In the end, Kakuzu didn't arrive at the Private View until about half past eight. Darkness was just falling when he emerged from the tube station, and suddenly it didn't feel like a nice evening out, it felt like time to go home. Kakuzu felt tired, and even briefly considered getting back on the Northern Line and letting it bear him away to his home in Hampstead. But it was a warm evening, and as he walked along Old Street towards Hoxton Square the sounds of people on their way out for the evening and even the sounds of Northbound traffic taking people home and the other lane taking heading South into the centre began to gradually seduce him into a brighter frame of mind. He smiled a small, private smile. After all, he was on his way to one of the most happening scenes in town. Akatsuki Gallery was the place to be tonight, that could not be denied. For a moment it almost made Kakuzu feel that he could be young and idealistic again.

As soon as he turned off Old Street into Rufus Street Kakuzu could hear the noise of the Private View emanating from Akatsuki Gallery's doors. There were a few little groups of smokers outside as well, holding glasses of wine, some leaning against the plate glass windows, others squatting on the pavement or sitting on the wide granite kerb. Kakuzu recognised an artist who he owned a quite a few pieces by - Sarutobi Asuma. He'd been thinking of selling them, actually. Yes, he certainly wouldn't be keeping them much longer. They would fetch quite a price right now, and Kakuzu wasn't really very keen on them anymore. Of course, when you were as influential in the art world as Kakuzu, if you sold up your collection of an artist's work, that would dramatically reduce the work's value. The artist was going to see a big drop both in their sales and the prices they could command. A lot of collectors who bought for investment would swiftly follow Kakuzu's example. Asuma's reputation would probably not recover, given that the work he was making now seemed to be not particularly exciting, but that wasn't a consideration that Kakuzu would allow to sway him. Not where business was concerned.

Asuma was surrounded by an eager gaggle of students - he did a lot of teaching these days. A sure sign to Kakuzu that he'd gone off the boil. He nodded curtly as he caught Asuma's eye. A pretty dark haired woman he thought he recognised as Asuma's girlfriend was talking animatedly with a friend on the other side of the doorway. She wasn't drinking, and Kakuzu could tell at a glance that she was in the early stages of pregnancy. All the more reason to drop the guy, he considered. Soon enough he'd be surrounded by toddlers and students and not making work at all.

His head full of happy plans for lucrative business deals, Kakuzu walked through the door and a blast of noise and heat hit him. It seemed that most people were pretty sloshed already. The place was rammed, the buzz of talk constant and high level. He recognised a high proportion of the crowd, and thought a lot of them must recognise him as well. At a glance he could pick out three critics and twice as many gallery owners, as well as a lot of artists, both established and up and coming. A couple of his own clients were there too. People had already been buying - there were red dots beside quite a number of the works - and that was quite something at this show. Since the artist was Deidara, without taking serious stabilising measures none of the pieces could be expected to last more than a year at most.

Kakuzu felt calm, and in his element. His senses felt sharpened and he felt almost predatory as he glanced quickly around to see if he could spot the face that had been distracting him all afternoon. He was about six inches taller than most people there, but in the crowded room he couldn't see him anywhere. What did catch his eye was the film piece - notorious already - that the image on the invitation was taken from. Film wasn't normally a medium that interested Kakuzu much, but it acted like a magnet on him now. The film was rumoured to be designed to last the length of the exhibition, and no more. Kakuzu knew this wasn't strictly true - Dei refused to be specific about the lifespan of his works and he'd told Kakuzu that he'd never worked with this type of film before, so he really had no idea. 'It'll last as long as it lasts, un,' he'd said cryptically. 'And hopefully it'll last in people's minds for a bit longer after that.'

Deidara had got the tape that it was filmed on from his friend Zetsu, an environmentalist film maker trying (quite insanely in Kakuzu's opinion) to find a greener way to record. It was apparently made from potato starch, and it degraded rapidly as the film ran, the images seeming to crack and then peel and melt away.

Kakuzu made his way slowly through the crowd towards it. It was running on two old-school reel to reel projectors, and Kakuzu could see now that what was in fact happening was that the was biodegradable film was darkening in the heat from the lamps, becoming more opaque and letting less light through. It did it unevenly, first fragmenting the image with cracks and fissures, from which darkness would slowly bleed out. It was actually very cleverly done. The film was in two parts, or layers - one of live action of the model, and another of exactly the same events, animated darkly and expressively in charcoal. This, being naturally darker, didn't show up on the wall until the the brighter film was blacked out. Gradually, the animation would replace the live action entirely, before it faded into obscurity itself.

Kakuzu had seen some of the drawings for the animation part already, when he'd last visited Deidara's studio, and they'd fascinated him. They were deep textured and full of history, as the the whole thing was animated using just a couple of drawings, working into them and rubbing bits away, shifting the charcoal around. Until tonight he hadn't seen any of the live action. One flickering glimpse was all it took to get him hooked now.

Unmindful of the other people trying to watch it - or really, he thought, talking loudly about it while not really watching it properly, and posing and trying to look cultured - he shouldered his way inexorably to the prime viewing position. Already the film was deteriorating, and each time it played more and more of the information would be lost, and more of the animation that ran underneath it would be revealed. The same events, but in so many ways not at all the same. It was clever, Kakuzu had to admit, although it could never be considered an investment for a buyer. The animation was degrading at a slower rate - Kakuzu wasn't sure how.

He watched, enthralled, as the beautiful and somehow incredibly alive looking young man, lying naked in some sort of cult symbol, sliced into one wrist, then the other, and watched intently as blood trickled down his arm. He seemed in ecstasy. This bit of the film looked as though it might have been rewound and played again several times - it was more eroded looking - you kept getting glimpses into the dark, monochrome world of the charcoal.

Kakuzu watched until the film had looped back around to where it had been when he came in before moving away from the projection and making his way, feeling a little dazed, to the refreshment table. He felt could use a drink, after the day he'd had, and the openings at Akatsuki Gallery always had reasonably good wine. He was also hungry and hoped there'd still be some food left. He felt absurdly celebratory - maybe it was just the party atmosphere after a day at the office, but it was probably also the bright glimpses of that beautiful body in the film. He hadn't intended to watch for so long, but each glimpse left him yearning for the next. And - he had to give Deidara this - he had felt that if he didn't see it now, if he came back to watch it the next day, so much might be lost forever.

People's reactions to this film had been so extreme. It was controversial because it was seen as glorifying, or even recommending, self harm. But it didn't seem that way to Kakuzu. It seemed like something very personal. Particular to the one person doing it. And it didn't seem like he was harming himself, somehow, he mused. It seemed to make him more perfect. More whole. He hadn't exactly liked watching it. Several times he'd wanted to look away, and found that he just couldn't.

Lost in his musings, he almost walked into Konan, who seemed to run these events almost single handed. He just managed to stop himself in time, but couldn't then avoid the social air kissing. It always irritated him, but it was just something that went hand in hand with the art scene. You had to be really on the ball if you didn't want to do it.

'Fantastic show, Konan,' he said, avoiding any actual contact as he kissed back at her. 'Really buzzing. I haven't had time to look round yet - I got sucked into watching that remarkable film - but I can see that a lot has sold.' It came to him then that, of course, Konan would've filmed the film for posterity. Deidara would be pissed, but that was the art world for you, again. One day there'd probably be a retrospective on Dei, and they'd have to call it 'Fragments', or 'Traces', because there'd be nothing left. 'As the Dust Settles', perhaps. A bit more poetic. Or 'After the Event' maybe.

'Get yourself a glass of wine, Kakuzu,' Konan smiled, misinterpreting his zoned expression. 'You look like you've had a hard day. I'm not sure you'll be able to see much tonight - no-one ever looks at the work at the Private View - they're here to be seen rather than to see, I think. I'm impressed you even managed to get through to the film!'

Kakuzu laughed and moved on as Konan was claimed by a couple of Mr. Pein's smooth blond secretaries. Taking a glass of red wine and a miniature quiche, he moved around to the side of the refreshment table to eat it. And found himself next to a young man who was cramming his mouth with vol-au-vents and still somehow managing to look sexy. Hidan. It was Hidan. Even if he hadn't just watched him self harm for half an hour on film Kakuzu would have recognised him at once.

Not seeming to notice Kakuzu, he bit into another canapé, then nearly choked. 'What the fuck,' he gasped, accepting the paper napkin Kakuzu silently handed to him and spitting out his mouthful into it, 'is with this fucking vol-au-vent! That is not cool, man, seriously.'

Now he turned to look at Kakuzu properly, fixing him with intense purple eyes, closer to brown than blue. 'Seriously, check under the lids before you eat them, man. Some of them are fucking cheese. It'sfucking Stilton, or something. They're fucking booby-trapped. Seriously, they should have a fucking warning on them.'

'I quite like Stilton,' Kakuzu said amiably. Hidan looked at him in awe.

'Dude,' he said. 'Hardcore.' He deposited the napkin in the pot of a banana plant that stood in the corner.

Kakuzu smiled. 'Let me get you a drink,' he said. 'Something to take the taste away...' It was no problem to get one then and there. He was tall enough to reach over and grab a glass of red wine without even moving around the table. Probably Hidan had already had more than enough to drink, but Kakuzu needed a conversation starter.

Hidan accepted the glass with easy grace, and drained a third of it in one gulp. 'Thanks, man, that's better,' he said.

Kakuzu couldn't quite take his eyes off him. He was obviously on his way to being fairly smashed already, but he seemed in his element, as though off his face was his natural state. It suited him. 'No problem,' he said.

Hidan tipped his head back and regarded him quizzically. 'So,' he said, 'Who're you? Don't get me wrong, but you don't seem quite like the normal sort of arseholes who come to these events.' He held out his hand. 'I'm Hidan.'

'Kakuzu,' said Kakuzu, shaking it firmly. They both held on a little longer than was necessary. Kakuzu did it out of habit because it was a technique he often used at work to intimidate businessmen he was making deals with. Hidan, perhaps just because in his current condition it took him a moment to remember to let go. 'And you're right,' Kakuzu continued, unfazed, 'I'm not really one of the art crowd. I'm an investment banker.'

Kakuzu was used to people in the art world finding his profession amusing, but Hidan laughed far more than he would've expected. 'Dude, that's hilarious,' he said, shaking with mirth and nearly spilling his wine. 'A banker, no way!'

It was at this moment that they were joined by Deidara. 'Don't misrepresent yourself, Kakuzu, un,' he said, then turned to Hidan. 'He's a major collector in his own right, and he decides what art pieces his bank buys as investment. Don't you, un?'

'It doesn't make me one of the art crowd.' Kakuzu replied.

'Why wouldn't you want to be one of the art crowd, un? I don't see why you're trying to distance yourself from us, un.'

'Cause you're a load of pretentious cocksuckers, seriously.' Hidan cut in, gesturing theatrically across the room. 'Just take a look at these fucking pricks! They're all fucking talking bullshit out of their fucking arseholes.'

'Yeah, un, I can't disagree with that, un.' Deidara lowered his voice conspiratorially. 'Given that I actually came over here to hide for a moment. That fucking Uchiha Itachi just came in, and I can't fucking stand him, un.'

'I thought he reviewed your last show very favourably.' said Kakuzu, surprised. He got on fairly well with Itachi - he was a very eminent art critic and historian and Kakuzu often read his reviews. Some of them were even printed in the Financial Times.

Deidara sneered from behind his curtain of hair. 'Yeah, un, he reviews me favourably alright. But it's always like he's bestowing the favour, un? He's just so up his tight little arse - he's fucking patronising, un.' He shook his head with a world-weary sigh.

'Hey, cheer the fuck up, Dei!' said Hidan. 'It's your party! You need another drink!'

'Ah, Hidan, man, Sasori's been going on at me again for getting wasted at my own shows...'

'Fuck that, man!' Hidan's voice rose in indignation at the very thought of not getting wasted at your own show. 'Hey, this guy has the reach of a fucking, I don't know, giraffe or something. He can get you a glass of wine from here!'

'Ah, go on then, un.' Deidara gave in immediately. 'Can you reach the white, un?'

Kakuzu obviously had a new party trick. He found he could reach the white, just, and did so. 'Congratulations, Deidara,' he said as he handed him the glass. 'What a night. You've really arrived.'

'It's going well, un. Everybody came...' Deidara scanned the room with a satisfied air, then turned back to Hidan and Kakuzu. 'So, you guys know each other? That's nice, un.'

'No,' said Kakuzu, just as Hidan said 'Yes'. Hidan turned wounded eyes on him.

'I fucking know what kind of cheese you like, and everything! Why are you trying to distance yourself from me, dude?'

'You have the advantage of me.' Kakuzu retorted. 'I only know what kind of cheese you don't like.'

'Cool,' said Hidan. 'Fair point. I like Edam.'

'Good to know.' What was it about this inane, profane conversation that had Kakuzu so utterly hooked? He liked to think of himself as a man of taste. This man was. Well. The word blingy sprang to mind, for one thing. That medallion... or was it a pendant? Kakuzu didn't really approve of jewellery on men, so the terminology was slightly foreign to him. And did he really have to have his shirt unbuttoned quite so low? Kakuzu's eyes kept being drawn downwards...

'Guys, hide me, un,' Deidara voice broke in on his reverie, making him realise he must have been staring at Hidan rather longer than was usual - and the man was smirking, damn him. 'Itachi's looking over.' Kakuzu and Hidan closed ranks in front of him, moving as one. 'Fuck, his eyes are freaky.'

Hidan turned around and stared rudely. 'Do you think he's insomniac or something?'

'Dunno, un,' Deidara replied. 'Sasori's little cousin or whatever is, though. He's here somewhere, you could compare them.'

'I don't know if I can be fucked, man,' said Hidan. 'That's more your bag than mine, comparing shit.' He turned to Kakuzu, who had been observing the pair of them with silent amusement, though keeping his face absolutely deadpan. 'Yo, Kakuzu, man, could you get me another...' he waved his empty glass at him.

'Red again?' Kakuzu asked.

'Why the fuck not.'

'Well, I reckon I'm refreshed enough to head back out into the fray.' Deidara placed his empty glass next to the vol-au-vents. 'Hey, Hidan, un,' he added suddenly, 'Don't forget you're sitting for me tomorrow at ten, un.'

'Fuck,' said Hidan, his face going blank with horror, 'Fuck! Why the hell did we schedule a sitting for the morning after the PV? Want to make it eleven, instead?'

'Because I'm going to Berlin on Saturday, un, and I need to put the final touches on the cast for the sugar sculptures, or it won't be ready by the time I get back, un.'

'Well, fuck me, man, the fucking sugar sculptures - how could I forget!' Hidan's face assumed an expression of disgust. 'Remind me one day why the fuck you want to make sugar clones of me anyway... So eleven's alright then, is it?'

'Yeah, alright, un, eleven it is then.' Deidara sighed resignedly, turning to head back out into the room, then added, 'And I was thinking of making a series of sculptures out of shit next - that might suit you more, un.'

'Yeah, well, most of your sculptures are fucking shit, in my opinion, arsehole,'

'Yeah, so, I'd probably better go and schmooze, see you guys.' Deidara made a hasty exit as Hidan stepped threateningly towards him, waving a canapé dangerously. He was immediately whisked back into the thick of the social whirl - they heard him say 'Well, it's about the transience of the now, un, it's not about preserving the past,' in the generic tone of a misunderstood genius explaining the obvious, before his voice was swallowed up into the general babble.

Hidan relaxed his aggressive stance and looked down at what was now a rather unappetising piece of puff pastry in his hand. He seemed slightly lost.

'You'll make yourself sick if you eat any more of those,' said Kakuzu.

'Alright, Grandad.' Hidan peeled back the lid, then threw the vol-au-vent back on the plate with a disgusted sneer. 'I think I already ate all the good ones, anyway,' he said. He chugged back some wine defiantly, somehow looking slightly forlorn at the same time.

Kakuzu watched him curiously. Hidan could flip from charming to offensive to aggressive and back again so quickly. He could see how this would pan out. Hidan, alienated by the pretentious art crowd, would get more and more frustrated and resentful, would get completely off his face in the corner, then pick a fight with someone, cause a scene (possibly a riot if enough students were involved), and the gawping crowd, simultaneously fascinated and censorious, would get their money's worth from him. Kakuzu found he didn't want them to get that satisfaction, tonight. In fact, he resolved to make sure it didn't happen. He felt an emotion surface within him that he hadn't felt in a very long time. He was surprised at himself - over a guy he'd only just met, who, moreover, had terrible manners and with whom he had nothing in common, Kakuzu was actually feeling protective.