Song: 'Yanzi', the Swallow Song, from the Silk Road Ensemble. It's gorgeous.

Challenge: My first fic where I tell the same story from two different perspectives.

Disclaimer: No own Naruto. No own 'Swallow Song'. Yes own an Ipod named Elmer.

'Yanzi', The Swallow Song

He would watch her, always. Ever since he first met her, he knew there was something special about this serious woman. She, too, knew the power of art; much like his clay, her paper twisted and shaped itself into the means of fighting, spying, and destroying; they were true works of art.

He had supposed, in the beginning, that the paper flower in her hair represented what she was really like; a thing of delicate loveliness and fragile splendor.

Then he had sparred with her.

Her paper weapons had not been disturbed much by his explosions; they simply joined back together, and Deidara stared as Konan peeled away, layer by layer, and was transformed into an incredibly arsenal of paper weapons.

Looking back, he thought that was when he had fallen in love.

They were never close, exactly. Whenever they saw each other, they would say a formal hello, but other than that they'd never seek the other out. It simply wasn't done.

But he couldn't stop watching.

He couldn't count the number of times he'd sent out a small clay bird to watch her, catching glimpse of the flashes of blue which traipsed the country with Pein.

Pein. He lived up to his name, in Deidara's opinion, by the amount of heartache he was causing. Not a day went by without Deidara cursing his leader. It was well known that Konan and Pein were not just Akatsuki partners, and he wondered, with increasing desperation, if it was real love or simply a matter of convenience.

He wondered more than ever that night, when both he and Konan were staying at the base.

Sasori had insisted they come back and rest so that he could repair his puppets. Barely an hour after they had come back, Pein and Konan entered.

Pein was unaffected, but Konan looked terrible; pale, and with dark circles under her eyes. Deidara, reflecting on his experiences that night, barely had a chance to wonder why Konan looked so awful before she really was there, standing in front of his bed like a lost child.

"Pein… on the mission…" she began unsteadily. "There were these girls… relatives of our target, sixteen at most, and Pein, he… he…"

And then Deidara understood, and he got out of bed, putting his arms around the frightened woman, slipping her ice-cold form under the covers, holding her tightly as he would never dare to during the days. She was crying into his front. "It's stupid, but they're my fellow women, and Pein- he said- I never thought he'd-"

She was sobbing, holding onto handfuls of his shirt and shaking with grief. He was trying, trying everything to calm her down, but his body was out of control and hers was also.

Did their cries that night, he later wondered, mimic the cries this brave, strong woman had heard, cries cause by the man she'd thought she loved?

He never asked. After, when they were worn out and exhausted in more ways than one they had both instantly fallen asleep. She had left by the time he awoke.

But on his bed was a paper feather.

She would watch him, always. From the first, she had been fascinated with the long-haired man whose art reminded her irresistibly of her own. His clay, so hard and loud and showy, perfectly off-set her own quiet, flexible, stealthy origami.

The first and only time they'd sparred, she had won- yet he hadn't been angry, hadn't acted as though she offended his male pride simply by being powerful and female.

He had said, "Your art is absolutely amazing!"

She thought, looking back, that it was that one little comment which made her fall in love with him.

She had tried to forget him, though. When she had paired up with Pein he expressed interest in starting a romantic relationship with her. Why should she refuse? Konan did not appreciate being lonely, and she was not breaking off a bond with her partner at a moment's notice, for some man she barely knew.

And for a while, she truly believed Pein cared for her. Konan was much too logical to believe that it was love, but she certainly thought there was affection.

And then their mission had taken place.

After all those nights, when he had vowed his faithfulness and voiced his appreciation, after all those kisses and all those months- he had shown his true colours.

She was still in shock when thy returned to the base, and found that Deidara and Sasori were already there.

And that night, lying in her bed, she found she couldn't bear being alone with only her horrific memories. And, stupidly, she could only think about going to one person.

And she found herself standing at the foot of Deidara's bed, trying her best to pull herself together, shivering from the iciness of the Akatsuki base, and trying to regain any form of logical thought, saying brokenly, "Pein… on the mission… there were these girls… relative of our target, sixteen at most, and Pein, he…. he…"

There was a silence as she stood, floundering for words, freezing and stricken; and then Deidara understood, and she was suddenly in his bed, and his arms were around her, and she was struck by an overwhelming sense of rightness, as if he was the only one who she could tell, the only one who would really care, and the words were rising up inside her. Deidara, she knew, could help her sort out her troubled thoughts; he wouldn't mind. She did not know how, but the pain and mental anguish had cut away the uncertainty surrounding him, and their connection. She was weeping now, she dimly realized, the first time she had cried in years, and her words were tumbling around themselves: "It's stupid, but they're my fellow women, and Pein- he said- I never thought he'd-"

And the she was lost on another wave of grief which continued, almost unbearably, until pleasure began to overcome the pain.

And she was aware that they were no longer two Akatsuki members, but man and woman; and afterwards, she slept as she hadn't in a long, long time.

And when she woke, she gazed at Deidara, memorizing his face before leaving his bed.

But she left her heart.

In the form of a paper feather.