#itashisu

Itachi slides into his desk late on a Tuesday morning, concentrating all his self-control on not bounding across the precinct and drowning himself in a pot of coffee. The precinct is alive with its usual controlled chaos, his fellow officers working at their desks or heading to their various patrol routes.

People normally crowd the waiting area near Itachi’s desk, but this morning there’s only one man. Tall and muscular, wearing a suit like he’d rather be wearing jeans, and reading an actual book instead of his mobile phone.

Itachi tries to think of the last time he saw that, but his partner Hoshigaki Kisame’s interrupts his musing.

“You look like shit,” he pronounces bluntly.

“Lack of sleep will do that,” he replies, returning his attention to where his partner leans against his desk.

Kisame’s pale eyes narrow, a gesture which unnerves most people who don’t know him; Itachi, though, detects concern behind it. The other man doesn’t remark on it, though. Itachi’s had more sleepless nights than just last night in the past six months—all for the same reason. Instead of asking him a useless question about it, however, the other man simply nods at Itachi’s hands.

“What’s with the nails?”

He blinks, gaze flitting to the glossy purple polish and back, before saying, “Solidarity.”

“What now?”

“Sarada painted Itaru’s nails this weekend,” Itachi explains, rubbing the palm of his hands against his eyes until he sees starbursts. Maybe it will wake him up. “Yesterday he came home from school upset because the other children made fun of him for it. It was important to show him it was perfectly alright for men to wear nail polish.”

Kisame appears bemused.

“You sure that’s a good idea?”

Itachi tenses.

“Izumi…” he begins, pausing for a breath against the automatic pain of saying her name. It’s a beat before he can continue, “Izumi and I have always encouraged Itaru to be himself and not fold to the pressure of others. It never did either of us any good, and if you have a problem with this—” Itachi brandishes his fingers warningly, “—you can take your opinion and—”

“Whoa, there, mother hen, calm down,” Kisame interrupts, mouth twitching in something like amusement. “I could not care less how you or your kid let your freak flags fly. You could show up here tomorrow in a skirt and heels and it wouldn’t make you any less terrifying.”

Itachi purses his lips, feeling his metaphorical hackles relax.

Ever since Izumi died, Itachi’s normally calm and unruffled manner has shifted into a kind of obsessive protectiveness. He hasn’t felt the like since Sasuke was a child. Itachi relaxed more about that as his brother grew older, and later when he met Sakura—who is a terrifying force in her own right. Itachi is confident she would kill a man for looking at her husband the wrong way.

But since losing Izumi, Itachi’s protectiveness over Itaru has become almost superfluous. More troubling is the fact that his formerly independent son has become reliant on it, almost reluctant to stray too far outside his comfort zone. Itachi wonders how much of that is a fear of losing another parent.

“I just meant, kids his age are little sociopaths,” his partner continues with a shrug. “They pounce on anything that’s different. Hell, I spent my childhood being made fun of because my skin was a different colour. Outright telling him to stand out won’t make his life very easy.”

“Life is rarely easy,” Itachi replies in a flat tone. “He already knows that.”

Kisame inclines his head at that, knowing what Itachi is referring to.

Izumi’s death is still all-too recent for both Itachi and his son. The past six months have been a dragging, empty struggle to figure out how to continue on with only each other. Izumi was so bright and lively in contrast to Itachi and Itaru’s quiet nature; she bound them together with her bright smiles and affection and warmth.

This past weekend while he babysat his niece, it was the first time he saw his son smile since Izumi’s death.

Izumi’s smile.

It must be protected at all costs.

“I don’t remember children being so mean,” Itachi murmurs, tiredly running a hand through his long hair.

“To be fair, do you even remember any other kids from school? The way your brother tells it, you were kind of off in your own little genius world. Not exactly tuned in to lesser mortals.”

“Since when do you believe anything my brother says?”

“Since what he’s saying fits with what I know of you,” Kisame retorts, and stands. “I’m going to grab some coffee. You look dead on your feet, and the Captain wants to see us a nine. Can’t have you passing out on me, making me look bad…”

“Of course not,” Itachi agrees.

He doesn’t thank Kisame or make any acknowledgement of the idea his partner worries about him. That would upset their dynamic. Instead, he settles back at his desk and taps his computer keyboard, preparing to log in.

Barely a minute later, he senses eyes on him, and pauses to look up.

The man in the waiting area is watching him, and Itachi pointedly meets his gaze. He expects the stranger to lower his eyes, embarrassed at being caught staring, but instead, the man smiles at him, crooked and warm and only somewhat apologetic.

“Sorry, I couldn’t help overhear your conversation,” he says, and Itachi detects a hint of an accent; not quite American, but close. “What you did for your kid, with the nail polish? It’s kind of awesome. I wish my father had done something like that for me. Maybe if he had, I’d still have been talking to him before he died.”

Itachi is not entirely sure how to respond to that.

He’s not used to people randomly starting a conversation with him; in fact, most people actively avoid it. Kisame says it’s because he has a ‘resting bitch face’, whatever that is. It usually discourages people from approaching him, but this stranger doesn’t seem at all perturbed.

Itachi studies him a little more.

Out of habit he looks at hands and hips first for signs of a weapon, noting calloused knuckles. This guy is someone who’s no stranger to fights, but there are no corresponding misshapen or badly healed facial bones—so someone who wins fights. The only thing that suggests a past injury is a scar just near his hairline, which causes the hair to grow out in a strand of white. The rest of his hair is thick and wavy and looks as if it resists any and all attempts to put it in place.

But the most arresting thing about him is his eyes.

They’re dark and warm, black but with flecks of brown that remind him of coal that could burst into flame at any moment. For some reason, Itachi’s cheeks warm just looking into them.

To cover his discomfort, he stands and approaches the man.

“I don’t think we’ve been introduced. I am Uchiha Itachi.”

“Golden boy of the precinct,” the man agrees with a smile. “I’ve heard of you. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Kagami Shisui.”

He holds his hand out, then suddenly looks embarrassed, and pulls back, dipping into a polite bow. Itachi echoes this and then considers him.

“Are you American, Kagami-san?”

“Call me Shisui,” he says instantly, and there’s a flash in his eyes there, like a long-buried wound. Itachi remains carefully blank-faced at the casual nature of the invitation on such a brief acquaintance. “And your guess isn’t that far off. Canadian—I’m from Vancouver, but I spent a good half of my life here visiting my grandparents.”

It also doesn’t escape Itachi’s notice the man hasn’t explained his reason for being here at the precinct.

“I see,” he says after a moment, and holds out a hand, the way non-Japanese greet one another. He’s not sure what prompts him to do it, but he switches to English. “In that case, perhaps this is the more preferable greeting.”

Shisui laughs—low and rich—and replies in the same language, “Much obliged.”

Strong fingers close around Itachi’s, and he expects a short, perfunctory handshake and for them to separate. But almost from the moment their skin touches, it’s as if a current of electricity surges through Itachi’s body. The hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention and something in his stomach lurches.

His eyes flick from Shisui’s face to their joined hands and back again, and Shisui’s eyes reflect his surprise back to him. That surprise turns into something else, something considering, which makes the man’s warm eyes almost smoulder now, and Itachi’s cheeks fill with more uncharacteristic heat.

What is going on?

“Uchiha! Kagami!”

Both men jump, releasing their hold on each other, and glance up as Uchiha Obito—Itachi’s cousin and the captain of the precinct—strides forward with Kisame in his wake.

“Good. You two have met. It saves me time.” He gestures at Shisui. “Kagami’s an agent for CSIS.

Canadian Security Intelligence Service, Itachi mentally translates and frowns at the newcomer, who looks sheepish.

“I was getting to that,” he murmurs under his breath, almost in an aside to Itachi.

“He will be working with you two on the serial kidnapping case,” Obito continues.

“You mean he’ll be sitting back while we do all the work and collect all the evidence, then close the case and take the credit himself,” Kisame points out.

Never one to beat around the bush, he’s glaring at the man with undisguised distrust.

Shisui makes a pacifying gesture.

“I’m just here to assist the investigation and share resources. It doesn’t matter who closes this case, as long as it happens.”

“Bullshit. I’ve heard of you, Kagami,” Kisame replies. Itachi tilts his head to one side, both surprised and not; his partner has been in the business longer than him. “They brought you in on the domestic terrorism case that the Anbu precinct got embroiled in five years ago. Shushin no Shisui, they call you. You show up on matters that interest you and then disappear like you were never there. Usually, leaving behind the prime suspect in an investigation dead and of no use to us.”

Something changes in Shisui’s face; his smile now is cold and dangerous.

“All the documentation related to those cases has been meticulously catalogued and shows no unnecessary force or action was taken,” he replies smoothly. “In fact, I could even make an argument that all of those instances were for people who would never have seen the inside of a courtroom. Their fates were…fortuitous even.”

A loaded silence follows that.

This man is dangerous.

Itachi isn’t known for being intimidated or feeling threatened by others, but his heartbeat suddenly picks up and he finds himself inexplicably breathless. Shisui meets his gaze, an unreadable glint in his eyes, and somehow, it feels like something between them just clicks.

Not wanting to dwell on whatever it is, though, Itachi quickly gets back on topic.

“So, your involvement in this investigation suggests our primary suspect is more than just a serial kidnapper.”

Shisui considers him for a moment, as if evaluating how honest he intends to be about his intentions regarding the investigation, and then gives a grim smile.

“Have you ever heard of Yakushi Kabuto?”

Both Kisame and Itachi tense in surprise.

“He was in the news a few years back,” Obito says. “We don’t hear much from Canada regarding violent crimes that become international sensations. I think the last big one was the Pickton case in 2002.”

“This one’s right up there,” Shisui says seriously. “Yakushi was born in Tochigi, but both parents died in an accident. He was put in the system, ended up being adopted by a Canadian couple—Shin and Nono Yakushi, and led a pretty good life in Vancouver. He was a genius, consistently amazing marks throughout his career, skipped two grades and was on track to enter medical school at sixteen.”

“Until it was discovered he had kidnapped several boys in the area and performed terrible experiments on them,” Itachi says, remembering the case. “Afterward, he dismembered their bodies and disposed of them in the sea.”

“And he gave you guys the slip before you could catch him,” Kisame adds. “You never found him again. That was over ten years ago.”

“He’s still on our Most Wanted list,” Shisui agrees. “We’re confident he spent most of that time up in the northern communities. But recent intel suggests he’s made it over here. A few of your kidnapping cases in the past year too closely resemble the MO for his previous victims.”

“You think he’s starting up again here,” Itachi realises.

“Yes. Between this precinct and two others, we suspect he’s operating around the Chiyoda area. I’ve been tasked with tracking this bastard down and stopping him.”

Itachi’s entire body has gone still at these words.

Chiyoda is where Itaru and Sarada attend school.

That irrational surge of violent protectiveness flares up once more, and he meets Shisui’s gaze.

“If this is the case, we welcome your help in locating this individual,” he says quietly, ignoring the grunt of surprise and irritation from his partner. “Such a monster needs to be taken off our streets immediately.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Obito says with a wintry smile. “I take it this little collaboration won’t be a problem then.”

Kisame forces a smile, one with too many teeth, his eyes remaining cold and suspicious on Shisui.

“Of course not.”

Obito nods.

“Then get to it. I want this solved as soon as possible. And Kisame—come back to my office. We need to have a conversation about how not to greet international guests.”

Kisame rolls his eyes behind his back but follows the captain; not before shooting Itachi a glare that promises words later about how quick he was to welcome Shisui onto their case.

The latter watches them both go and then turns back to Itachi. His amiable smile is back as he meets Itachi’s gaze.

“Looking forward to working with you, Detective.”

“Yes, me too,” Itachi replies, and unsure why his voice comes out in a lower murmur than he intended.

“Also, you look like you could use a cup of coffee. I found a shop two blocks away that serves much better than the sludge here. We could discuss the cases—catch each other up on what both our offices have been doing?”

Itachi’s having trouble catching his breath and doesn’t know why.

“That…would be a good idea,” he says cautiously.

Somehow, Shisui’s smile becomes wider in genuine delight.

“Excellent! I’ll let Captain Uchiha know I’m kidnapping you and meet you out front in five minutes.”

“Perhaps don’t use that particular phrasing, considering the nature of our investigation,” Itachi says faintly.

Shisui laughs, and Itachi shifts in confused discomfort at the warmth that suddenly spreads across his entire body.

“You may have a point there.” He turns away, and then pauses, nodding at Itachi’s hands. “By the way…purple is definitely your colour.”

This time, there’s no denying the flustered blush that overtakes Itachi’s cheeks.

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And thus...the meet-cute of our favourite Sarada uncles. 

I don’t know if I’ll continue this, simply because writing a case-fic story involves a lot of planning for things to make sense. Either way, I wrote this so it could be all open-ended on its own.

Thanks for reading!