"What's that you're drawing?" Shin's voice was hoarse as his gaze flitted over to where Sai was sitting by his bedside, sketching something on his notepad.

"My dream girl," Sai answered honestly, just a bit of embarrassment seeping into his otherwise bland tone. Shin cackled at his expense, and Sai shyly hid his face behind the notepad. "She's a girl that keeps appearing in my dreams."

Shin smirked. "I believe, otouto, that you're going through a little something called puberty. About time. How recent is this development, hm?" He was half-expecting not to get an answer. Since young, Sai had always been introverted and withdrawn.

"Not long ago," Sai said quietly. "About the time you started getting sick."

The older boy's face dimmed a little before a smile returned. "That long?"

"But I'll get the cure," proclaimed Sai, eyes wider than usual. Desperation laced his voice. "I've almost finished training with Danzo-sama."

Danzo-sama. The name and honorific Sai had attached to it made Shin frown. "I don't trust him," he told Sai.

"I know. But there's no other choice."

"There is a choice. You could choose not to do this for me and live your own life."

"And leave you alone?" Sai sounded incredulous. "As if I could ever do that."

Despite his protests, Sai's words brought a soothing feeling to his heart. Shin settled down, shifting his head on his pillow slightly. "I love you, Sai. Even if you decide to leave, you'll always be my brother. But anyway," he smoothly changed the subject, "Show me your dream girl."

Subdued, Sai did, letting Shin take the notepad from him. The latter blinked, mouth gaping a little. "I wasn't expecting for her to be so detailed."

"I see her a lot."

"Clearly." Shin handed him back his sketch pad. "You know, she probably exists out there. Somewhere. No face someone could think up of is ever too unique to be real."

Sai agreed. "Probably."

"Perhaps you'll even meet her someday."

"Mm."

"Someday..." Shin stared up at the ceiling, tucking his arms under his pillow. "I'm sure you'll find her."

It was Konan's turn to carry Sai today. What a shame, Sasori thought, that scrolls were not designed to contain humans. But Konan was no pushover, and for that, he was glad.

After hours of walking, they took a break, finding a clearing and starting a fire with some sticks, small logs, and dried grass. Last night's leftovers were removed from a scroll (with a seal specifically designed to preserve perishable goods) and cooked over the flames.

Konan crouched, setting a still tied up Sai on the ground. "The next time we stop," she addressed Sasori, "We'll be closer to Danzo's territory. It would be unwise to set a fire than."

"Noted," Sasori answered, the flames coming dangerously close to licking his skin as he held one end of a long kunai, venison speared on the sharp end of it. He tossed Sai a glance. "We should probably have that one unconscious while we pass, too."

"Oh. You mean Sai?"

Sasori cocked an eyebrow. "Who else?"

Konan gave him an infuriating smile. "Just making sure, Sasori-san."

Narrowing his eyes, Sasori's gaze followed Konan as she loosened the ropes around arms. "What are you doing?" he demanded, starting to stand.

"Back off."

Sai watched the two, gaze flicking back and forth between them, as electricity seemed to crackle in the air. Sasori continued to glare, but Konan was unrelenting, simply staring coldly back at him.

"Don't tell me you feel pity for him?" Sasori said abruptly, still crouched by the fire. His lip curled. "Pathetic. The moment you turn your back on him, he'll stab it. His loyalties lie with the man who betrayed you to the enemy and no one else."

"What can he do?" Konan retorted, winding up the rope as Sai looked at his now free hands, a little baffled by her decision. "There are two of us and one of him—even just one of us could kill him easily now that he's alone. Not to mention," she glanced at his bound legs, "not completely mobile."

Sasori hissed in displeasure. "Fine. But when you end up dying in a ditch, don't cry to me. And the binds are back on after we eat."

Konan seated herself next to Sai as if to guard him, while Sasori was sitting opposite both of them on the other side of the campfire, watching them both intently.

"I have salt tablets," she said when the meat finished cooking. "We can dissolve them and use it to preserve what we have left." Konan stood. "I can do that."

"Fine," Sasori replied agreeably. She went off somewhere sunnier to prepare the brine, leaving Sasori and Sai in each other's company. With his legs still tied, Sai didn't try anything, merely flexing his wrists and elbows to get back some feeling into them. "Oi," the red-haired man called, Sai's head snapping up to attention.

"Yes?"

"I'm going to ask you some questions. You will answer."

Sai didn't smile this time. "I cannot answer that you want to hear."

"Let me guess, anything about Danzo?"

"Yes."

"Hmph. Who would've have thought, huh?" he said wryly. "Are you actually physically incapable of divulging information?"

"Yes."

"Liar."

Sai stuck out his tongue momentarily, the black seal clear as day. "Have you forgotten about this, Traitor?"

"And?" A growl rose from his throat as he stood and marched over to Sai, grabbing his jaw, examining his protruding tongue. "You know," he said lowly, his aggression ebbing away, replaced by morbid fascination as he scrutinized Danzo's seal. He had an eye for seals, but was inexperienced with seals with Konoha origin. It was to be expected, seeing as he had spent the majority of his life in Suna and Ame. "Danzo never quite explained to be how this worked. I've put some pieces together, but I want you to confirm some things for me. First question: What happens if you divulge information about ROOT and your leader to me?"

"... I'm not sure. Technically, you're part of ROOT. But at the same time..." Sai hummed. "Normally, we would be paralyzed and unable to speak. If we try to resist, the seal releases a poison that guarantees death." The boy paused. If I was able to answer that, then perhaps there are larger constraints than I first anticipated. Or maybe because the seal recognizes Sasori as an ally...

Sasori loosened his grip around his jaw. "So it doubles as a suicide seal. And this can also be triggered at will, right?"

"Yes. I have had no reason to try it though."

The assassin's eyes gleamed. "And why is that?"

"Is that outside of the norm?"

"Not particularly." Sasori tilted his head slightly. "But most people in our profession would consider death sweet relief. So what makes you so different? Your conditioning to repel all emotion? I highly doubt that. Emotion cannot be killed, only suppressed. And that, in itself, is immensely difficult. How long have you been with Danzo?"

"One year."

"One year... one year..." he muttered. "Not long at all, then. That isn't long at all. So how did you end up like this, brat?" Sasori circled him, noticing that Sai seemed to tense up whenever he exited his field of vision. Ignoring his discomfort, he went on, musing, "You're not a big talker, are you? I'm even willing to bet that you were the type who kept their head down before you started tangling with Danzo. How did you spend your days? Drawing? Painting?" He let the words sink in before adding the final blow, "With someone else?"

Sai, whose head had been turning slightly side to side ever since Sasori started pacing around him like a vulture circling a carcass—the movement was barely noticeable—stilled. "There is no one," he said, forcing as much honesty into his voice as possible.

But—

He was still lying.

Like a spider spotting a fly, Sasori stopped his pacing and crouched in front of him, murky brown eyes boring into inky black ones. "Is that so?"

"Yes."

"How did you even survive then?"

"You're not making sense."

When Sasori had still been an active killer, a personal tool to the Emperor—and occasionally, with the man's permission, some of his lords—he hadn't been alone, no matter how it seemed. When he was off duty, he was training—training with his grandmother, mostly, who had started teaching him the art of puppeteering since young. He'd trained with another boy, too, who was close to his age. A boy named Komushi, who had a personality adaptable to Sasori's distrustful, icy one. He'd been full of apprehension back then, but now that he thought about it, he and Komushi had actually been quite close despite that.

Maybe he had spent much of his time alone, blood staining his form, but the small reprieves he got were also reminders that there was something to protect behind him—his family, perhaps even Komushi—that compelled him to slice men in half without hesitation, or watch coldly as they frothed at the mouth, convulsing, overcome by poison.

"If you really have no one," Sasori stated brusquely, growing a tad impatient with his constant lies. "Then why are you here? What do you fight for? Your home? Your country? You don't seem like that kind of person."

The boy didn't answer, merely continuing to stare at him.

Eventually, Sasori stood. "I can always find out myself," he reminded him. "It would only take one trip to the orphanage."

Sai's face darkened ever so slightly. "As soon as you step into town without, you will alert Danzo. He will kill you for your betrayal."

"What is Danzo besides one more man I have to kill?"

Sai smiled hollowly, confidently. "You will not kill him."

"I have to," he replied simply, as if Sai were an idiot who couldn't comprehend the situation. "He could cut off all of my limbs, and I'd still bite his throat open with my mouth."

"Why?"

"Because I have my duties, as you have yours. But soon, yours won't matter. And you'll be better off."

Konan returned then, and the conversation was dropped. Sai avoided her the gaze she shot him—thinly veiled concern. Sasori stepped back from Sai, putting out the fire—all the meat had already been cooked, and Konan was already starting to brine them—by unceremoniously dumping a pile of dirt and dust on it. It went out without so much as a hiss, utterly suffocated—much like how Sai had felt as Sasori's killing intent wrapped around them like an insulating shroud during their quasi-interrogation.

"Let's go," Konan announced curtly when the meat had been soaked in brine and sealed into a preservation scroll for extra protection. The seal wasn't infallible—eventually, with time, it would rot—but with the added layer of salt, it would last longer. By now, Sai's arms were bounds once more, and he could have sworn Sasori actually tightened the hold.

"We've wasted enough time," Sasori said offhandedly, which Sai had picked up as his own way of agreeing with her. It seemed that Konan and Sasori didn't mesh as well as they would have liked. Or maybe he was wrong. Sai didn't know. He had never known much about human emotions. Sasori had been right—he'd been withdrawn and quiet as a child; the only person capable that had been of bringing him out of his shell was Shin. And now his brother was sick, and it was up to him—up to Sai—to—

"Yes," Sai said, not unaware of the mild surprise on their faces as he spoke up, "We'd better get there soon."

Or Danzo-sama will come knocking on the door.

It was surreal. Kisame's tea went cold as he watched Gai's students launch a flying kick into the air, shouting kiais willy-nilly. He didn't know what had compelled him to come back after seeing such an eccentric display yesterday—it was probably disbelief and masochism on his part. Chihiro had accompanied him, stating that she had already finished homework for tomorrow, and the young girl, who was turning ten soon, was chatting amicably with Tenten.

"I can't even tell which one is Lee from here," Tenten remarked, throwing the taijutsu students a glance. Gai was only differentiable because he stood at the front, instructing them. Occasionally, he would run around and correct some forms, too.

"I think he's the one at the front, third from the right." Chihiro squinted, sweatdropping. "Or he could be the one in the third row, second from the left... Umm..."

"Isn't that him in the row furthest from the front?" Kisame chipped in.

The three of them were currently seated at a round table with an umbrella sticking out in the middle. It covered all of them from the sun. Gai had been polite enough to provide them with tea and biscuits.

Unfortunately—

"They're so bland," Tenten muttered under her breath as she examined the cookie in her hand. "Even the rations we ate had more flavor than this." But her days in the factory and out in the wilderness had taught her to appreciate food more, and she chucked it in her mouth anyway, not even flinching when it took her three bites to break just one chunk of the biscuit.

"The entertainment makes up for it," opined Kisame, having given up on Spot Lee.

Once taijutsu practice was over, some of them headed inside while others chose to remain in the courtyard. Gai, with Lee by his side, sauntered over to them with a huge grin on his face.

"Hello, Tenten!" Lee greeted cheerfully. "I've advanced quite far with my training! Did you see?"

Beads of sweat began to trail down the brunette's face, having been unable to pinpoint which student had been Lee. "Uhh," she warbled.

Luckily for her, Chihiro came to her rescue. "It was awesome!" she crowed, much to Lee's delight. "You're amazing, Lee-senpai! Can you teach me sometime? Kisame-sensei has been lazy, lately."

"Oi, kid."

"SENPAI?!" Lee practically bawled, talking over Kisame. "Chihiro-chan!"

"Lee-senpai?!"

"CHIHIRO-CHAN!"

"LEE-SENPAI!"

The biscuit Tenten was holding broke under her grip. Beside her, Kisame eyed her clenched fist nervously. Finally, with a mighty yell, she slammed her fist over Lee's head. "That's enough from you, dammit!"

Gai let out a hearty laugh. "Ah, youth! It surrounds us all this spring! Wouldn't you say, Kisame-san?"

Kisame grunted. "Yeah, sure." Above him, cherry blossom trees were in full bloom already. After a long, hard winter, the sakura trees had decided to give them an early show. But, Kisame thought uneasily, for how long will this peace last? We can't forget that we're still in war. Even if it doesn't seem like it... What if Konoha suffers the same fate as Akatsuki?

"Something on your mind?" Tenten inquired as Gai enabled Chihiro and Lee to get into a competition of who could shout the loudest.

"Hm? Ah." Kisame chuckled. "Nothing in particular. I'm just thinking is all."

She smiled wryly. "Then it's not really nothing in particular, is it?"

"Hah! You got me on that one, kid. Why would you spare any thought to an old man's concerns, though?"

"You're not that old. I know for a fact that you're not fifty yet, so don't be dramatic, Kisame-san. And why wouldn't I give you any thought? I'm interested."

Kisame threw a biscuit in his mouth, crunching easily through it with his sharp teeth. "If you say so." He swallowed. "I just can't help but wonder what we're going to do when the world ends again."

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"Well, think about it. According to the latest news bulletin, we're currently at a stalemate with Tsuki. Our forces, combined with Ame's are almost equal. The next thing that we're both doing is sending out diplomats to other nations to beg for help." It was a crude way to put it, but it was, in essence, the truth. "It's all a bit hush-hush at the moment, but I've heard that we'll be deploying some more ambassadors to Suna. The first batch we sent are still there, but they haven't managed to convince the Emperor of Suna of anything yet."

"Diplomats..." Tenten's eyes widened a little. "Hang on—Shikamaru mentioned something about being an aide to one of them. Does that mean he's going to...?"

They lapsed into a fraught silence.

Then Kisame glanced at Gai, Lee, and Chihiro, who were all smiles and laughs. Unconcerned. Free. Untroubled. He... wanted to protect that. He knew they were strong, but their grins were weaker—able to be wiped away easily. "Then I hope," Kisame said finally, drawing Tenten's attention once more. "He knows what he's doing."

"I don't know what the hell we're doing," Shikamaru deadpanned as Choji spread meat across the grill in Yakiniku Q. "Did you order beef tongue?"

"Yep. Itadakimasu!"

"Good." Shikamaru slumped in his seat, sighing. "This could make or break the war for us. Konohagakure already has a troublesome history with Sunagakure. The last thing we need is Suna against us, too. If the first batch—who were chosen because they're better—couldn't get things done, our chances of success are staggeringly low. Not to mention that Suna's not going to like so many Konoha envoys in one place."

Choji gobbled down his rice and meat at an amazing rate, but it was clear he was listening to Shikamaru's worries, too. When his mouth wasn't full, he asked, "You're not going to be speaking for them, are you?"

Shikamaru shook his head. "Nah, or that'd be really troublesome. I'm just an aide to Ito-san. Think an adviser, but not as important."

"I'm sure you'll be fine, Shika," Choji reassured, reaching across the table to pat Shikamaru's shoulder. "Ouch!" he cried when oil from the sizzling meat jumped onto his arm, pulling back. "Bad idea..."

But the Nara laughed, his expression no longer so tight and troubled. "You're all good. I should start eating before you finish everything. Itadakimasu!"

"How did you come here?" Deidara asked as she took a bite out of her bread. It had been almost a week since she had arrived, and when she wasn't with Mirai or Ami, she was with Guitar Man. Now, she sat on the edge of the fountain with Guitar Man, who had abandoned his tiny chair nearby to eat with her. He was holding a bowl of hot soup to his lips, ignoring the spoon, which he only used for scooping up carrots and potatoes.

"It was a long time ago," he answered after letting out a satisfied sigh. "I wasn't born blind, you see, and my father had great hopes for me. But then my eyesight began to deteriorate, and he was at a loss. In the end, I left. He never stopped me."

He left... Deidara swallowed, the bread leaving a dry feeling in her mouth. So this is his story, hm? "Where did you go?"

"Many places. Until I finally arrived here and settled. I never married."

"Oh yeah?" Pigeons flew down, pecking at bread crumbs that Deidara had dropped. Absently, she tore some of her bread roll into tiny bits and threw it across the floor. Wings flapped and feathers flew as they pushed one another aside for the most meager of pieces. "Back home, most of the snobs said I would never get married, hm. Honestly, I used think I was better off like that. But marriage..." I'll only ever consider it if it's with him. "It could be a beautiful thing."

"I don't doubt that." Guitar Man gave her a side smile. "But marriage will never be a chapter in my life. My feelings lie outside of romantic boundaries."

"Are you looking for something? You give me that impression, yeah."

Guitar Man hummed, pensive. "I'm not sure if I'll ever find it. Sometimes I feel as if I'm nearly there. That it's only an arm's reach away. What about you, Deidara-san? What are you looking for?"

What am I looking for? Well, for one, Sarutobi Kurenai. Technically, she already knew where she was, though—she was simply waiting for her return, which would be soon if there were no other delays. "I'm not sure," she grunted in the end, taking another bite out of her bread. "Maybe I'm not looking for anything, hm."

"Everybody's looking for something. Think about it for a while."

So she did, letting it sit.

When she returned to The Orange Bluebell, it was late afternoon, and Umeko offered her an early dinner.

"It's potatoes, peas, and a lamb cutlet tonight," the innkeeper announced with a proud smile. "Meat's scarce these days; this is the best meal we've whipped up in weeks!"

It sounded delicious. Her stomach rumbled, and Deidara flushed slightly. "That would be great," she said, nodding. "Got any drinks?"

"Sure thing, but we don't have anything that strong here. Some sake, perhaps?"

Deidara seated herself at the bar, allowing Umeko to pour some of the aforementioned rice wine into her glass. The tavern was almost empty today, the only other customer a gentleman at the back. He was a traveler like her—he'd probably be gone by tomorrow morning if the snide looks he kept shooting at his cheap meal had anything to do with it.

"Man," Umeko sighed as Deidara drank, taking it slow. "Business sure has been slow."

"Clearly." The blonde glanced around. "It's not normally this quiet?"

"No. Before my husband went to war, this place was always busy." She sighed wistfully. "I miss those days... But enough about me. You're my guest, Deidara-san. So what about you?"

"Hm? What about me?"

"Well, you know." Umeko cleaned a glass with a rag. "Do you have anyone back home waiting for you? You're young and pretty—I'm sure you have men lining up for you."

A snort. "You'd be surprised then, yeah."

"Aw, don't be like that." The innkeeper was young. Not as young as Deidara, but certainly not an old maid. She was in her early thirties, most likely, just like Rin. Umeko normally kept her jet black hair curled into a low bun, much like how Izumi had wore hers. But her body was voluptuous and plump; soft and pampered—much unlike Izumi's lithe, supple body and calloused hands. The world had been kinder to Umeko than Izumi. Again, it was merely circumstance that set them apart. "But since you didn't absolutely deny it, that means I'm at least a little right, right? Who's the lucky man? Or men."

"Man," Deidara answered, a smile pulling at her lips.

"Ah! Young love! How did you meet? Did you fall over? And then he caught you? Helped you up?"

At that, Deidara burst out laughing, and Umeko thought her teeth looked particularly sharp in the light. "If only," she wheezed. She wasn't drunk yet; just a little buzzed, but it was a slow and gradual process. "If only," she repeated," it was that simple."

"It never really is. So what really happened? Was it love at first sight?"

"Nope. Quite the opposite, in fact." Deidara chuckled, recalling their first meeting. It had been less an ideal for a pair of lovers. But if I could do it all over again... I wouldn't change a thing. "Our first meeting was a taijutsu battle, hm."

"Wow. No kidding?"

"No kidding. Our views on art are practically polar opposites, yeah. So it was more a way of forcefully trying to get each other to agree. We became rivals of sorts after that. There was a lot of fighting—physical and verbal—but..." Deidara lifted her glass to her mouth. She put it back down. "There was respect, too. And then it grew from there.

"Our city was invaded, and we became little more than prisoners in our own home. When we fought together again, it was alongside each other. He had my back, and I had his." There was a certain peace in the inn that coaxed her feelings from her mouth. Umeko was listening carefully, and the gentleman at the back was occupying himself with a newspaper—the economics section. "I think I realized it then, yeah. That..." Her cheeks reddened slightly, and it wasn't from the alcohol. "I was in love with him."

"That's..." Umeko put the glass she had been cleaning down, a wistful smile on her face. "That is your treasure. Keep it safe, Deidara-san."

"I will," she vowed.

The innkeeper leaned across the bar, resting her chin on her palm. "Thank you for sharing that with me. I'm afraid my own love story isn't as suspenseful as yours. I came from a poor family," Deidara blinked in surprise, "with pretty terrible parents. They were constantly worried about money, and often hurt each other because of it."

Deidara's throat bobbed, feeling an odd shame burning her ears. Once, again she had misjudged someone; unintentionally tossed aside their experiences. She wondered briefly if she had done the same with Ami, but the purple-haired girl seemed pretty transparent. "Did it ever get physical?" she asked cautiously.

The light in Umeko's eyes dimmed. "Many times. Most of the time, though, I wasn't caught up in it. But it terrified me back then—the walls were so thin. I could hear every scream and every slap. Eventually, I escaped when I met my husband. It was love at first sight—we married quickly. By then, my father was already dead, and my mother was extremely sick. And my dear husband... He took money out of his own pocket to pay for medicine. But she died anyway. And, well, here we are." Umeko gestured around them. "I get pretty lonely without him, but I just have to push on. I have faith, you know," she added after a long pause, "That he will come back to me. And even if he doesn't..."

Deidara inched forward.

"Then I'll still remember him. Even when I'm old and grey. Memories—of the good and the bad—they are important."

The good—

—and the bad?

For a while, Deidara simply stared at her drinks, the words floating around the forefront of her mind.

Kurenai returned the next day, late in the morning when Deidara undoing her hair bun as she stepped outside of the bakery, the sleeves of her green yukata falling down her arms as she lifted them. Ami pushed past her when she spotted the woman in question—long, untamed black hair that cascaded down her back, slender figure, and carrying with her a small wooden box that surely held delicate contents. She wore a red garb over a dark gray undershirt and lavender pants.

"Kurenai-san!" Ami yelled as she chased after the woman. "You're back!"

Asuma's wife turned slowly, eyes widening in surprise. "Ami-chan? Oh—be careful, please!"

"Of course!"

Together, the three women made haste to Kurenai's apartment block, where Furude was taking care of Mirai. Ami and Kurenai exchanged a few terse words, leaving Deidara to listen some distance away, ignored.

Once they were by Mirai's side, it was what Deidara considered an organized panic.

"Careful!" Kurenai reminded sharply, glaring up at Ami when she bumped into her, nearly knocking the box out of her hands. "They couldn't spare much of the antitoxin—I only have two bottles."

Ami met her stare evenly, a side of her that Deidara had only caught a glimpse of one time coming out. "I know," she replied, voice steady. "I'll make good use of it. I'm the only one here with actual training with vaccinations anyway." Determined, Ami drew out some of the liquid with a sterilized syringe she had procured from the medical kit on the bedside table. Mirai was asleep, her breathing ragged as Ami closely checked the amount of medicine she had drawn.

"Mmrgh..." Mirai stirred, eyes opening slowly just as Ami nodded, satisfied she had drawn the correct amount of serum. "What's," she rasped, "going on? Okaa-chan? Is that you...?"

Kurenai's face crumpled a little as she took in the sight of her daughter, who she hadn't seen for weeks. "Oh," she lifted a hand to her mouth, "Oh, it is, musume-chan. I'm here now."

"Mirai-chan." Ami's voice was firm, but not unkind. "I'm going to give you the medicine now. You might feel a prick, like an ant biting you. But you'll feel better very soon."

"Mmkay... I like... ants... anyway..."

As if it were second nature to her, Ami swabbed a cotton soaked with disinfectant over a spot on her pale arm. She checked the contents one last time before inserting the needle, pushing her thumb against the plunger flange.

Beside Deidara, Furude exhaled a sigh of relief. "Finally. That girl has been suffering for too long. Now she can finally rest and recover."

Silently, Deidara agreed. "It's her birthday today, isn't it?"

"Yesterday, actually."

"Then..." Her eyes landed on the light package twisted in the blankets—Asuma's present to his daughter. "Why hasn't she opened it yet, hm? What is she waiting for?"

Furude's answer was two words in total. "Her father."

Guitar Man stopped playing when he heard her approach. "Ah. You're back again." He heard her sit on the floor without a care of dirtying her clothing. "Something on your mind, Deidara-san?"

"Your company calms me," Deidara admitted, passing one hand through her hair. "You know what kind of effect you have, right? When everyone hears you play, the atmosphere isn't as suffocating, hm. But I guess that I do want to know a few things."

"Ask away then. I have time."

"What was Iwa like when you were there?"

"Iwa? It was lovely, it's beauty wholly unmatched; unlike any other. Even when my world went dark, I could still hear it's sounds and smell its scents. Taste the rich and warm foods it had to offer, feel the chilly autumns and the warm springs."

She looked at him doubtfully. "But you still left anyway."

"Yes. I left because I was chasing something greater. But if it were not for that... I have no doubt that I would be living in a small village on the border where everyone knows each other. Far away from my father, but close enough to home."

"Maybe when you were there it was like that," Deidara said, hugging her knees to her chest. "But it's not that great now. I prefer Konoha, yeah." By a very small margin. At least nobody's died yet. At least the Hokage isn't orchestrating any deaths. Or maybe she is, and I'm just better off not knowing.

Guitar Man's fingers stilled. "Do you, now? I suppose I can't blame you. After all," his head turned to her, and she could have sworn he was staring straight into her soul, "you would have been very young when the Iwa Civil War came about."

I was young. So, so young.

"I know little of the details, but I know enough about war to know that it was, undeniably, an unnecessary tragedy."

"Yeah," Deidara agreed quietly, "It was."

He kept coming back with his loyal servant Hisaichi. Every time he stepped foot in that grand hall—even if he was cursed to never lay eyes on its magnificent beauty—what he heard was a humbling experience. The girl always sang in the afternoon, when there were the least amount of people. Her talent hadn't been discovered and cultivated yet, it seemed. Though, to Shinichi, her skill needed little cultivation. Her voice was low and pure and she sang of the most wonderful and tragic things.

Today, however, was his last day here before his father would return home, finished with his business.

Hisaichi snuck a glance at him. "Young Master, are you okay?"

"Fine, Hisaichi-san. But before we leave, I must speak to her at least once."

"I'm sure that can be arranged. We can catch her as she's leaving. After all, she does no encores."

Yes, because nobody ever requested one. How strange!

The girl sang and sang—pleading her last song even as the curtains closed. It was if the ocean had washed over him, and nothing could be heard except the sway of water, her voice echoing through the seas.

After the show, they got out of their seats and round to the back of the grand theatre. Shinichi was wiping tears from his eyes when Hisaichi sighed. It was not an exasperated one. In fact, it was almost as if it were an inquiry.

"Yes?" Shinichi prompted, calm.

"I've never seen you so moved before," Hisaichi told him. "Remarkable. Simply remarkable."

"That's the power of music, isn't it? Isn't it curious, how mere arrangements and adjustments of pitch and tune could celebrate the human soul so perfectly. In the physical sense, it is unattainable. Untouchable."

"Why is that?"

"You can't touch music, Hisaichi-san," he pointed out.

"I know that! But what do you mean by that?"

Shinichi chuckled. "Music is the soul. We cannot touch the soul. But we all have it in us anyway. It's constantly touching us, but we can never return its touch."

A gentle footfall reached his ears and both men turned around. The wind picked up then, and Hisaichi blinked once at the sight of the short blonde girl in front of them, dressed in the same fancy robes that the performer had worn. It was then everything pieced together for Hisaichi, poor eyesight and all.

"You're right." Her speaking voice was higher than her singing one, unaware of Hisaichi's mind tossing and turning. "We can't touch music, but music can touch us. The same can be said to all forms of art."

"Oh!" the old man gasped. "You must be...!" He racked his head for the name the emcee had announced. "Bakuhatsu..."

"Bakuhatsu no Uri," Shinichi finished for him. Behind his glasses, the corners of his eyes creased as he smiled. "My name is Maekawa Shinichi."

"Please," she returned his smile, "call me Uri, yes. Did you want to see me?"

"Ah. Even if I wished to—and I do—I wouldn't be able."

Uri, noticing his dark shades for the first time, flushed. "I'm sorry. I didn't notice, yes." Her cheeks had already been red when she had arrived; the exhilaration she had felt on the stage had yet to leave her. "Forgive me, yes, I—"

"No, it's quite alright. But I did have a question for you."

Hisaichi stood back, allowing his master to take the lead.

"The son of one of Iwa's most distinguished lords has a question for someone like me?" mused Uri, eyebrows raising into her hairline. Indeed, she was a mixture of insightful maturity and childish immaturity.

"Impressive for a country girl," muttered Hisaichi as Shinichi laughed. "She managed to identify him so quickly..."

"Distinguished lord my sire may be, but I am still on the cusp of adulthood. A mere boy, if you so please. So please deign me an answer to my question, will you?"

Uri giggled. "If you so wish. I have a friend who's looking for me, so you must hurry, yes."

"Looking for you?"

"Yes. I ran away from him because he threw mud in my hair the other day. He's trying to apologize, but I've been giving him the slip, yes~"

"How unladylike," Hisaichi opined, frowning. But Uri simply shrugged his disapproval aside, looking only at Shinichi.

"Very well. Here is my question then: What is art?"

At first, Uri stared at him, eyes wide. Then she closed them, peace washing over her features. "Art is many things for many people. I can only answer that question with regards to myself, yes."

Shinichi nodded. "I understand."

Though he could not see, Uri was actually inspecting him quite closely now, eyes narrowed slightly. She stalled, deliberating her answer. A voice called her name in the distance. Straightening, she spoke, "I'm sorry, Lord Maekawa, but I cannot tell you my answer."

"Oh?" Shinichi tilted his head. "And why is that?"

"Because..." She knew he couldn't see her, but she beamed at him anyway. "You have to find it for yourself. 'What is art,' you asked. I can only ever tell you what I think of art, but that would be wrong of me to do so, yes." Bewildered, Shinichi blinked. "It would be such a waste," she added, "If I were to direct to you a path that is not necessarily meant for you to walk. So forgive me, Lord Maekawa."

Before Shinichi could even fathom responding, more footsteps reached his ears and Hisaichi made another disapproving noise when a boy with brown hair and blue eyes appeared. He was the same age as Uri, and undoubtedly the friend she had been running from.

"There you are!" the boy exclaimed as he lowered himself to her. "I'm so sorry!" Then he got up and grabbed her by the wrist—not too tight; he didn't want to hurt her. "Come on, Uri-chan!" Like a whirlwind, he was gone, taking Uri with him. The girl shot the pair one last grin, one tinged by a strange hint of sadness, before she disappeared into the horizon.

"What rude children," Hisaichi huffed, feathers ruffled like an irritated penguin.

Shinichi chuckled. "Let them be, Hisaichi-san."

"She never even gave a proper answer to your question."

"No. But she gave me something even more precious." Shinichi turned back, and Hisaichi felt a chill run down his spine; sometimes he swore that his master could see every little thought that floated through his head. "One day... I hope I get to hear her songs again. Especially... the one she called Mirai."

At the end of the day, Deidara got up and left.

Mirai—hope for the future.

Guitar Man remembered the inscription he had asked the old towerkeeper—who had only been ten years his senior—to engrave onto the floors of the final level. When the job had been done, the towerkeeper had left a parting gift somewhere. Guitar Man wasn't sure where exactly—but he knew it was there. His old bones creaked as he stood after hours of playing, moving his stiff fingers around. What a shame, Guitar Man thought sadly, that he is now dead.

His body had never been recovered. All they had was a KIA stamped over his file and his name in the obituaries.

Inwardly, Guitar Man knew what had likely happened. Dismemberment. Beheading. Anything that left the body in more than one piece. Sighing heavily, he finished his stretches and sat down once more on the dinky little seat that he carried into the square from his humble one-storey home every day.

His body swaying side to side, his fingers flicked at the strings as he imagined the song he had heard so long ago. It had stuck with him for many a decade, and though he was old, he would not be forgetting it anytime soon.

The words were blurrier, but they were there.

But, Guitar Man found, he could not bring himself to sing them.

More people crowded around him today, their faces lighting up as they got closer. He played them song after song until they had all dispersed. It was his gift to them, he considered; one that would make them forget about their losses for one brief moment.

Once the people were gone, Guitar Man was alone again. But he had been alone for many long years, travelling by himself, and the solitude was nothing but an old friend he greeted quietly.

His ears perked when he heard footsteps. The walker favored the right leg slightly.

Guitar Man raised his head. "Hello, Deidara-san."

He heard her halt in front of him.

Deidara's shoulders tensed slightly before drooping. Ami was looking after Mirai today, and Deidara had wandered outside for reprieve. Her feet had taken her to the square, where the bell tower loomed and Guitar Man sat. Why did I even come here again? she asked herself for the umpteenth time as she considered the blind man in front of her. Even with his full height, Deidara guessed, she would still be taller than him. He was starting to grow stooped with age. She exhaled softly. "Hey. Do you think you could play me a song, hm?"

"Of course. What kind of song would you like to hear?"

"Hmm..." Deidara hummed. "What's your favorite song?"

"I have many favorites."

"Yeah, but you have to have one that you love the most."

Her voice...

Guitar Man glanced up at her, unseeing. "There is one," he began slowly. "But I will not sing the words to it."

He could sense her confusion.

Deidara raised an eyebrow, curious. "Oh? And why is that, hm? Don't tell me—there are swear words in it."

Guitar Man laughed. "If only it were so simple."

A low chuckle escaped her lips, and Deidara couldn't help but smile, a hint of sorrow in the action. "I don't care if it has words or not," she decided. "Your taste in music more than makes up for it, yeah." It had a timeless feeling to it—the sort of music that her mother would have played. Her smile dimmed a little.

Taking a deep breath, Guitar Man acquiesced, long, lissome fingers hovering above the still bronze strings. But then he halted. "Before I begin, may I ask you a question?"

"The son of one of Iwa's most distinguished lords has a question for someone like me?"

"A man like you has a question for someone like me?" Deidara smirked, unaware of how his heart twisted at the familiarity of her words. He was certain now. Deidara—she was—

"Ahem. Yes, I do, actually." Guitar Man let patience seep into his heart and into his tone. "Do you resent your background, Deidara-san?"

Any laughter that might have been held in her throat evaporated. Her face was suddenly like stone, and though Guitar Man could not see her expression, he could tell she was not pleased. "Why would I resent it?" she said calmly. "My ethnicity has nothing to do with who I am now, hm."

"Your background is more than your ethnicity," Guitar Man soothed her. "I mean your country, your people, and your culture."

"Iwa is not my country. It's people are not my people. And I have long forgotten the culture." Her voice was as cold as winter wind, and he had to wonder about her stance on this.

"And why do you reject it so? It is clear, even to a blind man like me, that you are mistaken. It has shaped you into the person you are today. I am not entirely sure that we would be having this conversation if it were not so."

"I—look, Guitar Man. I didn't come here for bad memories, yeah."

"Bad memories? But surely there are good ones also?" Guitar Man set his guitar by his side, folding his hands on his lap.

"There... there are. But they're not worth remembering, un."

Deidara's voice sounded strained, and he noticed that her accent had changed just a little.

He took a leap of faith. "What about your mother?"

Her breath got caught in her throat. "What?"

"What about your mother?"

"What about her? Did—did you know her?"

"Aa. I only met her once, but once was enough for me to leave my old life for her at the drop of a hat." Guitar Man yawned, stretching. It had to be late afternoon now. Perhaps four or five o'clock. The sun would be setting in one or two hours, and he, Guitar Man, would play until the sun set before heading home. "Even now, her words constantly haunt the back of my mind. The words and the question I asked, the answer she gave me. She was almost ten years my junior, but she was the one who opened my eyes to the world." Guitar Man paused, realizing something. His heart pounded like a machine gun under his weary chest. "Your mother is Bakuhatsu no Uri, isn't she?"

For a moment, all he could hear was the splashing and babbling of the mountain somewhere nearby.

Then—

"Yes," she uttered, her voice barely above a whisper. "Yes, she is." Deidara swallowed a lump in her throat, a numbness settling over her body like a heavy cloak. "Was."

Guitar Man's heart broke, and he rubbed his cheeks roughly, disbelieving. "Oh, Uri..."

"You didn't know?" Deidara narrowed her eyes into slits, pretending that the back of her eyeballs weren't burning with a sensation she loathed, and the insides of her eyelids didn't have the image of her beautiful, brave, dead mother etched into them.

"No." He shook his head sadly. "I have not left his town in many, many years. The last time I ever spoke with her was our first meeting behind the theatre. I would have never thought..."

"Yeah, well. It happened."

"And now you're all alone."

Deidara hugged her arms, clenching fistfuls of her sleeves. "I'm not," she told him firmly.

"But you were. For a long, long time." Guitar Man looked up at her. "Your wounds still bleed."

"Stop it," she ordered sharply, scowling. "They've long closed up, un."

"They will never close. Not unless you allow it to. You must face the past, Deidara-san, if you want to look toward the future."

It was then that—

The rubber band keeping her heart and head afloat snapped into two.

"How can I?!" she finally burst out, feeling as if a great weight had jumped off her chest, only to cause her even greater pain when it fell back down. Gritting her teeth, Deidara went on, "How can I when she is dead?! Dead at the hands of her own countrymen!" Her outburst was like an explosion of sound—it sucked all the air out of the atmosphere before expelling it outward in a great blast.

For a moment, all she could hear was white noise, her shoulders wracked by a tremble.

"Deidara-san..." For once, Guitar Man was at a loss for words.

"Do you know what I did?" Deidara asked, voice low as she let out a shuddering breath. Her entire body had begun to shake, and she squeezed her forearms tightly, arms still crossed over her chest. "I watched and I did nothing to stop them. I froze. They were too far away, but the least I could have done was try. But I didn't.

"She wasn't the only one, you know, who I left for dead that day." Her voice was like splintering ice. "It's almost like a spit in my mother's face when I wonder: How can I ever live with myself? For a while, I had all my shit together, un. I thought I was finally was moving on and making something out of my life, yeah. But then..."

Akatsuki.

The war.

Hitomi, Ino, Obito—

Zetsu and blood and gore and Sawako's fragile body torn into two messy halves and sleepless nights—

Shisui and Izumi, oh Izumi—

The dungeon. The fucking dungeon; even now, Kabuto would enter her dreams—her nightmares—he turned them into nightmares that almost had her sobbing with relief when she finally woke up again—

The explosion, her leg, her art, the goddamn courtroom—

Danna.

Suddenly, the longing hit her full force, slamming into her chest like a high speed projectile.

Deidara swallowed, rushing to keep her composure and barely keeping it together. "Now it constantly feels," she muttered, almost choking on her words, "like I'm about to break in half." Break in half and shatter apart like ice sliding off a cliff. She said no more after that. If she tried to speak again, she was certain that she would fall to her knees, devoured by the hopelessness that had haunted her ever since the journey to Konoha.

To her horror, the back of her eyes began to burn once more, and before she could process that was happening, she was—

Tears.

So many of them.

But—

"Don't," Guitar Man said gently, placing a warm hand on her back. "Allow yourself this much, and do not be ashamed. Forgive me, Deidara-san, but I don't believe you. I don't believe that you ever moved forward when you thought you were. Maybe you felt like you were walking many miles, but you never left where you started. Your tears are not weakness. Even the most immovable mountain will someday be weathered away by rain and ice."

It was as if she had been plunged in cold water.

When was the last time she had cried? To Itachi. It had been horrible for both of them, as his words unintentionally caused her guilt to intensify. But then Rin had come, saying the opposite. That she did the right thing. Kiba and Tamaki had said similar things, too. But Guitar Man—he was doing neither.

So she listened.

And she wept freely.

For everyone she had ever lost. For anyone she had ever killed, even Orochimaru and especially Kou.

"Did you ever mourn?"

'I'm already mourning.'

I think... I almost believed my own lie.

She wasn't how sure she stayed there like that. By the time she lifted her head again, the sky was nearlydark, and someone had turned the street lamps on. Mute, Deidara stood, brushing down her skirt. Her face was devoid of the grief she had so thoroughly expressed when it had still been light.

"What did she say to you?" was the first thing Deidara finally said, her voice raw. She cleared her throat as Guitar Man gave his answer.

"I asked her what art was. She told me to find my own answer if I wanted to know. That her answer was not mine. And I did want to know. I still do. I've almost come to a conclusion, after so many years. If only she would show up again to congratulate me. Then I would really know."

There was a beat, and then they both said in unison, "'Tis an old man's fantasy."

Deidara's eyes widened. "You—"

"Practically devoured every play she performed when she was still starting out. The Golden Lighting Flower was my personal favorite. It had the sort of charm which lured adults and children alike into a world of wonders." Guitar Man's lips quirked upward. "And you?"

"Almost every time a performance was on and she was in it, I always went, yeah," Deidara admitted, a little shyly. "At some point in my life, I could recite almost all of her plays word for word." She blinked, nostalgia entering her blue eyes. "I... I completely forgot I could do that. I don't think I can do it now, un."

"Oho?" Guitar Man hummed happily. "Is that so? That means you do have pleasant memories of Iwa."

"They are few and in between," Deidara told him, brow lowering in thought. "But yes, I do. Sometimes... I think I might miss it, un. But never mind. You said I had to look at the past before looking to the future, right?"

"That is correct."

For her, the past was like a broken mirror. But slowly, with Guitar Man's help, she was rearranging the pieces where they belonged. Reluctantly, Deidara asked, "Can we talk more? About my mother, that is. And... maybe other things?"

Warmth bloomed in his heart. "Of course. You're her daughter. And that alone is a wonderful thing to me."

They talked into the night. Even when the sky had gone almost completely dark, they continued to talk. They talked of Uri's songs; her plays and performances—her operas and instrumental music. Deidara informed him about everything he had missed out on in his absence—the other, later performances that had come about, born from her mother's imagination or collaborations with other creative minds.

Some questions were more difficult to answer.

"If you don't mind me asking, how did she die? You mentioned... that she was murdered by her own people."

"Ah." Deidara hummed in contemplation. "It happened in the night. She rushed my brother and I into the theatre while she distracted Ōtsutsuki guards. But then set the building on fire with their bombs, and..."

She pushed onward, speaking as freely as she could.

"Bakuhatsu no Deidara," Guitar Man addressed her abruptly at the end of her story. "You have my thanks."

"For what?"

"For entertaining an old man like me for so long."

"Oh, no, I—" Deidara exhaled sharply, closing her eyes. "I should be thanking you, un. For stopping me. And letting me."

He picked up his guitar. "Maybe so. But the last thing I can do for you is play you the song. Do you know which one it is?"

"Hmm..." Deidara gave him a lopsided grin. "Considering your admiration for my mother, is it one of hers?"

"Right you are. In fact," he strummed the guitar, testing the sound, "you'll probably recognize it right away. It's the very last song she sang in The Golden Lighting Flower."

No. You're joking. Deidara's legs almost gave out beneath her, chills crawling down her spine and down her limbs, including the lost one. It can't be... This is too much of a coincidence...! But then the first chords of Mirai began to play, and she buried her face in her arms, unabashedly sobbing once more as a gate was opened in her heart, raw emotion rushing out and washing over her like a flood. Joy. Love. Sadness—the sorrow that she had almost drowned herself in.

There were no words sung by either of them, but it was enough.

Then it was over, and disappointment lingered in her heart. "It's so short, un. A lot shorter than I remember it."

"Perhaps she continued it," Guitar Man ventured. "After all, the version I listened could very well have been incomplete."

"Maybe... Heh, it wasn't so overwhelming the last time either, yeah."

"They say music can touch you. That it is the soul."

Deidara gave him a questioning glance. "And? Do you believe that?"

"Hmm... Yes. Yes, I think, in a way, it can and it is." Guitar Man stood, listening to his surroundings. "I wish that everyone did. This town... has no music anymore. It lacks a soul."

Deidara looked up at the bell tower for a long moment. Music is the soul? "It's getting late, un," she declared. "Where do you live? I'll walk you home, yeah." He was an old man, after all—it was never completely safe, even if he had walked the same route many times.

"Just down this street, you see..."

Minutes later, the town square was deserted, only laughter and tears lingering in the air. When she passed through the square again, heading for The Orange Bluebell, she could feel it, too.

Umeko looked surprised when Deidara hurried down the stares, wearing the white blouse and long green skirt she had worn when she had first arrived. They were her work clothes, she was beginning to suspect. Or something she wore for a casual-formal occasion. "You look much better," she commented when she passed the bar. "Did something happen? Nothing's wrong, right?"

"No," Deidara answered, honestly. She gave Umeko a wide grin. "Nothing's wrong, un!"

For she had not dreamed a single unpleasant thing last night.