Silence was not an uncommon occurrence between these particular partners. Sasori never minded, but Akemi loathed the quiet. It crawled into her, creeping under her skin and making her itch. She found herself darting towards any subject that came to mind, anything from small talk about the weather to philosophical debates. These "debates" would often leave the two of them in a deeper silence than before, each silently fuming at the other. Eventually, the silence would become too much again and they would apologize- well, Akemi would apologize, and Sasori would accept her apology- and the whole thing would start over again.
But there were certain times when the woman found herself not minding the silence. The times when he would study her as she babbled on about what their plans for the day would be, mission related or otherwise. He never ogled, simply... studied. Akemi would catch his gaze and the words would die in her throat, blue eyes focused on his form as honey-colored moved over her own. Their stares would meet and be held for a moment longer, maybe two, before Sasori turned and asked her to continue her speech.
The times when she managed to get herself hurt enough to be bedridden for any amount of time. He would take a day or two to fix himself, then resume his place at her side. More often than she'd like to admit, she would feign sleep, wondering when he would leave. But he never did. He never touched her, either. Whether it was out of fear of hurting her further, or respect, or maybe he just didn't want to, she wasn't sure. He never spoke, but he seemed to mind less when she prattled on about whatever was on her mind. And when she ran out of things to talk about, he still stayed, making sure she rested easy.
The few moments of stillness after their lips parted from each other. No matter how long, how often they kissed, Akemi would never get used to it. It was easy to not focus on how focused and precise his lips moved, just like everything else about him, and get lost in the feeling. Sasori soon found that it was an easy way to get her to stop talking, which he used to his advantage, much to her dismay. She never found herself really minding, though.
But this silence. This was deafening.
The old woman and the pink one had gone. Zetsu had yet to come. Akemi simply sat with his head in her lap, stroking a hand through his hair. She knew he wouldn't feel it. Even if he had been alive, he had no nerves. But the repetitive motion helped to soothe the raging nerves inside her, threatening to let themselves loose.
There would be no revenge. Revenge was for petty boys with nothing better to do. Her grief was short lived. A member of the organization dying was nothing new, and it didn't change their plans enough to make everything grind to a halt.
Life went on. And so did Akemi.