful week for me - it was the three year anniversary from my father's passing, so you understand, I hope, that I was both very busy and too upset to write anything.



Anyway, here's the new chapter!





CHAPTER 4



A week after their ship departed, it arrived on a small island, part of a large archipelago situated west of Water Country. The people there, the captain had told Nagato, were mainly fishermen and craftsmen, selling whatever they caught and produced to the trade ships that visited them occasionally. It was a small, tight-knit community – several large villages occupied the coastal areas of the otherwise forest-covered island.



The journey hadn’t been easy for either of them. Kakashi had been couped up in the cabin during the entire trip, the constant swaying of the ship under his feet making it dangerous for him to try and walk around, let alone go out to the deck, and their living space was far too small for any decent exercise. He grew tense and restless, and the fact that Nagato spent most of the nights in the captain’s cabin didn’t make things any easier. When he returned in the mornings Kakashi looked sad, his single uncovered eye dull and hooded. Oh, he tried to hide it, but Nagato had learned to notice even the smallest changes in his mood.



The first time Kakashi asked to wash him he had almost refused, too ashamed to undress before him and let him view just how far he had fallen, to let his lover wash away with a wet cloth another man’s touch and bodily fluids from him. He had wanted for Kakashi to become angry, jealous, to rage at him, hit him, insult him, call him a whore, but the younger man did none of those things. He just made him lay on the bed, helped him undress and cleaned him gently, whispering sweet things to him when he winced at sore spots being touched.



“I need you to be angry at me” Nagato admitted on their forth morning on the ship. It had taken a lot of courage to say that, but he felt relieved when he finally did.



“You were never angry at me.” Kakashi answered simply as he gently ran the cloth on Nagato’s inner thighs.



“…About what?”



The cloth stilled.



“About failing you. About… those men…” he trailed off in a small voice. “They took me so many times, and you weren’t angry at me.”



Nagato turned to look at him with an incredulous expression on his face.



“That was different!”



Kakashi cocked his head to one side:



“How was it different?”



“They forced you!”



Kakashi shrugged.



“Being held down by manacles is no different than being threatened with arrest and execution if you don’t cooperate. I know you would never do this if you thought you had another choice. And if you have no choice…”



Nagato closed his eyes and turned away. Kakashi was right. When he had no choice, the consent he supposedly gave his clients wasn’t real. They didn’t care, of course. Why should they? It didn’t make him feel any better about himself though. Not at all.



“Thank you.” He said in the end.



When they arrived on the island and got off the ship, Nagato stood there, on the pier, Kakashi next to him, and they both stared at the beauty of the small village that sprawled on the hills above the port – all the houses were painted an immaculate white colour, their roofs and windowsills as blue as a cornflower, narrow cobbled streets meandering around small but well-kept gardens filled with brightly coloured flowers.



“It’s beautiful.” Kakashi said softly and Nagato mutely nodded.



“Let’s find a place to stay.” He grabbed their small backpack and started down the street that led away from the port, Kakashi limping slowly next to him, his cane clicking on the pavement.



It didn’t take them too long to find an inn to take them in – a small but cosy establishment that had a restaurant on the first floor and rooms for guests on the second floor. The innkeeper, an elderly plump guy with a sparse graying goatee greeted them warmly.



“How can I help you, boys?” he threw a look at Kakashi, taking in his hunched pose and the cane in his hands.



“We’re looking for a room, sir.” Nagato answered. “Only for a few days. We’ll be going to another island as soon as we catch the next passing ship.” He was aiming for Mifune, the largest island in the archipelago, with several large cities where they could disappear in.



“Sorry to disappoint you, boys, but there aren’t going to be any ships sailing further into the sea any time soon. The rainy season starts soon, and in that weather no one wants to sail among the reefs here in the archipelago. I’m afraid that if you don’t return to the mainland, you’ll be staying here for the next four months.”



Colour drained from Nagato’s face when he heard that. There was no way to go back to the mainland now, all the closest harbour cities would be watched, if they set foot there, they’d be apprehended immediately. But who could guarantee him that until the ships stopped coming and going completely, none of their pursuers would come to this island? What was he to do? And how was he going to support them, if they stayed here for four months? How was he going to pay the rent? This was a small community, and while he was quite sure that there were plenty of prostitutes here, he doubted that there’d be enough space for another one, especially a complete stranger.



The innkeeper kept looking at Kakashi.



“He can’t travel soon again, anyway. I can tell.” He pointed out. “Do you want a room?”



“I can’t pay you for four months.” Nagato answered honestly.



“And you can’t go back to the mainland, can you, boys?” the man asked. Nagato shook his head.



“You need a job?”



Kakashi and Nagato looked at each other.



“Why would you offer him a job?” Kakashi asked. The innkeeper shrugged:



“I saw your knuckles, boy. And your fingers.” He pointed his callused hands, still awkwardly clutching the cane. “I were a fighter. Perhaps a ninja, even. And so was he. I can tell by the way he walks, the way he moves. And he” he pointed to Nagato “Has dyed his hair. Your roots are showing, boy. You’re running from something, aren’t you? Perhaps, from whoever did this to you?” he pointed to Kakashi.



“You’re an observant old man.” Said Nagato tensely.



“I have been through a lot.” The man said with exaggerated self-importance. “I had a son, once. He would’ve been a little older than you, had he survived long enough. Went to the mainland, wanted to become a Ninja, he said. He never came back.” He finished solemnly. “I wish that someone offered him a shelter, when he needed it. If or when he had to run from something.”



“What’s the job?” Nagato answered after a short hesitation.



“I need someone to help in the kitchen. Wash the dishes, clean the floors, that sort of thing.”



“You need a scullery maid.” Nagato muttered.



“That’ll actually make you a scullion, unless I am completely mistaken about your gender.” The innkeeper answered without missing a beat, his lips twitching in a smile.



Nagato thought about it for a few moments – working in the kitchens meant that he’d have no contact with outside people, safely hidden away from prying eyes. Both of them would have roof over their heads and would be fed, hopefully. And it meant that for the next four months, he could avoid selling his body, other than the nights when he needed… another type of sustenance.



“Yes, I’ll take the job.”



“Good, good. My name’s Masayoshi, by the way.” The innkeeper said. “Come boys, I’ll show you your room.”



‘Flourishing goodness.’ Nagato translated mentally. ‘Fitting.’ This was the first time, ever since he met Jiraiya, so many years ago, when someone decided to help him in a desperate situation out of the goodness of his heart, or at least he hoped that was the reason why this man helped them. He felt… confused, most of all. Nagato had long given up on believing in humans and Naruto’s mercy and the innkeeper’s kindness seemed like the exception that confirmed the rule, especially compared with all the foul, vile, evil people who exploited him and used him, both during his childhood and during the past months. He couldn’t help but feel grateful to Masayoshi-san though, almost as much as he had felt to Jiraiya.



The room their host showed them was small, but it had its own tiny bathroom and toilet, and it was clean. The bed was single and quite narrow, and Nagato thought that they’d either have to share it, if they managed to fit, or he’d sleep on the floor to be sure that Kakashi was comfortable enough.



Kakashi walked in, sitting heavily on the bed and stretching his legs with relief. Masayoshi looked at him, then at Nagato:



“Dinner is at 6 in the kitchen. I will withhold the money for the food for your friend from your pay. And the money for the room, of course.” He paused. “I’m afraid that there isn’t going to be much left, after that.”



Nagato nodded.



“I understand. It doesn’t matter. We’re both very grateful to you.”



Masayoshi gave them a warm smile and turned to leave.



“You’re welcome.”



Nagato closed the door and turned to look at Kakashi, a smile creeping on his face.



“Sometimes, even we get lucky.” He remarked. Kakashi though, wasn’t smiling. In fact, a frown had appeared on his face, a frown that was deepening.



“I don’t trust him. He’s too good to be true.”



Nagato walked up to him and sat down next to him, taking his hand in his own.



“Maybe. But… there still are good people out there, Kakashi. Maybe this guy’s one of them. Maybe for once, we can get a few months of peace, not having to run, or hide, or constantly look over our shoulders. In a few days, no one would come and go from this island. We’ll be safe, at least for a little while.”





Three days later, Minato walked down the ramp of the fishing boat that had brought him here. He had paid them a handsome sum to convince them to navigate at the beginning of the storm season through the traitorous reefs and underwater rocks that surrounded the archipelago. Still, there was no way that he would wait for four months in order to get here. The note from his old associate, delivered by a summoned albatross, was quite clear – a pair that closely resembled his fugitives was on the island. The ship he arrived on was the last for the season, which meant that he had finally caught up to Kakashi and his lover. They no longer had anywhere else to run.







When the screams woke Kisame up, his first reaction was to sigh with resignation. It seemed to be his fate to comfort nightmare-plagued Uchihas. With another sigh he turned and put his feet on the cool wood-covered floor, throwing off the sheet, and then got up.



Still dressed in his boxer-shorts, he made his way to Sasuke’s bedroom and paused before the door, listening to the boy cry out. Years ago, before he met Itachi, he would’ve called it pathetic for a grown person to call out to his parents in his sleep, especially if that person was a Ninja – after all, such things were viewed as great weakness in Kirigakure, and weakness was not tolerated there. Funny how time and falling in love with one broken Uchiha mellowed him so much.



He opened the door and silently walked in, watching as the young man writhed on the bed, the sheet twisted around his ankles, his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat and cheeks wet with tears.



“Mommy… mommy, noo!” he called out “Brother! Stop… stop…!”



Kisame had heard enough.



He sat down and carefully reached to push the sweaty bangs away from the pretty face, as doll-like as Itachi’s had been. The boy reacted immediately, quieting down somewhat and leaning into the gentle caress.



“Brother…” he whimpered again. “Please don’t go.”



How many times had he done this for Itachi? He had long lost count.



“Shhh.” He whispered and slowly leaned to scoot next to the young man, pulling him in his arms, ignoring both their semi-nakedness, ignoring the fact that the pale skin had the same lily-white softness as Itachi’s. This wasn’t Itachi, he knew that, and yet he felt so similar in his arms, reacted so similarly to Itachi – leaning in his embrace and curling up, his trembling slowly subsiding.



“Brother…” he whispered again.



“You’re both safe now.” Kisame said softly. “Neither of you will be hurt again.” He assured him and finally Sasuke settled, relaxing his sweaty cheek on Kisame’s broad chest.



After a little while, his breathing evened out, but it also increased in rate – he had awakened.



“You have done this before.” He said quietly.



“Yes. For your brother.” Kisame admitted quietly in the darkness of the room.



“When I was little, I had a lot of nightmares. I was afraid of a lot of things.” Sasuke whispered. “And it was my brother who came to me to soothe them, not my father, or my mother. He took care of me when no one else seemed to notice that I even existed.”



“You were the most important thing in his life.” Kisame said.



“I am not a child anymore.”



“No. Still, I am glad that you didn’t try to bash my face in when you woke up.” Kisame chuckled. “Not that you would’ve succeeded, but still, it’s the thought that counts.”



“I am also not ungrateful.” Sasuke pointed out. “My brother… when you first did this for him, did he try to hit you?”



“Not on purpose, no. He flailed a lot, the first few times, and broke my nose once. He apologized afterwards.”



Sasuke was quiet for a while and Kisame wondered if he was falling asleep again when he spoke:



“I know so little about him. The real him. I feel like I didn’t know the person he was at all.” He murmured softly. Such openness was something entirely new for Kisame, but he took it in a stride like he often did with everything else.



“Do you want me to tell you about him?” he asked.



“Do you want to tell me?” Sasuke answered with a question.



“I don’t know.” The Mist nin answered honestly.



“You two… you were close?”



Soft, fragrant skin under his lips, so smooth and silken, long sable hair tangled in his fingers, dark, trusting eyes, a soft, timid smile, velvet heat around his sex as he took him, sweet moans in his ear… small, broken and bloody body in his arms, the dark eyes blinded and empty of life, fire, bright and hot, consuming the husk of what had once been his lover… Memories assaulted him unbidden at that question and even he, who had long forgotten what tears were, had to close his eyes and chase away the grief that threatened to overwhelm him.



“Yes.” He answered softly. “We were close.”



“You were close enough that he trusted you to guard the entrance of the temple where we last met.” It sounded almost like an accusation.



“You could say that after you, I was the one closest to him.” Kisame was forced to admit, and it left a bitter taste in his mouth.



“Why after me? You were the one who knew him better than anyone else, it seems.” Sasuke sounded petulant.



“And yet he chose to die there, rather than flee and live.”



“He was sick. He would’ve died anyway!”



“Perhaps. And perhaps he’d have lived if he had stopped using the Mangekyou years ago, before it slowly ate his body from the inside out. He constantly pushed himself, and it was all for you!” he could help but raise his voice. Sasuke stiffened in his arms and pulled away, sitting up on the bed.



“I never wanted any of it! I didn’t want this sacrifice!”



“Yes, well, but he made it! It was his gift for you, and as gifts go, you don’t get to choose what’s in the package before you receive it, Sasuke!” he was losing his calm and it annoyed him, that this boy, barely eighteen years old, was capable of making him do this. Indeed, him and his brother were like two peas in a pod, far too similar for his own good.



“Leave now, please.” Sasuke said coldly.



“Sasuke…”



“Leave! Leave me!” he yelled and got up from the bed, turning around to look at him. He had begun to tremble again. Kisame slowly got up from the bed again and approached him.



“Sasuke, calm down.” He tried. The boy threw a punch then, so fast and powerful that had Kisame been a lesser Nin, he wouldn’t have been fast enough to grab it and pull Sasuke in his embrace, restraining him with ease when the younger man began to struggle furiously against his grip. He was excellently trained, but this was a matter of sheer physical force, and Kisame’s simply was far superior to the much smaller Uchiha’s. That too, he had done with Itachi, a few times at that, when the madness behind Itachi’s placid eyes reared its ugly head in the open.



“Sasuke, stop it!” he demanded and tightened his arms around him. “Stop.” He finished gently. Finally, the struggling subsided.



“Why do I feel as cheated by him as you look?” he finally asked.



The sable hair tickled Kisame’s cheek, stiffer than Itachi’s and smelling of ozone and salt, rather than the blood and ashes of the older Uchiha’s.



“Because, in the end, we both lost him.” Kisame answered.