The second the Konoha entourage stepped into the Tsuchikage's office, Deidara knew two things. One: it wasn't going to be just another one of those boring-ass, soul-sucking, political shindigs that made him whine for hours until the Old Bastard kicked him out and Two: the Old Bastard in question was going to get such a stress headache.
Because, following Senju Tsunade, Kato Shizune, and Nara Shikaku was Sakura, and the second they locked eyes from across the office, matching grins crossed their faces before they dropped them so their respective Kages didn't get a chance to see.
"Jiji," the Godaime smiled as her heels tapped against the few steps up to the long stretch of the poplar wood desk and to Gramps, scowling behind it. And maybe Deidara scowled a little too as he was drawn behind the chair and to the worst painting by the worst surrealist artist Earth Country had to offer, and Deidara couldn't understand how a dude as old as Onoki could look at it and not want to dramatically set it on fire with a candlestick. And yeah, whatever, he knew there was the fascination of exploring the concept of dreams between the conscious and unconscious mind along with the pursuit of psychic automatism but god, it was so fucking ugly—
"Namekuji-hime," Onoki returned shortly. "I see you're still shamelessly maintaining your youth."
"And I see you're still miraculously alive."
Kato pressed her notebook to her face the same time Kurotsuchi shut her eyes, mentally counted to five, and forced herself to concentrate on the two most powerful people in the room like they weren't going to make this another example of how-not-to-do-good-political-etiquette, and he expected Sakura's face to puff out like a chipmunk like when they all had to listen to Kisame try to do math over his ramen, but she only spared a long eye roll before looking back at him and grinning again.
She raised the hand hidden behind Nara's bulk and waved.
He glanced ahead of him. Tío Kitsuchi and Nara were about the same middle age, if their perfected tired-dad faces were a show of anything, but they were both way too high up to ignore nation affairs in favor of giving a damn about the two teens in the back.
He lifted a palm and made it smile, wiggling its tongue.
Her face screwed up in disgust, but she couldn't stop the edges of her lips pulling up as she stuck out her own tongue and quickly turned to the front before anyone could catch her out.
"—how unreasonable! Back in my day—
"Use that on me one more time, you fossilized sonuva—"
Thank god Kurotsuchi's always been more competent between the two of them. She had all those things like active listening skills and a sense of responsibility that didn't get her dojo kicked out of village limits because 'who explodes trash cans.' And she'd never let an argument get as far as using wrinkle-counts as insults. He always hated the obligation of the Tsuchikage hat, but he hated his candidacy for it even more and he was lucky his cousin announced her intent for the position. Was the Old Bastard disappointed in him for letting her have it undisputed? Sure, but he was also disappointed when he had to watch his only grandnephew throw back an entire bottle of wine because it wasn't allowed over a border checkpoint.
Anyway.
Point was, Kurotsuchi was going to be a good Kage. The problem with that was that Onoki was a good Kage too—good, not more than that, he was serious—and he was still squabbling with another world leader in between trade route negotiations and price adjustments.
He snuck a look at Sakura's poorly masked exasperation.
Did she want the Hokage hat? There were a lot of instances of shared blood in Konoha's kage, but they maintained a trend of more mentorship. The First was brother to the Second who taught the Third, then the Third taught the man who taught the Fourth and also directly taught the Fifth, and if those connect-the-dots went the way he was thinking, it was totally in the realm of possibility of her becoming the Sixth.
He imagined that hat slanted over a head of pink hair.
Hm. He didn't know if it would suit her.
But like what everyone in this room knew: politics was annoying bullshit. He was stuck with it and so was she, and it was funny to watch her face scrunch up every now and again.
Onoki rubbed his eyes with one of his tired groans and the second his hand slipped over the top half of his face, Deidara pinched a bit of clay from his pouch and kept his hands behind his back before those bushy white eyebrows resurfaced. Left Mouth—LM, pronounced Lem he always had to correct—chewed on the small piece. Sakura probably didn't mind bugs when her mentor was the princess of an entire league of them and... were slugs bugs? He liked arroz con caracoles when Kurotsuchi wasn't the one making it and never gave it much more of a thought, and weren't snails just mobile home slugs? Crawling all over the stone markers in the village like they paid rent.
LM gnawed and he thought about something small, quick, a little bit cute, and he curled his fingers to catch the scarlet dragonfly he molded. A pinprick of chakra shivered it into wakefulness and it crawled down the back of his leg onto the floor.
It hopped to look one way. Then hopped to look another. One teeny-tiny leg crept forward, then another, followed by four other anothers because bugs had six legs and each one had to be accommodated. He didn't know why he made its wings so detailed when it couldn't even try to fly without getting noticed, but the ninja-dragonfly didn't mind as the front left leg climbed one of Sakura's pant legs, then the front right leg, then the middle left leg, then the middle right leg, then—
He bit the inside of his cheek.
Gods, meetings like these never failed to drive him fucking bonkers.
But the little guy finally made it to the Everest that was Sakura's left shoulder, and it fluttered its wings against her cheek until she was barely able to keep her lips pressed together.
A lull hit the front of the office and the dragonfly dove to hide at the back of her neck, and Deidara's fingers shaped into the confrontation seal.
Onoki folded his hands and raised a brow the same way he did before he'd start yelling at his just-toying-the-line-of-delinquent grandnephew. "You're not young enough to not remember how bad of an idea this was."
Katsu.
Tsunade's fist slammed on the desk the same moment his clay creation popped in a rush of powder and air, and Sakura's quiet eep of surprise was passed off as a reaction to the show of audacity.
"I hope you're ready for me to be a pain in your old crusty ass until you agree to alter the terms on this clause, you sorry excuse of a—"
"Crusty?! All that crapshooting you do's gone and scrambled your head—"
The rest of the room groans under their breath.
And in that same breath, the glare Sakura sent across the room promised death-by-teenage-girl, and he hid a laugh under a low cough.
::
"Ay dios mio," Kitsuchi muttered as he shut the office door behind him and covered his eyes with his hand.
"Tell me about it," Shikaku sighed as he leaned back against the hallway wall. Bureaucratic missions were always a drag and a half especially when they involved the top dogs, and even if the top dogs were... unconventional and went from bickering to drinking buddies over the course of three grueling hours, well. Another day without an international incident is another nap he could take.
Godspeed to Kurotsuchi-san and Shizune for staying behind in the office. Any longer and he would've forcefully made himself fall asleep on his feet just to keep from listening to the sound of nothing getting done.
The blond teen snorted and crossed his arms—Deidara, Shikaku recalled, Kitsuchi's nephew and the Tsuchikage's grandnephew, fair in the running for the hat but personally backed out the second he made jounin. He'd been there when Tsunade was talking about it, saying how it was easier to predict the reign of Iwa's next Kage since the decision was made so many years in advance while all the current focus was on Suna who just broke the record for youngest Kage across all nations.
"Excuse me, Nara-sama?"
Shikaku hummed and glanced down.
Sakura was an interesting, but far from unwelcome addition to all the political roundabouts with the Godaime. She'd only been allowed active participation when she turned chuunin maybe, hmm, a little over a year ago now? She was cheery and polite with a fierce streak that he witnessed when she literally picked up his son, who'd been fast asleep in the park, and carried him the entire way to the Tower without breaking a sweat, so she was alright in his book.
Kids, you know. They'll never stop being strange.
"Not because I don't think you're cool or anything," she started, and his lips twitched. She tucked her hands in the pockets of her black regulation pants that Shikamaru complained about Ino complaining about, and peered up at him. "But since we've been dismissed until the next meeting tomorrow, is it alright if I go sightseeing?"
"I don't see why not," he said. "You would need a village escort, though. Standard rules."
But before he could turn to ask Kitsuchi what he thought, Deidara slid to her side and offered one of the most blinding, disarming smiles he'd ever seen. The kind of crap look you only learn from politics.
"I can be her escort for the rest of your entourage's stay, yeah," he said. From the corner of Shikaku's eye, he watched Kitsuchi unbury his face from his hand and narrow his eyes. "There would be a direct line between the Old Ba—Onoki's circle and the Godaime Hokage's, we're around the same age, and I'm sure we can get along well enough as to not jeopardize foreign relations, hm." His smile widened. "I mean, wouldn't it raise a positive view for everyone outside seeing us getting along when the four of us here know how it can get in the office?"
Oh, he was good.
Now Shikaku was a father. A father to one of the laziest children in all existence, but a father nonetheless, and he knew trouble when it was trying to get on his good side. Granted, his usual brand came in the peppy forms of Ino and Chouji when they dragged Shikamaru around the village.
"Really," Kitsuchi deadpanned. "You."
Deidara pressed a hand against his chest. "Tío! What're you doubting me for, yeah?"
"You expected something else out of me?"
"I'm harmless." He waved off his uncle and turned towards Sakura, his charming, playful expression unfaltering. "I'm sure Sakura-san wouldn't mind if I was the one giving her a tour, right?"
She rolled her eyes and tried not to laugh as she stretched a grin identical to his. "Of course not, Deidara-san." She swung back around towards the other two in the hall. "Ah, and now that I think about it, when we were first entering Iwa I got handed a flyer for an exhibition in the arts district this afternoon. It looks really interesting!"
The flyer in question poked out of her hip pouch, mustard yellow and unassuming.
"I've got some clay sculptures on display there! See, even more of a reason for me to be the one to show her around, hm."
Shikaku raised a brow.
Sakura was responsible. Well, Shikamaru was responsible too, but that didn't mean he was good about it, but she once organized an entire day's worth of paperwork in four hours when Tsunade shirked her duties to drink and Shizune was busy chasing after her, so she probably wouldn't get up to too much shit during their stay.
"Good enough for me." He ended up shrugging, and Kitsuchi raised his own brow at him. "You kids have fun."
"... Gods give me strength, estupendo," Kitsuchi conceded a few moments later. He scratched the side of his head. "You know how to conduct yourselves. Haruno-san, Deidara will be able to show you where you'll be staying later." He sighed. "Go on, you two. Make sure you have enough time to make it through the whole exhibit."
Both Sakura and Deidara bowed before they started out of the hall, chatting with one another until they turned out of sight and out of hearing range. That was, ah... interesting, Shikaku supposed. He tried not to think about it too hard; he was getting enough gray hairs as it was and Deidara was right. Seeing them friendly was infinitely better than seeing their mentors argue like they were the teenagers.
"They get along well," Kitsuchi noted skeptically.
"Very well."
"It's probably nothing."
"Couldn't be something."
A beat of silence.
"So, there's a great bar not too far from here."
Shikaku massaged the back of his neck where an ache was threatening to crawl up to his brain. "That's the best thing I've heard all day."
::
"Kirigakure welcomes all who have agreed to attend these series of exhibition matches," Karatachi Yagura announced to the colorful shinobi delegations standing in the slight haze of the village fog. The whalebone necklace passed down to each Mizukage sat stark against the greens and grays of his outfit. "This three day event will encompass..."
Hidan let the speech flow at the back of his mind as he stood behind the team assigned to him to participate in his 'show of good faith.' Pretty much all of them here were from the smaller nations, and yet the island didn't seem at all crowded with the tens upon tens of visitors it was hosting.
He was overseeing three shinobi from the Mantid Unit who were all eyeing the sign-up stations and deciding which brackets they wanted to enter, and it was already better than spinning his chair in his office and trying to make his paperwork disappear by sheer fucking will. But at least spending time at Steam Country's singular shinobi headquarters never got old—seriously, kudos to that crazy motherfucker who claimed the palace of old civilian royalty and declared it the new building of operations from training grounds to mission assignment stations to the Shinobi Schoolhouse; two hundred eighty-five rooms, sixty-eight toilets, forty-six halls, and six hamam.
God, he was such a sucker for those steam houses, but there were never attendants like in the civilian ones. Even the snotnose students knew you couldn't fling trust like stripper bills, so friends scrubbed and massaged friends and the ones that ended up doing more than that were catcalled as they were kicked out. But people stayed respectful for the most part and the hamam were packed and loud and lively 24/7.
Or, at least that was what he heard. He always had one to himself in the fuck-all early mornings, and no one ever bothered him.
Hidan crossed his arms as he skimmed the high-ranking officials on the podium behind Yagura.
He enjoyed the silence when he sea lion-ed on the heated marble göbek taşı in the center of the domed room closest to his office. A bitch could really take a day long nap on one of those—
He blinked.
Kisame was near the center of the line of officials, tall, dark, and tall, wearing what he thought was a formal lavalava the color of deep water and patterned with stormy waves. Strings of shark teeth hung along the cloth all different sizes, different shades, different species, and ended a bit below the knee. A beaded necklace looped twice around his neck to rest low to his stomach, and his tight muscle shit was doing everything for those abs.
Listen. He couldn't fucking help it. Physicality was impossible to ignore in Yu and he got his position by literally sleeping his way up the ranks. Honeypots, homicide, and hundreds of hours of paperwork got him so much money he was practically drowning in it. After paying off all the damages from the Jashin Cult Slaughter and anonymously pipelining what he could into the education and community outreach centers around the country, he was still making laps.
If he donated any more they'd find out it was him, and who wanted to take money from the most notorious Jounin commander among the smaller nations.
Yeah, he didn't need the wrinkles.
Kisame caught his eye across the crowd, and his brightened gaze cut through the mild fog. Softie. Hidan nodded his way once and dragged his attention back to surveying the figures in the crowd when they slowly started to disperse.
Nah, he'd never ruin a frie—acquaintanceship just to tap that ass. As nice of an ass as it was, he'd respectfully abstain.
"Hidan-hanchou." One of his operatives, Maemi, appeared in front of him. A full smoky eye darkened her lids and her lips puckered blood red, good for initially catching the eye of a statistical passerby. Good choice for her to wear that bastardization of their hitai-ate today too, her velvet choker flashing a metal pendant in the shape of their village symbol. "Do we have any specific assignments?"
"Do what you want. I don't care."
Yu had their 'escort' reputation and since it had nothing to do with the skill sets they were looking to display in Kiri, it didn't matter to him if they won or lost. Show face, look pretty, get out. There wasn't anyone needing to get assassinated here, and no one made it to the Silk Division by being a dumbass.
Beside her, Chikao pursed his lips and eyed their Commander with mild distaste. He was also dutifully primped with dark eyeliner and a glitter blush across his cheekbones, but unless he was going to share whatever disagreement he's got with the rest of the class, that stick wasn't Hidan's problem.
Maemi nodded once, her eyes a tint displeased. "Yes, Hanchou."
"Will you be participating too?" His last operative piped up. Koge was built strong, muscled, sturdy, all broad shoulders and thighs that have already collected a lot of wandering eyes from the locals. Alright. They could report that their listings on Kiri's general preferences checked out.
"No," he said, and she shrunk behind Chikao when he turned his flat gaze on her. "You all have free reign until I inform you otherwise. Dismissed."
"Yes, Hanchou," they chorused before retreating to one of the sign-up stations. Maemi's fists curled slightly at her sides as Koge murmured to her, and Chikao stole one last glance over his shoulder before Hidan turned his head away.
The stage was mostly clear now with some officials lingering and Yagura conversing with a few Kusa-nin. Yu and Kiri were only acquainted at the docks and not more inland than that, and Kiri always respected their border agreements by generally keeping their shinobi away from Steam's coasts.
"You have the most severe resting bitch face I've ever seen, and that's weird because I've seen you scream at Candyland."
A small cup of coffee materializes in front of his chest, and it was the sight of a blue hand and the jolting recognition of the accompanying voice that made him take it.
"I don't think you remember the disre-fucking-spect that plum bitch gave me." Hidan took a sip. It almost burnt his tongue, chocolatey but not too sweet with cinnamon, nutmeg, and... cayenne pepper? "Why does this taste so sexy?"
Kisame laughed. "We know how to brew."
"I'd sleep with this."
"I know."
"No seriously, I'd fuck it right—"
Kisame pushed the cup back up to his mouth as he drew a sip of his own. "I'm not going to listen to the rest of that sentence." Then he grinned, his real teeth as sharp as his decorative ones. "But I do want to know how you turned out to be so cool and aloof, Hanchou."
"Try being cool and aloof on three-dick wine in the middle of a snow apocalypse."
"You were way too ready to answer that." He took a moment to examine the area around them with a more critical and guarded eye that Hidan had ever seen in, well, all the times they ended up in the same orbit before he jerked his head towards one of the paths leading away from the open meeting grounds. "Have you had breakfast yet? We were dragged out early for all the set-up, and I'm so hungry I could eat an orca."
Hidan popped the top off his cup and peered inside. Holy fuck, the spices are real. "I can't believe the Jaws Theme doesn't play out your ass with all the shit you say."
"I'm a big shinobi, I can hum it myself."
Hidan hid a laugh behind the lip of his coffee as he followed Kisame away from the village center.
::
Zabuza squinted.
It wasn't news that most of the Swordsmen would rather be anywhere else than loitering during functions, but at least he was only a Momochi and his list of responsibilities was only as long as his patience. The Hozuki brats were slated to compete in the exhibitions while Ameyuri and Kushimaru couldn't give any less of a fat shit, but gods forbid any of them had the misfortune of being born a Hoshigaki.
That was the one thing no one envied Kisame about. There were always too many clan members to keep up with, too many names to know, too many things to deal with every damn day. Swordsman, council member, most powerful clan head—Zabuza couldn't wrap his head around how he did it.
One way or another, his friend would probably start to lose it one day and he wouldn't blame him.
And it was looking like that day might be today.
"You all saw that too, right?"
Ameyuri messed with the bleached coral ornaments in her hair. "Saw what? When the guppy almost tripped standing in place—" Chojuro flushed as red as a snapper and hid his face behind his hands— "or when Kisame went and got coffee for Yugakure's chief whore?"
"Ameyuri-san," Mangetsu warned, a slight touch of a frown on his face. But his eyes lingered on the spot Kisame had been laughing with that foreign nin. "Jounin Commander Hidan of Yugakure is a highly prominent shinobi of his country, we shouldn't be insulting him."
"What's he going to do? Get on his back?"
"Ameyuri-san."
"I'm just saying what everyone's thinking!" She flapped a hand around their small group. Chojuro ducked behind Suigetsu who chugged from his water bottle to keep himself from opening his mouth, and Zabuza bet anything that Kushimaru had a shit eating grin behind his mask. "Yu's just a glorified brothel anyways—"
"Yeah, maybe, but then how the hell did he pounce on Kisame?" Zabuza asked. No one ever got through to Kisame like that, not when all his marriage offers were politely declined and used for bonfire fuel and when anyone trying to get close could very well only be doing it to curry favor. "They just met today, and unless they've been eye-fucking during the whole speech—"
"You don't get a liquor-free drink for someone you're eye-fucking," Kushimaru drawled.
"Maybe the Commander's not an easy whore then," leered Ameyuri as she bared her teeth and elbowed him in the ribs. "Right, right, not whores. Escorts. High-class." She chuckled. "Why do you think Kisame's going after that one, then? Not his usual type."
"Top escort, top official, top screw—"
Mangetsu pressed his fingers against his forehead and sighed. "Okay," he muttered. "Can we please talk about something else?"
Zabuza looked back at that empty spot. While it was weird, there technically wasn't anything wrong with it, he guessed. Yagura wanted as much positive rapport with the smaller nations as possible and Yugakure's seduction mission rates were competitive with all the escort-ready nin they churned out by the dozens. It was about half as respectable as a freshwater genin getting lost on the smaller island training grounds, but they had numbers, a mission completion rate to death ratio was unbeaten, and that was enough to try to get them on their good side.
"I mean, out of the four of them, I'd say the Commander's probably the hottest," he said as he took a seat on the edge of the stage. They were probably just making something out of nothing.
Ameyuri blew a raspberry. "You're choosing that one over the babe with the muscles? You're absolutely fucking ridiculous. Kushimaru, back me up here!"
Kushimaru shrugged. "Hey, you know I got a thing for pretty eyes."
"Unbelievable. Guppy! Yo, Guppy, why the hell're you looking scared for? Tell Ringo-senpai your favorite escort."
Mangetsu buried his face in his younger brother's shoulder and tried not to scream.
::
As Deidara listed the insults they had to listen to at the meeting and ranked them on this incomprehensible scale that started at negative five stars and ended at three gold stars, Sakura couldn't help but wonder if this was okay. Not that she wasn't happy to see him again—it had been a few months and she'd been about to reply to his last letter about this crazy good bakudan-yaki place in Snow Country when she was assigned to this political mission to Iwa, so she thought, why waste time sending a reply when she could surprise visit him instead?
"—but at the end of the day, they kept bitching about each other's age so neither of them even deserve an orange star, yeah."
"Is that above or below a green star?"
"Below, because I hate orange."
They strode onto what must've been the loudest street in the village, a thick banner hanging over their heads with The 56th Annual Arts Festival painted across the tarp. Even from here she could see tens and tens of warm-colored canopy tents and raised stone slabs here and there where civilians and shinobi alike were laughing and doodling on them with chalk. There were even a couple of uniforms up on the rooftops setting up fireworks.
Sakura poked his shoulder. "No way you'd pass setting that up. Aren't you part of the Explosion Corps?"
"They said I'd be a 'liability.'" His fingers curled into air quotes. "Can you believe that, yeah?"
"You threw a bomb at me and Hidan," she deadpanned.
"It was a dud!"
"You're a dud!"
"I'm a joy to everyone who knows me. The Old man's actually in his early forties, the white hair and wrinkles were a thoughtful gift from me, hm."
Sakura giggled, and she almost forgot how fun he was to talk to. Ino-pig griped about her parents all the time but never like this and, well, it wasn't like she had parents to compare that to? Not that they were dead or anything! But ever since receiving genin rank and subsequently an adult status in Konoha, they'd gone back on the road to travel the Haruno merchant routes themselves. Being away as much as they were was probably the only thing that kept them alive when their quarter took a hit in the Konoha Crush, and they still visited for her birthday, her promotions, New Year's, and the week after Valentine's with armfuls of exotic, on-sale sweets they picked up along the way.
The saffron-stuffed chocolates from Suna were one of her favorites.
But yeah. She considered Deidara a good friend and she wished they had a lot more chances to see each other, but since they were both stuffed into politics, maybe that meant they'd cross paths a lot more often.
He flipped his hair over his shoulder. "Speaking of that asshole, did you or did you not get a pair of bright blue crocs in the mail that were exactly your size a couple weeks after we became shark godparents, yeah?"
"Mine are lime green," she corrected. "When I put them on for the first time, I laughed so hard it gave me the hiccups and I sent a letter telling him how he's the worst person ever."
She only cried a little bit and also wrote that they were so stupid she loved them.
"There are crocs in my dojo," he stressed, and a kid passing by gave them the most judging look a face full of baby-fat could give. "Did you know he owns purple ones and has a ketchup bottle pin in a croc hole? I was there when he bought it; an eye-witness to his fucking crimes, hm." His face fell, his next words trickling out in a whisper. "Do you think he got Kisame-san a pair too?"
The picture of someone as cool as Kisame wearing the dumbest shoes in existence stopped her in the middle of the street and made her double over in laughter.
"That's so—He got everyone crocs—pfft—" She covered her mouth and made the mistake of looking back at Deidara and the grief in his eyes— "Your face is so—PFFT—"
"You two look like you are having quite the time!" An older voice called out to them. "Deidara-sama I know is one of the many artists who spent months preparing for all our grand festivities, but you, señora, I could not say is a familiar face. Is it your first time in our lovely Iwa?"
Sakura smothered her laughter enough to peer through watery eyes at the man addressing them. The moment they'd stepped out of the Tsuchikage Structure, Deidara suggested she wear her hitai-ate in a less conspicuous place, at least while they toured the district so that shinobi would still notice her and civilians wouldn't immediately distrust her. She couldn't yet tell if the stranger knew who she was as he stood behind his stall with three plain cups lined up in front of him. A cork board lay propped on one of the wooden bars, rainbow rows of cut geodes the size of large coins pinned to it.
"Sí, señor. El pueblo es muy bella," her tongue tried, and from the amused hum from her side, it looked like all her practicing of Iwa dialect during her breaks at the hospital were finally paying off. "I've never been to an arts festival before!"
"Yes, yes, it is quite like no other! Our arts district is famous, Deidara-sama's sure to have informed you. Have you been to the main exhibit?"
"We're heading there now, yeah," Deidara said as they approached the stall. He eyed the corkboard. "No winners yet, Tío?"
"The day is still in its youth," Tío says, flashing them both an easy smile before his too-serene eyes flickered to her. "Would you like to hear the rules of the game? Win, and you will have your choice of pin crafted by yours truly."
"Careful," Deidara stage-whispered as he leaned closer. "He sets up a different game at the festival every year and the standing record for total number of wins at the end of the day is three, hm, and we don't even know how they did it."
Twenty-five gemstones winked in the sunlight.
"All is always fair."
A huff passed the quirk in his lips, and he crossed his arms. "I've been trying to win a geode pin off you for years. A gamble's what this is, yeah."
And Sakura perked up like a dog when it saw a squirrel.
"I'd love to play!" She exclaimed as she pulled Deidara with her another step closer. He only raised a brow, then leaned against the table anyway.
"Ten ryo a game," Tío started, that smile never dropping. "And the rules are simple." He lifted the cup to her left, empty, The right, empty. The middle, an uneven gold nugget. "All you need to do is tell me which cup has the gold every round. Get it right three times in a row, and you will have your choice of prize."
Sakura plucked a ten ryo coin from her back pouch and flipped it over with her thumb, and she watched him catch it between his index and middle finger without a glance.
"Ready?"
"Ready!"
And the middle cup went back down.
The first round they always give. Drew the attention in, kept interest in playing. It made people think 'maybe this isn't so bad' or wait, there has to be something else' as their eyes dragged around to where that gold nugget got pushed—right, middle, left, middle, right, left, middle, left, middle, left, right, middle, left—not too fast, not too slow, an introduction.
So when Tío gestured for her to pick and she pointed to the left one and she was right, she gave the tiniest fist pump.
"If you back out now you'll still have your dignity, yeah," Deidara said. She whapped his arm.
The left cup went back down.
The second round was where the difficulty spiked. The ones who weren't prepared get knocked out and the ones who stayed didn't blink so they didn't even miss a millisecond of where the nugget ended up, so she followed rightleftmiddlerightmiddlerightleftrightleftmiddleleftmiddleleftmiddlerightleftmiddlerighttransferlefttransfermiddlerightleftrighttransferleft, and before his fingers could lift off the cup, she pointed left.
"Two out of three," mused Tío. "Good luck, señora."
The left cup went back down, and she tried not to smirk when his hands didn't fly. It was a speed caught between the first and second round, and some lose out here because of how struck they were that it was too easy. Everyone else would lose because they always picked wrong, so she made a show of her dutiful tracking, but her mind ran in completely different directions.
'Right, left, behind, below.'
People liked to say how much like her mentor she was. They had the same strength and temper and alcohol tolerance, and she heard they sneered the same way when they got too annoyed (that one she didn't see), but other than that, she couldn't say they were that similar. Tsunade liked sour, she liked sweet. Tsunade preferred her fish in sauce, she liked to munch on them crispy.
Tsunade lost games.
'And if not any of those...'
Tío lifted his hands, and Sakura slammed the side of her fist on the table with a force that nearly tore it down and jolted Deidara's elbow off the table.
A moment passed.
Then plink went the small gold nugget that fell on top of the middle cup from where it somehow got tucked in the stall frame.
"Middle," she smiled, and the two blinked at the offending pebble.
"I..." Deidara lifted up his bangs. "What?"
"He said it in the rules—you pick every cup that has the gold. Has doesn't mean under, so above is fair game." Her smile widened. "Right, Tío?"
The other man, more than likely a retired shinobi who no doubt played in the same neutral gambling dens she did if she ever passed by on missions, flashed her a grin much sharper than the ones he used to draw in his players. "Completely, Haruno-san. One would think you inherited your Hokage-sama's luck at games like these, but how terrible of me to make assumptions!" He nodded towards the corkboard. "In fact, take two for besting this old man so well."
"Are you sure?" She frowned. "Your game sounds pretty notorious. What happens when people see two are gone? You'll get flooded!"
"The tries have slowed down today, so I should thank you for the new incentive." He winked. "Go on, it is a little sad to see them get so dusty because of how little they are won."
Sakura pressed her hand against her mouth as she turned to the pins. Almost immediately she picked the two orange-y ones, one the color of pumpkins and the other like saffron.
"Here," she said, pinning the pumpkin geode on Deidara's shirt before pinning the saffron one on her own. "Now you have something to put on your new crocs!"
He stared down at his shirt. Blinked. Then looked at hers. Blinked. Finally, he dragged his gaze up to her eyes still brimming with laughter ((and realized huh, maybe she missed me too)), and didn't hold back his grin when he slung an arm over her shoulders. "I have no idea what the fuck that was, but if I take you to a carnival, will you win me one of those huge stuffed animals, yeah?"
"We can go next month, if you want. There's a seasonal carnival near the Southern Fire Border that has stuffed animals the size of twin-sized beds, but they always ban me after one game so make sure you really pick the one you want."
Tío politely coughed to cover his snort.
::
"You live here. By yourself."
"Too much?"
"Bitch, this is an entire estate."
Kisame planted his hands on his hips and tilted his head as he gazed at his home. "We passed the main Hoshigaki Estate all the way back by where the speech was, and the rest of the main branch live there. I had to fight to use this clan house, but there's not much anyone could do against me as the Head." They'd trekked out to the farthest outreaches of the village hugged by dark green herbage, just a short walk to the rough rocky coast boats could never pull into. "It's quieter up here."
"I get that and you're valid, but." Hidan didn't quite know where to gesture, so he settled for throwing out both his hands and shaking them in the same general direction of the residence. "There's gotta be, like, ten bedrooms in there. What do you do with all that fucking space?"
"There's nine, and there's my room, the office, storage, Samehada's room—
"Samehada has its own room?"
"Technically it's the weapons room, but it's the only other thing in the house that has at least some sentience, so I let it have that. Keeps it from telling me how bad I am at maintenance even though it's just old and fussy." His sword wriggled and whapped its hilt against the back of his head. "Hey!"
The Seven Swords are, well, aware at best. None spoke and none would ever learn to speak, but they were worn and so filled with chakra they had grown something close to a consciousness. They understood words and direction and had the ability to choose who wielded them, and it had taken him a couple years to clearly pick up communication; and though he'd feel nudges directly into his chakra system or different scales that poked him in the back with its different 'feelings,' Kisame figured he'd gotten pretty good at translating.
For example: the whap to the head probably meant, 'You're a disrespectful brat and I don't know why I put up with you.'
Hidan snerked and pat Samehada a couple times. "I had a cat like you once. If I didn't get dinner for that little bastard at six exactly, she'd bite my ankles until I hauled ass to get her food." Some of its scales reached out and prodded at his fingers. "It's not my fault, if that's what you're thinking. Do you think? Or even have, like, a brain?"
Kisame tipped his head side to side. "Eh..."
The hilt whapped him again.
"What? You don't!"
They walked up to the polished front deck, wood patterns of raging sharks on its surface. Kisame fished for his house key tucked in his sandals because of course his formal wear never had any pockets.
"What was your cat's name?"
"Eh, don't really remember. I was young," the Commander shrugged as he peered at the sea glass lined on the window sills. "Funny we got the time to run into each other, though. I was expecting to be bored out my damn mind the rest of the week."
"I'm surprised you're not signing up for any of the events," he said as he led them through the front door. "But I guess it makes sense since it turns out you're got a 'Dark and Mysterious' thing I still have to get used to."
"Listen, I'm still cool and hot outside the 'Dark and Mysterious' thing, thank you very fucking much. Besides, I'd rather have my opponents fuck around and find out when they fight me instead of having a whole cheat sheet from watching me compete in a..."
He trailed off, eyes blew wide in the soft glow of the house. No bulbs were stuck in the walls and there was an absence of lamps in the corners, but mellowed blues, purples, and yellows crept up from inside the glass-covered waterways that cut across the floor. One wall was a silent running water display dotted with a color suspiciously close to the worms in the cave they were stuck in those months ago, and suspended from the ceiling was a great white shark skeleton nearly the same size as Kita-sama.
"Still too much?"
"You live in an aquarium," Hidan said. "An ethical aquarium because you don't have any animals, but your house has an aquarium aesthetic and you're living the life of your dreams." He turned to the other and grabbed his shoulders, staring intently into beady black eyes. "I want to be you when I grow up."
Kisame laughed and jut his chin towards the living room and the sprawl of dark blue couches that were almost black in the lighting. "At least wait until you hit your growth spurt first." Hidan stuck out his tongue before dumping himself to lay on one end of the couch, his feet hanging off the armrest in surprisingly normal regulation sandals. "What do you want to drink?"
"Whatever's good. You gave me the best fucking coffee in my life that I can only get when I'm in Kiri, so fuck you for that." Kisame pushed down a chuckle from his place half in his fridge as he rooted around, dutifully ignoring all the green containers along with his cluttered counter space. "Never took you for a coffee guy. You seem more... milkshake. Filled with protein powder."
"I usually get my coffee blended."
Hidan caught the can of coconut water tossed his way. "Close enough—how'd I fucking know?"
Kisame tapped the door shut with his hip as he cracked open his own can. That was a pretty good guess, actually, and now that he had all this time to mull over dank caves and snowstorms and trusting three shinobi from three different nations in helping him with something as important as his own summon giving birth.
It had been almost two years since the cabin and they were still running into each other. He shouldn't be surprised they were getting to know him.
"So how come you're not competing either?" Hidan asked as the clan head plopped down on the other end of the couch and threw one arm over the back as he kicked his feet up on the resin coffee table made to look like a deep sea abyss. "You're all about the scuffle and tussle life, and no way you'd turn down a chance to kick someone's ass."
"And then what?" He sighed. Navy hair smushed against the cushions. "Like you said, I'd rather not showcase myself in front of anyone out there. Other Swordsmen are fighting, and what've I got to prove?"
"If you can KO a bitch with your arms crossed."
"I did that a couple years ago."
"... God, what's it like being the hottest motherfucker on this island?"
"The worst. The proposals are getting out of hand." Kisame clicked his tongue and took another swig, making sure he got a couple coconut cubes for his troubles. "Last week a family offered me their entire kiwi orchard if I married their eldest daughter."
Hidan snorted, sputtering up some of the water he tried to drink while still lying down.
"And, okay, she was perfectly decent and everything, but they gifted me sixteen kiwi baskets before I could tell them no, and even after that they wouldn't take it back. It's just been kiwi after that—kiwi smoothies, kiwi bread, kiwi popsicles, fruit salad with guess what? God. Damn. Kiwi." He massaged his forehead. "I'm not letting free stuff go to waste and the rest of the Swordsmen won't help me because they barely eat the food group despite all our surnames somehow ending up as derivatives of fruit names. Fruit names, and they won't eat my kiwi!"
Down by his thigh, magenta eyes watered and didn't even try to hide how much they were enjoying this. "Wait, so all that baked shit over there—"
"If I eat another kiwi, and I cannot emphasize this enough, I will reject all earthly possessions to go and live as a shark man in the ocean."
Cackles burst out from Hidan's mouth. "You want help with your stash?"
"I would love you forever if you did."
One last cackle and Hidan hefted himself to his feet to knock a fist against Kisame's arm and ambled towards the closest counter space. And when he donned a too-serious look trying to pick between a kiwi cupcake and a kiwi muffin, Kisame glanced at the now empty spot on the couch and wondered why just lounging with Yugakure's notorious Jounin Commander was already taking a bit weight off his shoulders. In Kiri, he had it all: the Swordsmen, the clan, the pedestal he never asked for.
And... It wasn't too long ago when Kita-sama paid him a visit, her brood of rambunctious pups splashing in the deep water as she drifted over to her summoner. She talked about her children, listened to his updates, muttered about never understanding humans, then—since speaking of humans—asked after his clan members.
"Clan members?" He asks, one brow cocked. "You don't care about the rest of the clan."
"I don't, and it is their own fault that there is no one else like you." She sniffs. "But I have been swayed because of their help in delivering my children. The pink one is a competent medic, and the silver and yellow one were quite funny in their bickering, and eased my nerves."
In the distance, Tasichi threatens to eat his sister. Luako tells him they're all sharks and they could all eat each other if they really wanted to.
"I... They're not Hoshigaki."
"Oh. There are so many of you, I thought you finally found the ones you didn't mind. I have no understanding of why you convened in such a small cavern, though, but all your customs are strange." Her tail swishes dismissively. "No matter. When you see them, give them my regards and tell them they may have some of my pups if they keep TRYING TO EAT THEIR BROTHER, ONOHIKO—"
There'd been a lot to think about lately.
But he could give that thinking a break. Hidan was here, and it would only be a few days before all the foreign nin left.
"Take that cooler above the fridge and fill it with whatever you want. And coconut water. And some of the kiwi popsicles because I don't mind those ones," Kisame said as he pushed himself off the couch and ducked into the storage under the staircase. "We're fishing out on the rocks down the back of the house."
"What?"
He came back out with a couple seal cloaks and a pair of sensible black crocs. "Also these are the most comfortable things I've ever owned and I've made them my fishing shoes."
Hidan was silent for a grand total of three seconds before he wheezed muffin bits onto the floor.
::
The main arts exhibit was so different from out in the lively street. The lights were dimmer, the space was massive, and no one spoke louder than a murmur as they discussed the hundreds of pieces they pored over. It wasn't the type of place Sakura usually spent her time at and she was so far out of her depth she'd need a buoy to even begin to navigate, so when Deidara offered his arm she curled a hand around his bicep like a lifeline and felt his quiet huff through their shoulders.
"You look like I'm taking you to prison, hm."
"I don't want to lose you and I'll embarrass myself if I do," she grumbled. "I'm serious about having never been anywhere artsy before—I don't know what I'm supposed to do."
"Well that's your first problem; thinking you actually have to do something."
"Don't we?"
"We're here for art, yeah. You're only doing it wrong if you don't find a way to have fun," he said, pulling her to the nearest work with no one crowded around it. A statuette that could fit in a pair of cupped hands sat on a display stand, metal and impossibly smooth in its blank faces and incredibly detailed in the local clothing on three figures curled in close to each other. "So this year, the theme is 'fond.' What do you see when you look at this one?"
"I, uh, I don't really know a lot about art either," she said, sheepishly scratching her cheek. "Whatever I end up saying probably won't be right."
"Bzt." He flicked her nose, trying not to laugh at her bewilderment before it turned into a withering glare. "You're not allowed to not answer the question, hm. Try again."
"But—"
Deidara raised his hand again, fingers already in prime-flicking position.
"... Fine," Sakura grumbled as she reluctantly looked back at the statuette. "Um, it looks like a family? The two bigger figures are surrounding the smaller one in the middle, so maybe it's two parents and their child. But if it's about fondness, wouldn't the artist have made the faces detailed too?"
"Hmm..." He peered at the artist card on the stand. "I know her too; she's a career chuunin with a husband and a kid, yeah."
"Blank faces... to make it intentionally like it's not her and her family?"
"So who would it be instead?"
She hummed, face scrunching up as she leaned more of her weight against his side. "It's like..." Something clicked. "Ah, maybe it's blank so it can be anyone!" She exclaimed quietly. "Anyone who has a family can see themselves in it, like a happy memory." Her gaze softened. "Oh. That's sweet."
Deidara nudged her slightly. "Everybody knows some things about art even if they don't think so, hm. That's part of what makes our festival so big. Art is..." He tilted his head as he continued to stare at the meticulously carved metal. "There's no one true definition of art. What's the point of looking at something and thinking about it the same as everyone else? Where would be the discussion, yeah? The conversation?" The intensity in his sky blue eyes could almost burn orange with its fire. "Nothing lasts forever, and I can't help but think that when I'm in my dojo with my own art making something just—just in the moment with an idea that won't stop exploding in my head."
He paused, then pinkened, remembering the grip on his arm and turning away from the stare now glued to his face.
"Sorry," he grimaced. "I can get kind of annoying when I talk about that, hm."
Sakura immediately tugged him a step off balance. "You're not annoying, and whoever convinced you otherwise doesn't know what the hell they're talking about." His eyes snapped back to her. All that nervousness and uncertainty had melted in an instant, replaced with an indignation he'd never seen, but thought she had by the sheer fact she was Senju Tsunade's apprentice. "Got it?"
Deidara, caught between bafflement and the growing warmth in his chest, chuckled at his absolute loss of what else to say. "Got what?"
She raised her hand, fingers already in prime-flicking position, and he grinned.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Good," she sniffed, unable to wipe off her smile. "I want to go around the whole exhibit, but can we go see your work first? You definitely weren't lying about that with Nara-sama and Kitsuchi-san."
"Uh." He turned his head away again, pinker and an odd tenseness Sakura felt under her fingertips. "Sure, hm. It's farther in."
The crowd didn't get any thinner no matter where she looked, and she would've asked how Iwagakure could have so many artists with so many styles, but Deidara had fallen strangely silent and wouldn't really look at her. He never tried to shake her off once, though, so she kept hanging on and glancing around until they reached a different section of this maze of an exhibit where the walkways stayed darker and the paintings on the walls twinkled with contrasting rainbows of light.
The one they stopped in front of made her chest ache.
There were a million ways she could describe the painting in front of her backlit in white and green, but in the simplest of terms, it was a content snake curled around a snow storm strapped in a wine bottle.
The theme was 'fond,' and Sakura's eyes started to shine.
And then a small giggle slipped past her lips.
"What, yeah?" He snapped. Her hand moved down to his, and she squeezed his sweaty palm.
"Nothing," she whispered, leaning in like she was telling him a precious secret. "It's just, I thought I was weird when I started to hope I'd run into you guys more often. And knowing that it's not just me is..."
Deidara slowly wrapped his fingers around hers, then squeezed too.
"... Yeah," he whispered back. "Yeah, me too."
::
The fog wasn't as heavy as it had been earlier in the day, and a quiet sunset gleamed in the far distance. Their fishing rods stuck in the lower rocks and their lines were loose out somewhere in the water, and Hidan only vaguely noticed they hadn't caught a thing. Him and Kisame had been too busy laughing and chatting between bites of sweet bread and green smoothies, and this seal cloak? The warmest thing he'd ever worn, second to the black jacket from the cabin he never wore out on missions in case it got torn up.
He glanced down at the half-eaten fruit-including-kiwi salad in his lap.
"Hey, uh." His fingers tightened around the fork. "What the fuck are we even doing?"
Kisame looked over. "Trying to mix up the food cooler with the bait cooler? It was funny the first couple times, but I've still got that worm taste at the back of my mouth—"
"You know that's not what I mean." Hidan stabs the fork into a piece of mango. "It's—We're—This is a bad idea. This has always been a bad fucking idea and I don't know how we've been letting this go on for so long, but we're supposed to know better, are you shitting me? We're not comrades or allies or friends—"
"We are," Kisame interrupted, so easy in his certainty that the fork snapped in Hidan's grip and dug plastic bits into his skin. "Comrades, allies, friends, all of that." He twirled his half-eaten popsicle between his fingers, a couple kiwi seeds dripping into the ocean foam. "Why shouldn't we be?"
"... If we met on the battlefield, it'd never be on the same side. You get that, right? You against me, Deidara against Sakura, or any other fucked up combination anyone could come up with, but there'd never be an us. There's no room for us." Hidan huffed a laugh as stifling and empty as the house at their backs. "If we met on the battlefield," he said, "only one person's making it out alive."
"I wouldn't kill you."
"But if you had to, I'd let you." Hidan flashed his cheeky, bastard grin that would've looked like it belonged there if his gaze didn't feel like slipping off these rocks and landing in a bed of water-sharpened rocks below. A wave crashed, splashing droplets on his feet and the shins of dark red pants. "And isn't that just the biggest fucking problem we've got?"
The salty air stung against Kisame's cheeks.
Everything he could ever ask for Kiri left in the palm of his hand. The world—at least his tiny corner of it—was his oyster, and it blessed him with both every marine joke he could ever make and a responsibility that was going to weigh him down until he'd have nothing left. The Swordsmen, the clan, this pedestal was all that was meant to be his life. People couldn't cherry pick their burdens, and his let him know that everything he was getting told was right.
"Then it'll be the biggest fucking problem we'll figure out," he said. Hidan's grin wavered. "None of us know what we're doing, and this isn't anyone's best idea, but you guys—" Already mean something. Already mean more. Already— "already are enough for me to look forward to our next run-in." He split his own grin, and there was comfort in the serrated edges of his teeth. "I like you guys, plain and simple. That's enough for me."
Hidan clenched his fist, digging the plastic bits deeper and forcing blood to gush down his wrist.
"... You're insane," he laughed, pushing his other hand through his hair. "You're fucking out your damn mind and I can't believe I'm still sitting here listening with your fucking fruit salad and your goddamn coffee and how much you'd actually try for this fucking mess and—and—"
The fight breathed out his shoulders and he slumped forward.
"And... I might be fucking insane too, I guess." His fist uncurled, and at the sight of red, Kisame stretched his arm to pull it closer and try to dig the pieces out as best he could. His fingers were pretty fat and he was definitely missing a couple slivers, but he'd tweeze them out when they went back to the house. "Fuck, I hate you."
"No you don't."
"Yes I fucking do."
Hidan never tried to pull his hand back.
The fog was at the thinnest it had ever been today, somehow, some way, and the stars here looked the same as they were at Steam Country's warmer coasts. He'd visited once or twice, always alone and at night when crabs scuttled across the sand and the only tourists were ghosts. Empty, just like the empty hamam in the morning. He'd look at the stars for hours and wondered how people could look up at that ugly mess and love the boring polka dots they called stars.
"Her name was Hamsi. Anchovy."
Kisame looked up, careful not to jostle the small plastic slivers. "Who?"
"My old cat. Stupid asshole, walked all over my face at five in the morning and wouldn't let me do my work because she always wanted me to pet her. She'd bump her face into my arm if she wanted attention and stole my shirts to keep them in a stash under my bed." Hidan picked up a blackberry from the tupperware. "The head priest of that cult I was in made me kill her when I was ten. Said it was practice for when I had to make the real sacrifices after I was fully indoctrinated when I was older."
Another crashing wave, another fluff of sea foam.
"I'm glad you got out," Kisame murmured.
"... Huh." Hidan bit the inside of his cheek and held on to Kisame's wrist with all the hope that he didn't mind the blood. "That's the first time anyone's ever said that to me."
And the first time the stars ever looked this bright.
::
When Shikaku noticed the paint smudged on Deidara's fingers was the same color as the ones on Sakura's, he started to understand Inoichi's parenting woes a little better. Four days of talks and the two had been inseparable, and it was like only he and Kitsuchi were the only ones to notice. Kitsuchi had given up for his own sanity the second day when something exploded outside city limits and the kids showed up not too long after, covered in dust and alibis.
He laughed a bit then, but he was marginally more worried now.
So the night before their morning departure with Tsunade five glasses of rum deep and Shizune six in the living room of their temporary lodging, Shikaku took a seat next to Sakura on the steps down from the front door. it was out of hearing range of the others and had a great view of the village, and the whole time she'd been enjoying it she'd been snacking on a bag of some type of fritters Deidara gave her before getting dragged off by his uncle.
"I know I have no authority over you and your personal choices," he started, and Sakura's chewing slowed down. "But you and Deidara have only known each other for a few days and I don't know if it's a good idea if you start dating an Iwa-nin—"
"What?" She swallowed and scrunched her nose. "No way, I'd never date Deidara-kun."
"Well, you called him Deidara-kun, so you can imagine my concern."
"There's nothing to be concerned about, I promise." She offered the bag to him, and he peered in for a moment before sighing and taking one. "And are you really going to sit here and lecture me about boys?"
A beat of silence.
"Right. Good talk, Sakura-chan."
"Anytime, Nara-sama."
::
When Kisame didn't show up to the biggest event and he spied three Yu-nin murmuring amongst themselves in the absence of their Commander, all Zabuza wanted to do was sit down and take the time to come to terms with the fact that Ameyuri might be, could possibly, would be scary if she was, right.
"I can't believe they're actually banging."
"Ameyuri-san, I'm begging you."
"There was one event they both had to show up to, and they're not here," Kushimaru said. "Give it up, they're boning."
"Doing the do," Ameyuri said.
"Getting it," Kushimaru added.
Zabuza crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat. "Just straight up fucking."
Mangetsu stuffed his face in the bandages around his neck and screamed.
::
Hidan blinked himself awake, covered in thirty cupcake liners and so full of carbs there was no way he'd be able to move for the foreseeable future. When he turned his head to the side, and a few crumbs shuffled off his face and onto the floor, he saw Kisame face-down on the couch across from him with a stack of popsicle sticks on the floor beside him on top of a puddle of liquified kiwi.
Kiwi was the worst thing in existence, actually. Who the fuck invented it? Because they didn't deserve to be a fruit and who the hell had a fuzzy outside anyway? What the hell did it think it was, some special motherfucker? No. It was a loser, bottom-tier bitch who—
He blinked again, groaning as he rubbed the crust from his eyes.
Wait, was there somewhere they had to be?
