It was dark. Unnervingly so. The chains that bound Sakura's hands together behind her back smelled so strongly of metal, she could taste the metallic rust in her clothed mouth. She felt a rag gagging her, tied too forcefully around her mouth, coming to a very tight knot at the base of her skull where it pressed into the sensitive skin, leaving a rather nasty purple bruise. Her legs were tied together and in front of her with rope so thick she could barely wrap her hand around it the first time she tried tugging it off, before they slammed her wrists to the wall, telling her to not move or else, and securely bound her hands with the thick metal rings. The rope dug tightly into her skin. She couldn't feel her legs, and she could only imagine what her feet looked like by this time. She didn't even know if she had them anymore.

And so she sat in the cell, screaming until her voice ran horse and she could no longer make a sound. She then proceeded to thrash around as much as she could until a whip came out, and she could smell the blood running down her arm before she could feel it. After a few more hits, she simply slumped on the floor and resigned herself to riding this out, waiting until she had a chance to escape from this flea-infested rat hole or someone, by some strange force of nature, came to rescue her. She was pretty sure the latter was nearly impossible, seeing as no one knew where she was, and she doubted many would come to find her if they did. The only one who might've died long ago, so she was almost certainly looking at a hopeless situation. There was no way out, and here was where she was going to die.

Until he came.

A muffled grunt in the dark and the sound of a body hitting the cold stone beside her echoed through her prison cell. A newly captured soldier no doubt. Well, at least she wasn't alone anymore.

"What do you think you're doing, you bastard?!" a male voice called out, not quite at the age of adulthood yet. He had a very pretty voice. "It's me, I just―hminuhumphargka!"

"Yeah, right," came the gruff snort of a man, who had evidently gagged her newfound roommate and, from the sound of it, thrown him against the wall. "Just keep talking and we'll see how long you live." There was a strangled cry from the younger man, and then the scuff of fading footsteps as they exited the cell. The iron door slammed shut, shaking the entire room.

She closed her blinded eyes tighter, wishing they had impaired her sense of hearing as well.

The young man sighed, and she heard him shift against the wall, trying to get comfortable. Good luck with that, she thought. Three months at this place, and I still haven't found a comfortable place inside these walls.

She heard a small sniff, then a light intake of breath. "Is anyone there?"

Do I really smell that bad? She asked herself with a sigh. Her voice cracked as she spoke for the first time in what felt like forever. The words scathed her throat as they escaped her lips, but they came out halfway intelligible. "Yeah. Who are you?"

The young man snorted. "That's for f to know. Who are you?"

"Hey, keep quiet in there!" the harsh-voiced guard outside our cell barked. A metallic clang rang through the cell, and she winced. She hated it when he beat on the bars. It made her feel like a fish in a fishbowl.

After her cellmate breathed a few choice words, his attention was directed back at her. "You sound familiar."

"I've been around," I answered him in a low, raspy voice.

She heard him shift again, breath in like he was going to answer, but then thought better of it. He exhaled a frustrated sigh, and then was silent.

***

There was a mocking chortle. "Alright, you worms. I've got some good news for you." The doors to our cell clanked open as footsteps echoed through the small room.

She recognized that voice. He was the head warden. Shoot. Whenever he came, it usually meant that someone was being sent to execution. He was just sick and twisted enough to say that was good news. Though, as she mentally brushed over herself, the thought of death didn't seem so disagreeable.

The warden's voice broke her from her contemptuous thoughts. "Or maybe it's bad news, for one of you at least. We've just gotten a new bit of information on you two. It seems you've encountered each other before." He chuckled, and she could almost see the slimy sneer spread proudly across his face. "Guard! Remove their blindfolds."

His footsteps began fading away as the guard approached us, but his pace slowed just for a moment as he muttered lowly to the other guard, "Keep them both under close watch. We're not above making a deal with them to get them out of that cell if they're willing to give out information."

A large figure hovered over her, and every innate instinct of the shinobi told her she should peel out of there before he could get any closer, but no matter how much she struggled, he still managed to grasp the cloth around her head and jerk it up, tearing at her dirty hair and causing her to hiss.

Slowly, her eyes opened. The first thing she noticed, though her vision was still slightly impaired from lack of use, was that the cell was darker than it was when she first got here a few months ago. It must be night, or maybe there was a storm.

The man, she could now see, was a large, thickly muscled brute force kind of guy. Nothing she couldn't handle on any given day. But, of course, with those stupid chakra sucking ropes, there wasn't much she could do as she watched a creepy, dirty grin stretch across his face before he turned away.

Sakura's eyes scanned around the cell briefly, a light shiver passing over her body. It wasn't night ― she could see the sun shining faintly through small cracks and the very tiniest of windows ― but a chill still crept over her body.

That's when her eyes turned to him. That blonde hair. Those blue eyes. Where had she seen them before? They seemed so familiar. Gradually, her eyes widened as recognition seeped through me.

No.

No.

It could not be him.

His not-so-subtle sneer told her the feeling was mutual. The man who held his blindfold in his hand exited the room, leaving just us. Just her, alone with him.

Deidara tried to choke out a snarl, though the sound came out as more of a desperate whimper. He struggled viciously against the metal cuffs that held his arms. No more than a few inches apart, but to no avail.

She sighed as her eyes brushed over his stressed form. It would figure that her medical instincts would be kicking in right around the time she saw an enemy, yet she couldn't muster up the strength to save Naruto.

Deidara's dark, dirty face looked up at her with fiery eyes. His uncharacteristically blonde hair had grown over an inch since his battle with Gaara, but time hadn't changed him much otherwise, except for the obvious dirt and a few new scars. He still held that superior, pompous, explosive glint in his eyes. As he finally slammed himself against the cool stone wall and came to a rest, she noticed (with quite a bit of shock, mind you) that the guards had let him pass with his scope over his eye, obscured by his bangs. Surely they should have noticed that and confiscated it!

"Witch," he breathed darkly, his sinister gaze directed pointedly at her. "You were the one who killed Master Sasori. I'll kill you!"

She resisted the temptation to laugh at his bold words. He couldn't kill her. Not with those stupid hand-mouths of his, not without any clay. And who was he to be talking?! "You killed Gaara," shffe replied simply with a foreboding undertone that she hope came through to that thick-skulled, worthless excuse for human life.

He was silent a moment before he grunted roughly, his muscles relaxing only the slightest bit. He looked down. "But he came back."

"No thanks to you!" she spat viciously, tearing at her bindings. Oh, if only she could get her hands on him! "You killed him because of some stupid chakra source you power-hungry Akatsuki members crave. You didn't even care that you were taking away a human life!"

"And what about you?" he asked in a hushed tone. Then, suddenly, his head flew up and a snarl appeared on his features. "Was it really so hard to just block Master Sasori in that cave? I was the one who ultimately brought Gaara to his demise; you should have gone after me! Master Sasori didn't do anything! You Leaf shinobi'll stand up on a soapbox and preach until you're hoarse, but you kill innocent people as much as any village. Master Sasori and I were just following orders, the same way you used to. What does it matter to a shinobi who's actually right or wrong? You live to serve your alliance, and never even think that maybe, just maybe, your village is in the wrong! That's why I joined the Akatsuki in the first place! To get away from those damned villages!"

Deidara breathed angrily and put his head down, the rant having obviously exhausted him. His shoulders slumped tiredly against the wall. What a fight he must have put up, for him to be worn out after a small speech.

Sakura bit her lip, not sure if she was angry or awed. The man before her had killed people for fun, toyed with human emotions, and generally caused havoc wherever he went. And yet, somewhere deep inside, there was an artist. A poet.

And what was a poet, anyway?

What is a poet? An unhappy person who conceals profound anguish in his heart but whose lips are so formed that as sighs and cries pass over them they sound like beautiful music.

~Soren Kierkegaard

A/N: So, this is going to be my first multi-chapter story on fanfiction. I'm not proclaiming to be any great fanfiction author (certianly not like Kaline Reine or Cynchick, both of whose writings I absolutely adore X3), but I know I don't deserve, "Your writing sucks. FAKE AND GAY!!!"

Shut up, troll. .

HOWEVER, if you happen to have any comments that would help me improve my writing (or comments that will over inflate my ego XP) feel free to share them!

Until then,

Kear Thyn lufs you. X3