an Itachi Uchiha x oc fic
One survived a massacre. The other committed one. They find each other in the ruins of their pasts and are drawn back into each other’s orbit, despite everything.
In a war-stricken, power-hungry world, the Chishio clan denounced the way of the shinobi villages. That did not stop them from becoming a target. Sora, the last survivor of the Chishio Massacre, is in pursuit of justice for her perished clan. On her journey, she reconnects with her former ANBU teammate, Itachi Uchiha — a man the world remembers as a criminal who slaughtered his own clan. On the surface, she should hate him. In truth, hatred is the only thing she never let herself feel.
warnings: violence · grief · emotional angst · mature themes
tags: slow burn · angst · oc x canon · friends to lovers
CHAPTER MASTERLIST | AO3 LINK
Obsidian eyes traced the lines of her face, trying to absorb any signs of emotion that the question might have triggered. Sora just stared at him blankly. Itachi gave her time. He stood in the dark with her, hand still gently wrapped around her wrist like she would disappear if he didn’t. He let his hand slide down to hold hers, his fingers passing over the raised scars of her palm, thick and ragged from years of using her own blood as a weapon.
"Sora." He said after some time, almost a whisper. "What is this all about?"
"What do you think it's about?" Her response came almost immediately, eyes snapping up to stare into his. Something dark moved behind them when she said it. The quiet fury that she had held closely for the past ten years, buried deep and spreading roots into her whole being; the hatred she had no subject for. She didn't try to hide it. She wasn't sure she could, even if she wanted to.
Itachi went very still. The realization hit him almost instantly; the look in her eyes was practically identical to the one he had seen on his own little brother after that night six years ago. He took a deep breath before he spoke again, recognizing that he had no right to lecture her about her hatred when he stood on the receiving end of someone else’s.
"Your clan," he said plainly. It was not a question, though he left the smallest space for her to correct him if he was wrong.
She nodded once, looking down at her hand that was still in his grasp, gentle and warm against her skin. His hand slipped from hers, both falling limply at their sides. Sora frowned at the loss of warmth.
"What's your end goal?" His voice pulled her out of her thoughts.
"To bring them to justice." She recited as if she had practiced this particular sentence for years — Kakashi's words, really, from that apartment ten years ago, though she doubted Itachi would ever know that. She'd made them hers a long time ago.
"And how do you plan on doing that?"
She hesitated — longer this time. The thought had consumed her for the better part of the last ten years and had become the bane of her existence in the past few months as her investigation progressed. She wasn’t sure which path she was going to take once she made it to the end. Some days she woke with the clarity of a saint, certain that the right path meant justice — letting the system work, imprisonment for the guilty, believing in the possibility of redemption. Other days a murderous rage would overcome her, and she would fantasize about how it would feel to slaughter the perpetrators in the dark of the night, the same way they had done to her family.
"I'm not sure I want to think about that part yet." Itachi locked eyes with her as she said it. He didn't push further, but she felt him absorb it anyway.
"Why are you doing this alone?" The question came almost hesitantly, ironic, coming from him.
"Who says I'm alone?" The response was meant to be flippant, but it came out more defensive than she intended.
Itachi scoffed, the question lighting something in him that he wasn’t prepared for. "Are you trying to convince me that a Chunin from Amegakure is supposed to be helping you?" He said out loud, not realizing what he was actually revealing. "I don't see him anywhere tonight."
Sora went very still. Her eyes narrowed as she traced back through their conversations to find the moment where she had mentioned or even hinted at Ryo’s existence. She came back empty-handed.
"How do you know about him?" She asked, feeling a smirk slowly spread across her face. The realization that she had never disclosed this information hit her, along with the pleasure of knowing that the composed and calculated Itachi Uchiha had just fumbled with his words.
"That’s not important." Itachi deflected immediately, holding her gaze as if he had not just exposed himself.
"It's a little important." She folded her arms, something sharpening in her expression. "I’m certain I’ve never mentioned him to you, and yet you know he exists, know enough to bring him up in a conversation that has nothing to do with him." She tilted her head, watching him not quite meet her eyes. And then, without really trying to hide the amusement in her voice, she asked: "Itachi. Are you stalking me?"
"Liar." She said, fighting a smile and losing.
"It was a coincidence," Itachi said, finally locking eyes with her. “The day you got attacked by the Sound Ninja. We happened to be in the area when you were leaving his apartment.”
“Mhm, a coincidence.” She said smugly. “We’ve been having a lot of those lately.”
Itachi shot her a glare, clearly not entertained by the teasing. Then, before she could press any further, he said: "You don't have to do this alone, Sora. I can help."
The offer caught her off guard. She turned it over, again and again, surprised by how much she wanted to say yes but uncertain if she could actually rely on him.
"I didn't know that was an option," she said finally, quieter now, some of the teasing drained out of her voice. "You disappeared off the face of the earth after that night on the roof. I thought I’d never see you again." She felt it land heavily — the statement clearly hitting pressure points she didn't know it would.
When he didn’t respond right away, she allowed her mind to wander. The late hour of the night finally caught up to her as a wave of lethargy overwhelmed her body. She was staring off into the distance, looking at something and nothing at the same time, when she heard it. The sound snapped her to reality with the speed of lightning, and she involuntarily moved her eyes to the source of the sound — his chest.
"Itachi." She whispered his name and raised her hand slowly, already reaching for his chest the way she'd reached for dozens of her patients in the past. She had spent enough nights listening to the small, involuntary signs of a person's body when it was under stress. His heartbeat — too fast for how still he was standing and uneven in a way that had nothing to do with the cold or the adrenaline of the night.
His hand closed around her wrist before she made contact.
"Stop." His command was quiet, yet stern. Sora observed his features as confusion took over hers. Itachi evaded her gaze again, differently this time, like he was evading the very thing that was happening inside his body.
“You know.” Her voice was low and drenched in disbelief as she realized what was happening. Itachi didn’t deny it; instead, he let the silence answer for him.
"It'll get worse if not treated." She said with a tone she rarely used unless she was trying to make her point land. When she saw his expression didn’t change, she added: “But you already knew that too…”
Itachi's mouth opened for the first time since he told her to stop, but instead of his voice, Kisame’s filled the silence as he returned from his patrol.
"Well," he said, glancing between the two of them, "you're both still here. I'll take that as a good sign."
Itachi ignored the comment entirely. "Is the coast clear?" He said, turning to his partner and releasing his grip from Sora’s wrist.
"Clear enough. Oyu's men gave up about ten minutes ago." Kisame stretched, rolling the shoulder on which Samehada lay, clearly stiff from the weight of carrying it for an extended time. "I think we’re safe to walk the rest of the way."
Itachi nodded once, then reached up and unclasped the collar of his cloak, sliding it off his shoulders in a single, smooth motion. Before Sora could ask what he was doing, he draped it over her, settling it around her shoulders with the same gentleness he did most things that involved her.
"Cover the yukata," he explained before she could ask. "Until we're out of town. In case anyone recognizes the fabric."
Sora thought of arguing against taking it, that she could manage her own disguise, but once the warmth of the cloak settled in, she hushed the protests. The cloak was heavier than she expected, and it smelled faintly of rain, warm musk, and something specifically Itachi that she could not quite describe using words. She pulled it a little tighter around herself instead.
They walked out from under the stairwell and made their way out through the narrow alley and onto the main road, where the town had settled back into its ordinary late-night rhythm. Sora walked between them in silence, the weight of the night feeling heavier now that the adrenaline had worn off. She couldn’t stop thinking about that heartbeat. The unevenness of it. The way he'd said stop, as if something would shatter if she made contact with his chest. As if something important depended on her not fixing him.
“You're somewhere else," Kisame nudged her, glancing over at her profile with open curiosity. "That's new. You’re usually observant, even when quiet."
Sora blinked, her consciousness being pulled back to reality, and she looked over at Kisame, who had now turned his head to look ahead but kept his ears perked, keen to hear what was on her mind.
"It's nothing." She said plainly, not knowing the extent of information Kisame had on Itachi’s health, and not feeling up to finding out tonight. “Thinking about what that bookkeeper said is all.”
"Mm, his intel was vague. I bet you’re more confused now than before you got into this whole mess.” Kisame responded with an understanding nod.
“That’s one way to put it.”
They reached the edge of the town within thirty minutes. The road narrowed into a forest path, and it didn’t take long before Kisame stopped beneath a wide, gnarled tree whose roots had pushed up through the earth in thick, twisting ridges.
"Here's as good as it’ll get," he said, already dropping his sword and leaning it against the tree trunk. "We'll shelter for the night, and resume our journey at dawn."
Sora inspected the area with careful attention. She felt the soil beneath her feet through her damp socks. The leaves of the trees above them still dripped with the residue of rainfall, and the humidity coated her lungs as she breathed in the moist air. She hesitated for a moment, glancing between the two men who were already beginning to gather wood, which Sora knew would be too damp to light into a fire.
"My clan's compound isn't far from here," she finally said, deciding this was no place for shelter. "Maybe an hour's walk east. We could head there if you'd rather not sleep in the forest."
The two men turned to look at her, not sure what to make of her offer. It wasn’t purely generosity, and she didn’t necessarily try to make it sound like it was either. If she was honest with herself, she wasn’t too keen on being exposed to the cold when her home was only a short distance away. Not to mention, the newfound knowledge of Itachi’s illness that loomed over her like a persistent, relentless shadow. Part of her didn’t want him to be cold either.
Kisame raised an eyebrow, clearly delighted by the offer. "An hour's walk to a warm bed instead of wet soil? I like the sound of that. Guess I really am special." He glanced at his partner with a wolfish grin. Itachi pondered the offer for a bit, until he ultimately gave a small nod of agreement.
“Very well then,” Sora said and then slid the large cloak off her shoulders and handed it back to Itachi. “We’re outside the town limits. You can have this back.” She said before turning east to lead the way.
The Chishio grounds greeted them with the ghostly quiet that had become its defining characteristic. The smell of old wood engulfed their noses as they walked through the narrow paths and overgrown gardens, until they reached the small traditional-style house that belonged to Sora’s family. The compound’s size contrasted with the lack of people who lived in it, and its condition was a tell-tale sign of neglect.
Sora led them through the house’s small side gate and onto the outdoor wooden corridors that connected the rooms to the personal garden. This garden, unlike the others which they had walked through, was kept and blooming. The colorful azalea blossoms framed the porch and path into the garden, which led to a tall Yuzu tree right next to a round Koi pond. The moonlight illuminated the large fish as they lazily swam through the pond, their vibrant colors mesmerizing in the twinkling starlights.
Sora entered one of the rooms, leaving Itachi and Kisame on the porch admiring the spring bloom of her garden. She returned a few moments later, holding two sets of folded clothing she pulled from a storage chest that had sat mostly untouched for years. She cleared her throat, grabbing their attention, and held out the fresh clothes.
"Hot springs are through the east corridor, past the garden," she said. "Make yourselves at home. I'll show you to your rooms once you're settled."
Kisame turned the folded clothing over in his hands, looking between the fabric and Sora with a bewildered expression. "If you’re trying to kill us, I would invite you to be direct about it," Kisame said with a distrustful tone. Sora chuckled under her breath.
“If that were my goal, you would be dead already.” Her smile was deceptively pleasant. "Calm down, Kisame. I’m simply showing my gratitude. You've come to my aid twice now," Sora added, already turning to lead them down the corridor. "This is the least I can do."
"Careful," Kisame said, trailing after her. "Keep being this hospitable, and I might start showing up uninvited."
Kisame’s laugh, loud and delighted, echoed through the garden as they made their way to the hot springs, the sound contagious enough to make Itachi crack a smile in the darkness.
Sora made herself comfortable on the wooden porch next to the low side table where she spent most of her mornings and evenings. She folded the fabric of her robe tighter to her body when she felt a cool breeze rustle through the air, sending a small shiver down her spine. She reached for her cup and took a sip of the steaming herbal liquid while she leaned over the table flipping through the pages of the old medical textbook she had found in her clan’s archives.
She was a few pages into her read when she heard the hushed chatter of Kisame’s voice as he mumbled something to Itachi across the corridor. She looked up to find them dressed in her father’s old yukatas, the tension from the night stripped off of them and replaced with a certain relaxing peace that only a long soak in the onsen could accomplish.
She held back a snicker at the sight of Kisame’s yukata stretched comically short, exposing his wrists and ankles. Sora’s amusement faded as her eyes drifted to Itachi, whose own yukata looked as though it had been tailored for him. The dark navy fabric draped perfectly over his frame, the obi cinched neatly at his waist and his hair, still damp from the bath, was left loose for once, silky strands trailing over his shoulders and collarbones.
Sora caught herself lingering on him longer than she should have, awareness prickling at how easily her eyes kept drifting back to him every time she tried to look away. Heat crept to her cheeks before she forced herself to focus on the teapot beside her. "There's tea, if either of you would like some," she said, keeping her gaze on the cup as she poured. "Or the room's yours, if you'd rather sleep. It’s the one directly to your left; I already laid out two fresh futons for you."
Kisame stretched with an exaggerated groan. "Tempting, but I'm beat. I think I will call it a night.” He placed his hands on his hips and smiled at Sora, which she, for once, labeled as genuine. "Thank you for the bath, Sora-chan. You are very kind.” He said, then turned to the left before disappearing through the shoji into the bedroom.
Itachi lingered a moment longer, and then, without a word, settled on the porch next to the low table across from her, his back pressed against the wall. There was something unbearably familiar about it, sitting there with him in the dark, the tea steam curling up into the cold night air.
Sora watched the moonlight trace the sharp line of his jaw, the loose strands of his hair falling against his cheek, the dark, unreadable depth of his eyes. She let herself follow the curl of his fingers around the cup, the brief press of his mouth to its rim, and felt something low and familiar tighten in her chest — the ache of wanting something she'd already decided she couldn't have.
"I've known for some time," Itachi’s voice interrupted her thoughts. "About my illness. It isn't new."
Sora subconsciously straightened at the mention of the subject.
"I'm managing it," he continued before she could speak. "There are treatments. Medication, when I need it." He turned his head to look at her and held her gaze. "I don't need you to worry about it."
"That's not really something you get to decide for me." She hated the way she sounded when she said it — the protest coming across defensive rather than assertive. "Why didn't you come to me?" she then asked, stripped of all the guards she had carefully implanted in her demeanor now that the hurt had settled in. "I could do more for you than whatever medication you're managing this with."
He didn't answer right away, and for a moment she thought he wasn't going to answer at all, until finally, he took a deep breath and quietly said, "I didn’t know it was an option."
“You’re so full of shit.” Sora scoffed, hurt curdling fast into anger as she heard her own words repeated back to her. “Which part of us reconnecting on this roof made you think you’d made an enemy out of me? That I wouldn’t help you if you came to me?”
“You didn't necessarily seek me out either, Sora." Itachi's voice stayed even, unbothered by the edge in hers. "It's true I didn't come back after that night. But you didn't try to find me either." A pause. "I know exactly who I am, and what I've done. Even if you understand it, even if you'd forgive it — that's not something I ever expected of you. To abandon your own values to make room for a criminal.”
Sora felt her throat tighten. “Is that all you are? A criminal?” She managed to choke out.
“To most, yes,” Itachi responded plainly, and the cadence with which he said it prickled her chest more than she cared to admit.
"No," Itachi said, a soft chuckle escaping his lips, "you're not."
The words sat between them for a moment, neither of them quite reaching to fill the silence that followed.
"Will you at least let me examine you?" Sora asked, finally breaking the silence. "I could pinpoint what the issue actually is and give you better direction on how to treat it."
Itachi locked eyes with her, and Sora couldn’t help but notice how tired he looked. He smiled lazily before he said, "Alright," clearly too drained to argue with her after she had proved to be so persistent.
Sora rose to her feet and quietly walked around the table that separated them. She lowered to her knees beside him, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating off of him. He watched her with unwavering attention, a certain curiosity overcoming him, waiting to see what she would do with the permission he had just granted her. She pressed her palm flat against his chest, right over his sternum, and let her chakra follow the warmth of his body.
Itachi watched as the indigo veins blossomed from her hand, her presence intertwining with his very being in a complex sensation that caused goosebumps to erupt all over his body. He inhaled sharply, his eyes not leaving hers as she seized control of his body and his hand rose to lay on top of hers — not for any particular reason other than to anchor himself as her chakra traveled through his veins.
Sora’s breath hitched when she felt his hand on hers. She was painfully aware of the short distance between them, which was now irrelevant that she had entered his bloodstream. It shouldn’t have had an impact; this was no different from any other examination she had ever done. She made herself focus, closed her eyes, and rerouted her attention to what actually mattered.
After some time, she withdrew her chakra, though her hand remained, wedged between Itachi’s chest and warm hand.
"It's your lungs," she said, eyes locked on their interlaced hands. "The damaged tissue isn't regenerating the way it should." She looked up and held his gaze. "I can treat it. But it won't be one session. It'll take time and persistence." She paused, and let herself show him exactly how much this mattered to her — not because she couldn't help it, but because she'd run out of better arguments, and some part of her suspected this one might actually work. "Please. Promise me you'll think about it."
Something unreadable passed behind his eyes — the shock of the unexpected rawness of her face, which he had never seen before. He hesitated longer than she preferred.
"Itachi." The plea was small and quiet, yet she held his gaze without blinking, without giving him anywhere else to look.
"I promise," he said, finally, though it clearly cost him something to say it. “Only if you accept my help in return. With your investigation.”
A small, wry smile crept up her lips. He returned it with a gentle squeeze of her hand that still lay flat against his chest, his heartbeat pulsating underneath her fingertips in a calming rhythm. “Well played,” she said. “We have a deal.”
