Title: The Fire Sermon
Pairings: Deidara/Naruto, Naruto/Sakura, Naruto/?
Disclaimer: Naruto is the property of Kishimoto Masashi. Fic prompt belongs to Letta, who had no idea what she was in for, not at all.
Warnings: Weirdness, character death, pretentious writing, what happens when Mai lets her mind run away with her, etc.
The Fire Sermon
-x-
II.
The letters stop coming eventually, and it's easy to forget he ever knew any other place than this. Even the interior of his hotel room is becoming indistinct in his memory, as he always rises and leaves at dawn, and seldom returns before the sun has long set. His artistic prowess is slow and unimpressive, but when he sits at the edge of the Chimney guarding the Fire and participating willingly in Deidara's mysterious project, it makes his life feel a little less like sad bits of broken flotsam tossed to shore after a catastrophic windstorm.
One afternoon, when they're both elbow-deep in wet clay and half-formed statues, Deidara jumps to his feet with a snap and announces that they will be proceeding down to the beach to air out the latest batch of birds. Once upon a time, Naruto thinks, this sort of capriciousness would have incited a string of heated questions from him. Not today. Today, he simply gathers up an armful of still-wet clay birds and follows in Deidara's whimsical wake.
Once they reach the water edge, the birds are laid out on dry sand dunes, away from the marauding waves. Naruto grimaces with some chagrin at the sight of his own clumsy products that keep tumbling over in the sand and have to be straightened up constantly. In contrast, Deidara's birds are sleek and poised, their streamlined bodies smooth and glossy as the broad green leaves of oak trees.
"It's not bad for a beginner," the blond remarks airily. "They even sort of look like birds now."
Naruto ignores him, rolling up his trousers and wading knee-deep into the ice cold waves. The sea is calm and unpretentious today, the green surface flashing like so many silver fins. The wind is up, and if he turns his head thirty degrees to the right, he can see Deidara coming into sharp focus, perched on the rocks with no shoes, surrounded by the bobbing heads of mermaids. The old Akatstuki cloak billows darkly around him, a testament to the strength of the rising wind.
The king of crows, indeed.
"Don't you notice something amiss?" Deidara calls out suddenly.
"What?" he calls back, making for the rocky outcrop.
"Can you hear anything?"
Naruto stops, and listens for a moment. "No." Then he does a double-take. "I don't hear anything. They're not singing today!"
"Not quite," returns Deidara, gesturing at the seaweed-adorned forms around him. Indeed, upon a closer look, the sea-girls' ashen lips are quivering open and shut rapidly, constantly, as if they are striving to outsing each other, but no sound seems to be issuing from the red holes of their mouths. They are mute, as though each is a spy whose vocal cords have been cut out by the enemy before their important messages can be relayed.
"Huh? I don't understand."
"Their songs can't be heard when sung above water," says Deidara serenely, splashing into the water and beginning to wade noiselessly to shore. "That's why they really want to drive you crazy with their singing, so that on the off chance you decide to do yourself in, you might choose drowning and give them a bit of company. Eternity is a long time."
"Nice," Naruto mutters, disgusted. "Did you always know that, or did it just occur to you in a flash of brilliance?"
Deidara, who has already made it onto the sand and is now crouching to inspect the drying birds, turns to level him a withering gaze. "You're the dim one. Everyone knows about mermaids and their fate. You know that saying, men come from earth and women from water?"
"And in death we return," Naruto goes on, shrugging. In his mind, he's still trying to figure the other man out, trying to determine whether he is rational or carried away in one of his peculiar moods. On most days, Deidara seems sensible enough – as sensible as can be said for a man living in a seaside cave that doubles as a ceramic workshop – but in certain fleeting instances (such as at their first meeting) Naruto can glimpse the off-ness, a sense of vague malice that suggests unsoundness of mind.
Consequently, he is on the constant look-out, watching for any trace of said manifestation.
"Well, that's the main idea anyway," Deidara says condescendingly. Sarcasm, Naruto decides, is a sign of normalcy. "In reality, it goes on with: in death, men return to earth to become flesh-eating devils, and women return to water to become mermaids, to be mute for a thousand years."
"Creepy. But what does that have to do with anything?"
A shadow of a smile glides across the blonde's lips, the ghost of that unnerving sliver he's so apt at. "Think about it. It'll come to you."
"Maybe," he says, frowning. "Or maybe: you can just explain it to me."
The smile widens. "Alright then. Imagine, if you will, dead men who must return to the primordial soup of their birth. Dust. Earth, in an essence. We return to earth, but it is from earth that all things find their shapes and forms in the first place, and so in earth, there is also the possibility of rebirth."
The sun is dipping dangerously low in the sky. The murky light it casts takes on a pinkish color, like diluted blood, and it pours over the empty beach and colors everything it touches a ruby hue. But the place where its tinting effect stands out as most enchanting – most supernatural – is the sequined water, glimmering in a hazy mirage of cherry light and dappling shadow.
"Watch," Deidara instructs, and dips his hand into the water, scooping a quick handful. The sunlight which seems to be retained there is caught in the curved valley of his palm. This water/light is then poured generously over the clay birds, each in turn. It takes a few moments to get to them all, but when the sculptor is finished, all the birds are gleaming with a new sheen of coating, shining brightly as diamonds in the dark.
Then, with a faint shudder, they simultaneously spread their tiny clay wings and take flight into the magic-charged sky.
"Earth," Deidara whispers, tipping his chin to observe the pale crows circling overhead. The chill wind flutters his wheat-colored hair. "Earth is life. Are you beginning to understand?"
Naruto startles at the implication. Something like fear is coming into his heart: for the first time in a long, long while, he is afraid.
Presently, the sun sinks behind the cloud-lined horizon, and the liquid light fades. The windborne birds drop to the ground like heavy stones with dull, muted thuds – wings snapped, cracked beaks still half-parted in a silent cry.
-x-
There is a slight drizzle, not falling, just hanging in the air. There are waves of sea-mist moving across the sullen water, pouring out of the rocks. There is the eerie song of the sea-girls wailing behind the soupy, moody fog, dancing phantoms, noise and spirits, silence and levitation. There are the two of them, sitting at the edge of the black cave, chilled mist seeping into their clothes.
It is late November. It is the thirty-fifth day.
Deidara is talking, keeping up a constant chatter about the fog or the sea or possibly the imminent destruction of all things. He listens with half a ear, sometimes not at all. These days, he gets the feeling he is becoming like fine pottery pieces that have gone through a misfire – overexposed shells that when seen from afar seem to retain the beautiful shapes and forms of exquisite arts but are in reality full of cracks and fissures, letting the emptiness inside them leak out. These lapses come more and more frequently, with the wistful distraction of a broken dream.
"Look," Deidara says suddenly. "Are those people down on the beach?"
He looks up excitedly, jostled out of his reverie. Neither of them has seen another living soul appear on this part of the beach for weeks.
Black heads bob up out of the mist, just floating, the dark hair hanging in the air. It is a man and a woman, lovers, wearing pale, gauzy clothing that merges with the fog, their heads tossing and laughing. One head vanishes, the other dives, rolls, and back again. He can hear the surf murmuring around their laughter. Giggles and low lovesongs rise out of the fog.
"Who do you suppose they are?"
It is strange to see other people again, after spending such a long time in the company of only one. He is mesmerized by this thought; for a long time, it has felt as if he and Deidara are the only people inhabiting this paled reality on the edge of civilization. Even their habits have grown to form around each other, another kind of isolation.
Deidara quickly grows disinterested, and goes back to thoughtfully kneading another piece of clay. Naruto goes on looking. After awhile, he muses wistfully, "A nice couple, aren't they?"
"Why do you say that?" Deidara asks, in all seriousness.
He stares at the sculptor, puzzled. "Well, they look very nice together. Don't you agree?"
Deidara flicks the couple another appraising glance, and shrugs. "If you say so. I really don't care much for observing the foibles of the human kind, or the whole race in general."
"Really? Not at all?"
"Not in the physical sense. My first partner, now he was all about human physicality. He even collected human bodies, always on the lookout for beautiful and powerful forms to add to his grotesque little collection. His one concern was to preserve these 'perfect' bodies, so that their abilities and physical beauty would live on long after their actual deaths."
These words interest him greatly. Deidara very rarely talks about his former comrades in the Akatsuki. At times, Naruto even forgets that part of his life ever existed. It is easy to give in to the illusion that his whole existence is tied to this desolate scrap of shore, forever kneading clay.
"I never understood his philosophy myself," the sculptor goes on heatedly. "To me, a dead body is just a body, a mass of dead cells and decaying matter. It's like a shell left behind after the substance has been removed. Where is the beauty in that? Where is the art?"
Helplessly, a grin breaks over his lips. "And your second?"
"My what?" asks Deidara, confused.
"Partner. You said 'my first', so there must have been a second. What was he like?"
Deidara huffs loudly. "I don't want to talk about it."
His grin collapses into a muffled snigger. Deidara glares horribly.
"And what is your philosophy regarding the human race?" he asks after a moment. "Is it anything like your view on arts?"
Deidara shrugs. "Perhaps. I see human beings as potentials. Each of us is endowed with the ability to become something sublime, like a beautiful piece of art. However, that transcendent moment can only last for a mere instant, as if your entire life, everything you have learned and experienced before that is tapering into this one throbbing point of unbearable intensity, before fading and disappearing into the ether. The trouble is knowing to grasp that moment when it arrives. Otherwise, everything you have lived for until then will be for naught: after reaching a certain point, every unsublimated person begins his slow, tragic, but inevitable decline."
It is moments like these, he thinks, that cement his feeling of being permanently out of time and space. He can find nothing to say.
Deidara looks thoughtful for a moment. " But I've always wondered… Maybe it's possible to speed up that process, coaxing a person, like an unripe fruit, into his maturity. Let us see…"
If there's one thing Naruto knows, it is that his companion, like the stereotypical artist, is a relentless exhibitionist. Though capable at times of long bursts of eloquence, Deidara always prefers the hands-on approach, using actions to illustrate his meaning. The episode with the birds is a minted example. Still, no amount of knowledge can prepare him for what happens next.
Without warning, Deidara gives a swift flick of his left hand. The air around them crackles suddenly with electric chakra, and then two small dark blurs flit past them from inside the cave and plunge into the white mist, heading for the unsuspecting couple on the beach. Naruto barely has time to pinpoint the blurs as two of the finished birds before there is a thud of contact.
A shriek of surprise rings shortly, and then a deafening explosion shatters the quiet beach. The hot pressure lashes across his stunned face like a burning whip. The explosion showers the shore with sand and debris from the destroyed rocks. The lovers have vanished; in their place is only the mist, stained with a pinkish tint and giving off a burnt, coppery smell.
In a burst of delayed action, Naruto jumps to his feet. "What the hell did you do?"
"Disappointing," Deidara mutters to himself. "I suppose it really can't be forced. What a waste."
Enraged, he hauls the other man up by the collar of his shirt and shouts in his face, "You killed them! You just went and blew them up! What the hell did you do that for, you sick fuck?"
Deidara stares at him blankly. One look at that serene face turns Naruto's insides to ice. It is at that moment that he remembers exactly who he is talking to, and that, really, the thing that had always made the Akatsuki so dangerous, so detestable, was not so much their cruelty and predilection for doing harm, but their inability to acknowledge their actions as harmful, as misogynic, as abnormal. The thought fills him with anger, and then, interminable sorrow.
But why does he react thusly?
It is not because he holds any illusion to the contrary. No, the reason his recollection fills him with sadness is that it brings home the one thing his mind has tried its hardest to put aside, the awful, inescapable truth that the life he lives is no more than a fragile game of make belief perpetuated by his fervent desire for escapism. In this kingdom by the sea, where everything is light as breeze, he has allowed himself to forget the reality of his wretched existence, forget the immensity of time. But the lull, the tranquility, the modus vivendi of compromise, all that have been shattered along with the bodies of the unfortunate lovers, and with them, his hard-earned peace of mind. He grieves for that reason only.
"You interest me greatly," Deidara is saying, seemingly unconcerned that he is being held up by the shirtfront. Their faces are inches apart; Naruto's breath flutters his bangs. "I had thought that a person like yourself – a powerful shinobi, in your own rights – would understand."
"What is there to understand?" he snarls, but his anger has lost its heat, replaced by despair.
"The urge," Deidara says simply. "The wish to vindicate your superiority."
"Not all shinobi are like you," he says with disgust. "Not all of us have fucking god complexes."
Deidara shakes his head. "Of course you are. You may not realize it, but you are. How can you not? You are different from them. You are the wolf, and they the lambs. You walk among them knowing you are stronger and faster than they will ever be, and that in your hands you hold the powers to put an end to their miserable existences at any moment you choose. How can you not?"
He slackens his grip on the other man, stricken mute with unveiled horror.
"They think we are the tools," Deidara continues, stepping back. "But we know we are the makers. We wield their lives and decide their fates. Of course, some of us are more aware of this than others. That is how men like Uchiha Itachi are created."
"Itachi," Naruto spits, "was a monster."
"No," says Deidara solemnly. "He was a genius. So were all of the Akatsuki. And I am the last of them."
With that, the sculptor picks up his fallen clay and sweeps away into the Chimney.
For a long time, Naruto stands rooted at the entrance, gazing unseeing at the pink mist floating obscenely before him. Presently, a strong sudden gust of wind clears it away. He is aware of being deeply tired, and of an intense desire to see Sakura. He misses her terribly, he realizes, misses the plum blossom smell of her hair, the way her smile plays around her eyes. In that moment, his ears are filled with only one thing: the Song of Home. It's time to go.
-x-
"I have something for you," Deidara says to him on the morning of his departure. Before the initial shock has had time to wear off, a bird figurine is pressed into his hand. It must be one of Deidara's own, small and thin and fragile-looking, but somehow oddly compact.
At his loss for words, the sculptor goes on blithely, "Keep count."
He shakes his head to clear the stupor, and asks, "Count of what?"
"The days, of course."
For some reason, a fit of trembling has started up from the base of his spine, working its way up the length of his body. He shivers violently. "How do you know if I'm even coming back?"
Deidara scoffs. "Please. You're really quite transparent. You said you came here to find something, right?"
"No, I said…"
"And have you found it?"
He says nothing.
"Exactly. Now go, before you miss your boat." With that, Deidara turns from him and retraces his track across the sand towards the tottering shadow of the Chimney. As Naruto turns to leave, he hears the blonde's singsong words carried on the breath of the wind.
"One if by sea. Two if by land. And who by fire. And who by water…"
-x-
On the boat ride back, the horseback sway of the boat rocking in the ocean lulls him to sleep for a moment. He wakes to find that the bottom of the boat has filled with about two and a half inches of sea water, and the clay bird has been reduced to a sludge of indistinguishable mud, and as he sits there, floating in the ocean, old secrets and the sickly mermaid song rise in his mind.
-x-
He tears through the Konoha night, ravenous. His hunger is a tangible energy. Sakura is standing on the stoop of her apartment, fumbling with her keys, when he tackles her from behind.
"Oof -- " but she doesn't miss much, and is already recovering from the lost beat. She adjusts her body gracefully so that her back is pressed to the door, and puts her arms around his neck, and then she's right there, her tingly hair is all up in his face. He buries his face into it, inhaling deep the familiar scent of plum blossom, of home, and feeling his heart swell and threaten to burst in his chest. Quite naturally, their mouths find each other, and then they're fumbling and tripping over each other's feet to get through the door without breaking the embrace.
Later, while the beads of sweat are still drying on their skin, he finds himself announcing to the shadowy ceiling, "I have to leave tomorrow."
Sakura, who has rolled away from him only seconds go, flops back onto her elbows and stares at him incredulously. "What do you mean?"
Still with his eyes on the ceiling, he repeats, "I just have to go."
"Why? You just got back. You probably haven't even gone to see Tsunade-sama yet. Do you know that you've exceeded your official leave limit almost twice over? They were talking about sending a Hunter-Nin after you. Do you really want to be labeled a Missing-Nin?"
He turns his head to look at her then, and even in the dim light of her rose-shaded lamp, he can see that her face is mottled with angry red blotches. "I don't know how to explain it to you, and I don't have much time." It's already the fortieth day, his mind supplies. "I probably should have told you that before."
Sakura's pale green eyes widen, all glassy and brittle. Then she drops her head, letting her tangled hair fall all over her face. "But you wanted to fuck me first."
He pushes himself up, and roughly grabs her shoulders, forces her to look at him. "If you really believe that, Sakura, then we can't possibly have remained friends for this long. Come on."
She turns away from him determinedly. "But I just don't understand… is this about Sasuke?"
Now it's his turn to be angry. He grips her shoulders with a little more force than necessary, and unclenches his fingers with a jerk at her little gasp of pain, as though shocked by electricity.
"Oh yes, it's about Sasuke," he says, disgusted. "You know damn well it's about Sasuke. It's always going to be about Sasuke. So are we going to talk about that? Now?"
She says nothing, just pushes her quivering fist into her mouth and closes her eyes. He notes with a sense of vast despair that she looks as tired as he feels. In this land, they have the monopoly on glass houses, and he has the stones. Still, there's no going back.
"Really, Sakura, do you want to be that girl? Because I really don't want to be that guy."
"Well then tell me what I should do!" she shouts suddenly, her voice full of a silenced sob. "Tell me what questions I should be asking, if not that. You've shut me out, Naruto, and I hate it! I hate it that I don't know this new you, and I don't think I even like him that much. I hate it that I don't know what to save you from anymore!"
For a moment, he is at a loss for words. Then he notices the familiar green fire faintly smoldering in her eyes, and the sight gives him heart, just as it always did back when the world was still small. Once upon a time, they weren't the splintered creatures they are now. They weren't so strange and damaged. How did you go from there to here?
His next words are quietly spoken, a tenderly whispered "Did I ever ask you to do that?"
Very slowly, the tension drains from the setting of her shoulders. Very slowly, she inches towards him again, and finally allows him to put his arms around her. Without a doubt, he thinks again, she smells like the best thing he's ever known, a mixture of sex and fragrant water and some strange, secret scent that he has to flounder for a moment before placing as the scent of security. Almost against his will, the poison of hope seeps into his heart, and he glimpses a chance at happiness, at the future. It could be like this, for always. It doesn't have to be so tough.
But there is no time now for changing horses in midstream. It's already the fortieth day, the Fire Sermon is beckoning, and there is still earth and life, life and earth waiting ahead.
So he begins to say the only thing that's left to say, "It's about family, Sakura."
"How so?" she asks, the words muffled into the crook of his neck.
"You have a family of your own. So did… so did Sasuke, and yeah, that explains a lot about the way he was, the things that made him tick. Anyway, the point is, you all have families of your own. But for me? You, Sasuke, Iruka-sensei, and maybe Kakashi – you're all I've got."
She burrows a little deeper into the juncture of his neck and shoulder, and makes a small, disbelieving noise that almost shatters his resolve.
"The way I figure it," he continues, " the thing about family is that you've got to stand by them. You might not be able to stand them, and you don't necessarily have to like what they do, but you sure as hell have got to stand by them. And I think it's in this way that I understood Sasuke better, understood the things he did – not that I'm claiming to love him more!" More quietly: "Because I know how much you love him."
Sakura straightens up and looks him squarely in the eye. "I do. I love him, very much. But I love you too."
"So you will stand by me on this?"
"Of course. Even if I end up perjuring before the council. Although I wish you'd tell me what it is you're up to," she muses sadly, and quickly adds a flippant, "Not that you even care."
He laughs slightly. "Maybe some other day, when I understand it a little better myself. You know how dumb I am without you to do all the thinking for me."
"Is that a promise, Uzumaki Naruto?"
He presses his mouth to her dampened forehead, whispers 'yes' into her skin.
"Good enough," she concedes, and without warning, throws her negligible weight against his chest and tumbles them both over back onto the mattress. She leans over him and presses a hard kiss to his lips. Pulling away for air, she says, "Now we've got five hours till tomorrow, and I suggest we make the best of this transnational booty call."
He laughs again, and pulls her back down for another kiss, deciding that in the morning, he will leave before she wakes.
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