Clay Petals

Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto or its characters, nor am I gaining any profit for putting them in this story. They all belong to Masashi Kishimoto.

Author's Note: Challenge by Rune-Spirit, just so you know. Takes place after Chapter 317, so spoilers if you haven't read that far.

Reviewing is nice. Please consider it if you read the story.

It had become an established fact in most shinobi villages across Japan, that if you saw a person dressed plainly in a black cloak dotted with red clouds, you were to run as quickly as you could in the opposite direction. Such dressed people were known as S-Class criminals from the organization Akatsuki. They had been rejected from their respective villages due to acts against the Kage, and were known to be as dangerous as people come.

Deidara was one of these people.

Though he was not an intimidating man by looks—what with bright blond hair in a high ponytail that seemed to have the bad habit of covering his left 'eye', and a small frame at only 5'9"—he was slightly less eccentric and far more dangerous by nature. He was probably known as one of the more playful villains of the world, though with a bit of a destructive sense of humor.

He had a bit of a love for making things explode.

Claiming that explosions were his 'art', Deidara was a formidable opponent in both physical and verbal combat; as he would threaten to blow a person to pieces if they so much as disagreed with him. It wasn't very often that he did this, however, as he was rarely around any people to argue with in the first place. Therefore, the only person that he had talked to besides Tobi had been his old partner.

Deidara's old partner—meaning the one before Tobi—had been both an 'art rival' and the closest thing Deidara had had to a real friend. Sasori might've always disagreed with him simply because Sasori was at least a good thirty years older than the blond, and therefore figured he should know more, or he might've felt that he had nothing better to do.

Whatever the case, Deidara had always felt that Sasori hadn't totally cared about what had happened in their arguments, and thus felt hardly any regrets whenever he ended one. Deidara didn't mind this either; as it made him feel rather like he'd 'won' the argument in a sense. This constantly positive ending to their bickering rounds had gradually improved their relationship, to the point that they argued only because they could.

It was just about at this time when Sasori was killed.

Deidara had seen his partner's opponents; a strangely dressed girl with pastel pink hair that just barely graced her exposed shoulders, and an elderly woman who was a good deal shorter and more clothed. The woman had seemed faintly familiar, but Deidara was quite confident that his partner would be able to handle them both with incredible ease. Needless to say, he was shocked to the bone when all he was able to find was the puppet body of Sasori, and the body of the old woman a little ways off.

Where was the girl with the pink hair?

The question had haunted the blond Akatsuki's mind until this day, a few months later, as to how this one girl was able to survive the wrath of Sasori. It was beginning to hurt Deidara's mind not to know. He simply had to find out!

Today, he was finally going to get that answer he wanted so badly.

After practically forcing Tobi to go back with the Sanbi's chakra to the organization's headquarters, Deidara found himself attempting to recall the village that the pink-haired girl was from. Her forehead protector that he'd been able to glimpse as he flew from the scene had had a symbol that he had seen before on the forehead of a fellow Akatsuki.

Konoha! That girl was from Konoha!

'How convenient,' Deidara thought to himself with a small smirk on his lips, 'If she's from Konoha, she's probably within this Fire Country's borders at this very moment. Now if only I knew which direction Konoha was…'

In said Hidden Leaf Village, Haruno Sakura strode home along a dirt road, arms full of groceries for her mother and brother. The subject that occupied her fifteen-year-old mind, as it had often been three years ago, was the rather infamous Uchiha Sasuke, who she used to obsess over on a regular basis. Used to, meaning back when he was still around.

Many attempts had been made to bring Sasuke back to the Village, but none had been successful. Orochimaru seemed quite intent on keeping Sasuke by his side. Thus, since Sasuke himself felt no desire to leave, Konoha had remained unable to get him to return.

At first, Sakura had been had been utterly miserable, to the point of depression, that he had chosen power over both her and Naruto. However, as time wore on, Sakura had begun to accept the fact that he wasn't going to come back before he killed his brother, Uchiha Itachi. It didn't completely soothe the pain, but it did help her in her times of despair, that one day, he very well might come back, just many years in the future.

Now, Sakura was starting to feel that she had chosen to love the wrong type of person. When she thought about it, she realized that she should've gone with someone who spent less time brooding, and more time just being exciting. A fun person. Someone more dynamic. More… explosive. She found herself giggling at that thought.

The word 'explode' had reminded her of that one guy that Naruto had said he'd fought when the remainder of Cell Seven had gone on a mission to save Gaara from Akatsuki. Naruto had claimed that his opponent, as a final resort to defeat himself and Kakashi, had blown himself to pieces. Thankfully, the attempt failed, but it still entertained Sakura with the thought of someone just blowing up.

That was the last battle she'd had before she had gone to try and rescue Sasuke with Naruto, Yamato, and Sai. She sighed.

'I have such a one-track mind,' Sakura thought to herself as she arrived at her smaller house at the edge of the village, 'Everything I think about leads me right back to the same thing. Sasuke.'

Carefully balancing the groceries in one arm, Sakura pulled her house key out of one of the pockets in her skirt, and slipped it into the lock. She then heard a faint click! as she turned the key in its place, and the door slowly swung open. Retrieving her key from the knob and holding the door open with a sandaled foot, Sakura crossed the threshold into her kitchen.

Placing the groceries on the kitchen table, Sakura returned the key to her pocket, and quickly surveyed the kitchen. Still spotless, she noted, since her mother had cleaned it that afternoon. That meant Ryou had been on his best behavior. He probably got a cookie out of it, too.

Smiling to herself, she thought of her little brother as she climbed the stairs to the upper-level of the Haruno household. Ryou was only six, and though quite cute—with short brown hair and big emerald eyes—he was a being bent purely on the destruction of everything around him. He currently held Konoha's record of being able to totally ruin a perfectly clean room in two minutes flat. Yesterday, the target had been the poor and feeble living room.

Reaching the top of the stairs, Sakura continued down a short hallway to the second door to the left, and entered the room. Her room, since ten years ago.

Though rather plain, the room was quite neat, with her bed in the corner nicely made, the starchy white sheets forced to be perfectly smooth. On the entrance's right, was a bookcase that Sakura had used to house many ninjutsu scrolls, not all of which she had yet bothered to learn. On the door's left, was a desk and chair, the surface of the desk only cluttered by a few medical files and a lamp.

Her favorite part of the room, though, was a large window to the left of the bed (which was in the right corner of the room), that gave a nice view of the western sky, and the forest surrounding Konoha. Unfortunately, since it was already dusk, Sakura had missed the sunset.

Glancing at her clock on the wall, Sakura noticed it was already 8:15. Thankfully, she'd already had a meal before she had gone out to get groceries, or she'd have to eat at this late hour for dinner. That, and was already quite tired from a difficult day with Tsunade, so she really had only one thing on her rather large mind.

Sleep.

Quickly changing into a light nightgown from a closet near the window, Sakura laid down on her bed in a fetal position, not bothering to get under the covers. It was late August, after all, and it had been a rather hot day.

Finding a comfortable position, Sakura slowly closed her eyes. However, she found herself unable to immediatly go to sleep. The thought that haunted her mind now was one that did nearly everyday right before she went to sleep.

Her father.

Even though she knew quite well that he had been deceased since she was ten, Sakura could never really let go of the fact that she felt her father should be there, tucking her in as he had always done, then finishing it off with a soft kiss on her forehead and a quietly said"Good night, Sakura."

Her father had always been a kind man of few words, but Sakura had always loved him but a bit more than her mother. She might have just grown attached to him in her younger years, but she felt that he was the reason she had become a shinobi, if not the reason she stayed that way.

He had been an incredible shinobi, if only through Sakura's eyes, to return from his missions barely harmed. She had looked up to him for that strength and support he had always brought, making her feel like she was actually worth something. If nothing else, he helped her self-esteem from falling below what is healthy, and for that, Sakura felt almost as though he had saved her life, in a way. Without him by her side in those times of need, she would have most certainly given up on all that she thought was important to fall into complete self-pity.

Her father had taught her to fight for what she believed in. If she thought that she should be the next Hokage, she should fight as hard as she could to achieve that goal. If she felt they should have chicken that night instead of fish, then she was to fight as hard as she could to get her mother to change her mind. Whatever she thought should happen, Sakura was to fight for it until she couldn't fight any longer.

That's how her father had died; fighting for what he believed in. That the people around him should live instead of die. That their lives were worth it. The lives at stake were more important than his own, and he would die to save those other people. It was what he believed.

Sakura smiled sadly to herself. At least he died a happy man, a proud man, a shinobi.

After all, isn't a shinobi someone who fights for what they believe in? Wouldn't that mean that the strength of the shinobi was not truly their physical strength, but rather how strongly they believed in what they fought for?

Then it was true; Sakura actually was a strong shinobi, despite what she told herself. She was fine. She wasn't a horrible excuse for a fighter, she was just unfortunate enough to born into an impressive group of shinobi. She would be alright.

It was among these happy thoughts that Sakura eventually found herself floating off to sleep. A few moments later she gave a shudder in cold as a chill wind entered the room. Wind? How was there wind if she was inside?

And why was the window open?