Obviously, this is before Sasori makes a puppet out of himself.
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.
An aurora borealis had been playing over the night sky for nearly a week now, sending fiery ribbons of violent green, blue and gold pealing down the desert horizon; it was unusual for one to be seen so far south. There was no wind that night, an eminently unusual occurrence; the Land of Wind usually lived up to its name.
The woman had been back again; Sasori had seen her while on the edge of sleep, between consciousness and the deep, too drowsy to react. She always huddled close to the fire, away from him, shivering almost convulsively and holding out small elegant hands to be warmed by the flames. She wore a ring, with the kanji for "white" inscribed upon it.
Sasori didn't know who she was, why she came, what she was doing, or, if she knew who he was, why she had not reported his presence to the Sunagakure hunter nin division.
His eyes grew heavier again, and once more sleep like a living death overtook him.
.x.X.x.
"Be careful, Sasori. You're so impatient…"
The fire popped; Sasori woke up abruptly. His back was stiff; he felt, as always, as though there was something very hard beneath his blanket where the small of his back would lie.
And he was not alone.
"You're back again." After shaking his tunic out thoroughly, Sasori clambered into the dark blue garment almost lazily, and raised his eyes to her. "So you finally decided to wait for me to wake up?"
The woman was in fact a teenager like him; she was probably no more than three to five years older than Sasori himself. She had extremely fair skin (obviously not a desert dweller; extreme exposure to the sun had opened up a small expanse of freckles across the bridge of Sasori's nose and cheeks), and pale sapphire blue eyes, almond-shaped and slightly narrow, almost exotic in their shape, to match her slightly darker hair, like fine blue spider silk. She was garbed in a fully-enveloping black cloak, embellished with red clouds. She had an almost ethereal appearance, and sat in front of the glowing sickle moon.
The woman spread her small hands, fingernails lacquered with orange polish across her lap. She had the quiet, dignified bearing of one of the nobility, but Sasori could see an underlying tension in her frame, in the stiffness of her spine and the rigidity of her tiny, bird-like wrists and the forced stoicism of her face. Despite her claims to the contrary, there was turmoil in her life.
"Akasuna no Sasori, I have been asked by an associate to contact you," she began in a quiet, calm voice, almost lifeless for its toneless lack of emotion. Someone's worked away at her, tearing down every last wall with precision and brutality, "and request that you consider joining our organization."
"A mercenary group?" Sasori could barely keep the venomous contempt out of his voice.
She shook her head, disrupting the large, white, rose-like flower tucked behind her right temple. "No. Our agenda is our own." Her eyes reflected the light of the fire, flickering disturbingly; shadows played a wicked dance across her face.
"And what is this agenda?"
Her face never changed, not even slightly. "Only members can be privy to that information."
Sasori snorted and rolled back over on his blanket, pointedly ignoring her.
There was a soft, windy rustle of coarse black linen. "I will return, if you are to change your mind."
When Sasori looked up to retort, there was no one there, no footprints in the sand. Just a shallow depression in the sand where she had knelt.
.x.X.x.
Her wide, glossy eyes flashed with amusement. "And what do you regret?"
The waxing moon hovered above his eyes when he awoke. Stars wavered all around it, and the wind had returned in a soft whisper, lifting swirling white grains of sand.
Sasori's skin felt cold and clammy; he shivered. Instead of reaching for his tunic, he instead donned his black cloak, buttoning it quickly. The fine wool warmed his flesh almost immediately, though his heart still pounded as if some cold hand had reached into him and taken hold of it.
While he was in the process of buttoning his cloak, he said, "You weren't joking when you said you'd be back, eh, Haku-san?"
She was indeed back, flower, ring and all. Shadows fell over her face continually. She sat exactly where she had two nights before, her legs folded primly beside her (It was difficult to tell beneath her billowing cloak). She had come silently in the night, like a ghost on a warm draft of air.
She frowned slightly, her flawless brow furrowing. The flower quivered. "Why do you call me that?"
Sasori smirked. "You never gave me a name; your ring says White." A jackal howled in the distance; an owl shrieked, and somewhere, some small, unfortunate animal screamed its dying breath as its life was snuffed out like a flickering candle.
She closed her eyes, revealing pale eye shadow that had begun to clump during the heat of the day; she must have been from a country further north, for the cosmetics women wore there weren't meant to withstand the extremes of temperature experienced in the desert. It had to be uncomfortable. "Please do not address me by that name."
"And how should I address you?" Sasori challenged.
She did not answer. Her silence was unnerving, like some pale, giant bird before it swooped down to slay sundry vermin. Sasori continued on for a few moments as though she was not there, desperately trying not to acknowledge her presence, but finally the feeling of two eyes boring into his back drove him to speak.
"Please," the young puppeteer sighed wearily, "if you're not going to tell me your name, then either say something or go. I have enough trouble without an almost entirely silent woman staring at my back," Sasori added in an undertone, hoping she would take the hint.
She didn't.
"You left your village," she said softly.
Sasori's jaw clenched.
"Why?"
He didn't answer, and she gently pressed further. "Do you regret it?"
Sasori whirled around. "My reasons are my own!" he snapped. He took a deep breath. "And I regret nothing. Nothing," he lied.
.x.X.x.
She smiled. "One last mission, before the fall."
Sasori felt his body ache. She was leaving again. He couldn't let that happen, not again. "Wait!" he cried. "Wait!"
Wait…
Wait…
Just wait…
Sasori woke up gasping raggedly, surprised and yet relieved to find his face dry. His hair stank of sweat and stuck out in all directions, but he didn't care. The wind was stronger now.
"Is she what you regret?" Sasori nearly had a heart attack when that all-too-familiar voice floated over to him.
"You again?!" The blue-haired woman sat in her usual spot, her pale, glassy eyes (eyes like one of Sasori's puppets; bright, shining and utterly lifeless—a paradox of sorts) roused from their slight apathy to the barest modicum of inquisitiveness. "And what do you mean by that?" Sasori snarled, eyes flashing dangerously.
She was distinctly unintimidated. "Her name," she murmured, her tone never breaking from even monotony. "You spoke it in your sleep."
Sasori snapped. "Go to hell!" He shouted at the woman, tension from months of hiding, rejection and suspicion spilling over. In that moment, he had never hated anyone—not even Hatake Sakumo—as much as he hated her. "I don't care where you go, just go away!"
She stood to leave. Sasori slid to his knees, hiding his face in his hand.
Before she left, the black-clad woman left some parting words, her eyes softening in sadness. "We can not undo what we have done wrong. And what was lost, we can never regain."
If Sasori had been listening, he would have heard the inflection in her voice, the barest hint—
—Of regret.
.x.X.x.
The wind hitting Konan's face was harsh and unpleasant, hot and full of grit. She flinched away from it, pulling her conical woven hat down over her head in a way that wouldn't crush her sweet-smelling flower, hearing the bells on the tassels of her hat jingle weakly. But it was a strange, muffled sort of sound. They were filled with sand.
She sighed. Nagato's infant organization needed more members, and after hearing of his defection, the talented young puppet master Akasuna no Sasori had been at the top of his list.
Konan was told to retrieve him, by any means necessary, by force if required. Konan would prefer not to use force.
Standing atop the mesa, staring down at the little campsite several hundred yards below where the lone camper dwelled restlessly, his inner turmoil now plain for all too see.
The younger boy sparked confusion in Konan when she thought of him. He was cold and, at least by reputation, cunning and calculating. But if last night was any indication, he was also intensely emotional.
Just like…Nagato.
She licked her lips pensively. The similarities were remarkable when the outer layers were pulled back like sheets off of a bed.
Judging by last night, Sasori wouldn't welcome any late-night visitors for a while. Konan rubbed her temples, wincing. There was a large town a few miles east; she needed to go to a place where the wind wouldn't grind away at her delicate skin.
.x.X.x.
The wind was indeed gentler in the town, though it still blustered through alleyways and high streets. The hot, bright sun beat down on the occupants, but they came out unbowed, their heads held high.
Konan leaned against a stone wall, standing at the top of a small staircase that wrapped around in landings around a building, leading to different shops on each level. The iron railing felt as hot as molten metal.
She sipped out of a cup of what she was told was goat's milk; it bore the slightly milder taste of it, and Konan didn't detect any poisons in or around the cup, so she drank without hesitation.
Konan, for all her seriousness and subdued nature, was still a teenager with a slightly morbid sense of humor. She had felt a modicum of amusement upon looking up and seeing four dozen evil eyes staring back at her, and bought a small pendant; it hung from her belt.
"Excuse me, I'm looking for someone. He has red hair, brown eyes, and he's rather short. Have you seen him?"
Konan frowned. She had been hearing that out of the corner of her ear ever since she entered the town. The first two voices were male, but this one was female, and had a small but distinct bite of urgency.
The request came again, and it was much closer. "Excuse me, I'm looking for someone…"
The voice drifted off on the wind for a few minutes. Konan relaxed, and turned around…
…And her nose nearly collided with the nose of another young woman standing barely an inch in front of her.
Konan could not prevent a slight cry of surprise; she felt her eyes almost cross. The girl in front of her was probably her own age, and wore a Suna hitai-ate at her forehead, and an ankle-length dark brown hooded cloak. Her shoulder-length dark gold hair hung in an almost dusty cloud around her face; her brilliant, jewel-bright dark green eyes glittered with worry.
The girl's eyes flicked almost incredulously to Konan's hair for a moment before she spoke. "I'm sorry," she muttered tensely, looking away. "But I'm looking for someone. He's a teenage boy, with red hair and brown eyes. He's kind of short." Worry and grief hung in every word; her voice began to catch.
Konan winced, feeling suspicions float in her mind. "I'm sorry, no." She knew exactly where the person the girl was searching for was, and despite all felt desperately sorry for her. She wouldn't find her comrade.
The other girl nodded. "Alright, I—"
"Karura!" a shout came from down the street.
Both young women looked up in surprise; Konan's eyes widened in shock as she looked at the blonde.
The fair-haired girl jumped down the staircase and ran down the high street. "Have you seen him?" she demanded, her voice rising. "Do you know where he is?"
They continued to talk rapidly, tension thrumming in their words, and Konan wasn't listening.
"Karura," she whispered, her eyes flicking back and forth. "Not dead. Just lost."
.x.X.x.
The wind howled over the desert plain, driving sand after sand and obscuring the moon. Sasori's fire could not be lit, no matter how hard he tried.
"Your comrades are searching for you." He didn't look up when he heard that loud cry, striving to be heard over the driving wind.
She tried again. "Why did you leave them, inspiring them to such grief and desperation? They're risking their careers searching for you."
Sasori managed a harsh, choking laugh, bitter as the most astringent poison, biting like the wind. "That does not matter to me." It was a bald-faced lie, and they both knew it.
The young woman knelt beside him, and Sasori could barely see her, for all the sand and wind passing between them. He could feel her eyes though, on him at all times. "Why do you not speak the truth? There is nothing to be lost in it."
The shaft of wood in Sasori's hands snapped. Suddenly, he wanted to hurt her. He wanted to see her cringe, see her cry. But he didn't know how. So he decided on the next best thing.
If he couldn't hurt her, he was going to shock her.
"The Sandaime Kazekage."
"What of him?"
Sasori looked up, communicating malice in his eyes. "I killed him." He had the pleasure of seeing her ice blue eyes widen perceptibly.
"I killed him, and I felt nothing," he hissed maliciously. "Do not think it would be any different with you. There is your truth."
She stood, a degree of disgust in her movements. "I have seen the one you love. I'm not sure you deserve the concern she shows for you."
.x.X.x.
Sasori twitched and turned in his sleep, dreaming dreams of pain and sorrow.
"Don't say that. It will get better, you'll see."
"You're wrong. You were wrong before and you're wrong now!"
There was a swish of linen. "No, wait!" Sasori cried desperately.
The figure turned, and Sasori's heart fell. Spider silk hair, and cold blue eyes. She was not who he thought she was.
"Why are you…here?" he asked wearily, cuffing at his face, uncaring if she saw.
She looked down at him, her blue eyes calm. "You will run out of supplies soon. The hunter nin your village sends out will find you."
"And?" Sasori asked testily; he didn't want to be lectured.
"You can't go back, and you can't stay out here."
She left in a swish of coarse linen and red clouds.
Sasori began to give up.
.x.X.x.
The wind had stopped. The moon was finally full. It was halfway over the horizon when she returned to the camp, and so close that it seemed huge and luminous, shining silver-blue.
Sasori had given up. He hadn't dreamt in nearly a week. He was down to two days worth of rations, and his last supply of water wouldn't last him a day.
And he didn't want to live on the edge, running from hunter nin every day of his life. He couldn't live like that. Whatever this organization the woman was a part of, it had to be better than living like that.
He would never see her again, nor any of the few who he had held close to him. He could never go home again.
"About time," he muttered when she finally showed up.
She actually seemed a little surprised. "I didn't think you'd be pleased to see me."
Sasori growled quietly as he folded his blanket and put it back in his knapsack. "I've changed my mind."
"I'm surprised. You seemed quite determined the last time we spoke of this."
"Would you have kept coming if you didn't think you could wear me down?" The quiet bitterness in his voice betrayed the truth of it, that he and she both knew the truth.
Sasori drew his black cloak, and pulled his knapsack around his shoulders. He cast the woman standing opposite a tired, almost resentful look. She didn't flinch.
Sasori didn't join the Akatsuki because he wanted to. He joined because he was tired, because he didn't want to be alone, and because they both knew… That he could never survive on his own.
He was indebted to her, and he felt sick for being so in the debt of another.
They turned quietly, stiffly, not looking at each other. Without a word, they began to walk in the direction of the rising moon.
How I think Sasori was recruited into Akatsuki; hope you enjoyed it.
This oneshot is thus title because: Though the official meaning of the name Akatsuki is "dawn, daybreak", if you split the word after aka, it becomes "aka tsuki", or "red moon."
I can't believe it took me less than twenty-four hours to write this.