Title: One Wrong Turn

Author: Heaven Lea

Pairings: DeiSaku

Disclaimer: I can never own Naruto, and I will never pretend I do.

Dedication: To my friend Briana, who has always believed in me. She also makes roleplaying all worth while when we get bored enough, as odd as that may sound.

A/N: I took inspiration from Aelibia's Abendrot. I swear, you must read that.

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A girl around the age of what many would guess to be eighteen cursed at the rain, wetting down her freshly combed hair and matching sweater-skirt combo. She almost growled at the feeling of being soaked to the bone, especially since she had only been out for a few seconds in the fresh spring.

Sakura, this woman, began to focus on her surroundings as she entered a black Buick, polished so well that the rain seemed to be rejected from the dark car. The inside was covered in the finest of leather, odd for such a time—the 40's. A set of green optics glanced out the window once more, noticing her parent's shop; mother probably tending to a lady who wanted her roots to be gone, and father selling a pair of shoes or some other type of merchandise.

She leaned back into the cushion, eyes slipping shut just to listen to the vibrating hum the vehicle put off. The door on the opposite side slammed shut, and she was sure it was the attorney who had been dealing with that horrid trial she had just been put through. The pinkette could hear the man mumble something about how he hated the few Jewish people in this town, and one was just so uppity to go and save one of those Nazis.

But she didn't do anything.

She stayed quiet, as if she hadn't heard a thing.

"We'll be at the reformatory in awhile. Just… try not to make too much noise," he spoke quietly, tone low and coated in disgust.

Sakura only managed to nod, keeping her mouth shut. The car droned on throughout the muddied streets, never making a notice to many—none could see inside those coloured windows, or whatever people were calling them nowadays.

Hours passed before she moved from her spot, head resting on cold glass that oddly reminded her of that in the secret hideout where she had kept that man; the man with short blonde hair and the brightest teal-tinted eyes she had ever seen in her life.

There were times like these when she wished he would be back, sitting there with her. That smart man, always speaking of how he was attending school to be a surgeon, saying he was an artist of sorts with his hands. She always fell for his words, tripping heels over head for him every step of the way. Her hands could remember the feel of his skin under her own as she wiped away his tears one late night, comforting the best she could. Whispers of, 'I'll miss you when you leave' and 'I loved you, and I wanted you to know that. You're of real worth to the man who you marry'.

But…

She wanted to marry him.

She only loved him.

He was dead now; gone.

The girl's heart clenched at the thought, hand reaching up as if to sooth the pain from mental images flashing quickly. An onslaught of tears spilled quickly, and she could just taste the bitter salt, proving how real and alive this all was; on the man's hand, it was opposite. Now she was down to the final stretch, the way she had stopped crying—right before she could choke on sobs and whisper his name, she could just feel life leave her.

A second life, with him.

A hope.

'I love you, Deidara! Be careful when you try to get home, please…'