Author's note: So sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out. I had an evil case of writer's block, no doubt brought on by a nasty case of vacationitis. I haven't managed to shake it yet, but I'm learning to work around it.
So what to say about this chapter? Not much, actually. Just enjoy the chapter and let me know what you think.
Oh yeah, and this chapter is dedicated to I Spazz With Pizzazz who helped me back into writing mode with her amazing stories and her reviews of this one. Thanks so much!
Disclaimer: I still can't remember the name of the guy who owns Naruto, but it isn't me.
--Tamara

Phone call

Sasori walked slowly home from Chipotle, wondering as he did so what exactly he was feeling. It wasn't like he had anything concrete to worry about. Well, apart from school and crazy grandmothers, but those were old worries. This was different. This was something new, something unknown. Sasori didn't like the unknown. He liked things to be orderly and carefully routine. Surprises disturbed him, and he hated changes to his daily routine. Maybe it was because he'd had such a disrupted childhood, but he'd always wanted to control as much of his life as he could.

His grandmother was in front of the television when he came in, and he didn't bother her. If he tried to talk to her, she'd start nagging him about making something of his life or start asking about his social life. She was constantly worried that he didn't have enough 'real' friends. It was ridiculous. He had plenty of friends, and, anyway, he'd rather be alone. At least when he was alone, he didn't have to answer stupid questions or dodge verbal assaults.

So, instead, he headed across the kitchen towards their workshop. There, at least, was something both he and his grandmother could understand. It was the one thing, besides his parents, that they had in common, and their conversations tended to revolve around puppets. At least they had something to talk about, unlike Kisame, who communicated with his parents uniquely though post-it notes and phone messages. Maybe that was why the tall navy-haired boy talked so much in school: he didn't do it at all at home, and he had to get it all out somewhere.

Once inside the workshop, he closed his eyes, breathing deeply. He loved the smell inside the shop, loved the mixture of sawdust and paint and wood polish that permeated the air. Only here did he feel truly at home. He moved over to his worktable and spread out his puppets, delighted to finally work on them in a place fit to be called a workshop. It wasn't that the one at school was horrible, though it was pretty bad, but he knew where everything was here, and it was his. It was amazing how much difference that one simple fact made.

He bent over his father and set to work, shaping the feet just so and debating whether to paint the toes purple, just for fun. It wouldn't be permanent, of course, but it would give his grandmother a good fright. It might even be entertaining. Finally, though, he decided not to. No point wasting good paint.

He didn't know how long he worked before she called him up for dinner. At least an hour, that was certain, because it would have taken her that long to finish the program she'd been watching. Probably longer, if she'd decided to cook.

She hadn't, and he was greeted by the odor of take-out Chinese food. He sighed. Why could she never remember how much he loathed Chinese food? He turned to the fridge, looking to see if there were any eatable leftovers. There weren't. All there was was more left over Chinese in Styrofoam containers, or ancient leftovers from a time when his grandmother had thought herself quite the amateur chef. Sasori decided to just go hungry. It hadn't been that long since Chipotle, after all.

"Aren't you going to eat?" his grandmother called after him as he headed towards his bedroom.

"No," he called back, closing the door to the kitchen before she could argue.

Once in his room, he flopped back on his bed and closed his eyes, resigning himself to another night of insomnia. He didn't do it on purpose, but his system needed very little sleep. He wasn't like that creep Gaara in Sasuke's grade, who deliberately went without sleep in an attempt to 'purge his body of demons.' Sasori snorted. But that wouldn't help his current situation any. With a sigh, he flipped over onto his stomach and fished out another sketchpad, stored under his bed for such occasions.

He'd barely started when his grandmother's voice floated up the staircase: "Sasori! Phone!"

He groaned, dropping the sketchpad again and sitting up. "Coming." Who in Hell would be calling him at this hour? He glanced at his watch, only to discover that it was only six thirty. Oh. Even so, though…

He crossed the three steps into the living room to reclaim the phone. "Hello?"

"Hey. It's Pein."

Sasori winced. Great. That was just what he needed. "What's up?"

"You free?"

"Depends. What are you planning?" Deciding that this wasn't the best conversation to have in front of his grandmother, he retreated back to his room and bolted the door securely.

"An initiation for our new member."

Sasori grimaced. "You going to make him run a gauntlet?"

"Metaphorically speaking."

"What do you need me for? You're perfectly capable of doing it on your own."

Sasori could just see Pein's grimace of annoyance as he snapped, "I want everyone there, Sasori."

"Even Tobi?"

This time, there was an audible sigh. "Yeah, even Tobi."

Sasori groaned. "Oh, lovely. Remind me again why I accepted your offer?"

An evil leer now. Sasori would bet on it. "Because you had no other friends and I offered you my protection from the bullies in seventh grade."

Sasori winced. "That was a rhetorical question. I know why I accepted."

"Then why did you ask?"

"Never mind." Sarcasm was completely wasted on Pein, a fact that Konan was quick to pick up on and complain about. "What time are you planning your orientation?"

"So you'll be there?"

"I didn't say that."

"You'll be there." And, with a sigh, Sasori realized that he probably would be. But he didn't have to like it.

"What time?"

"Around eight. Don't expect to be home early."

"I have my own house key."

"Good. Meet us then at my place. My parents are out." That wasn't exceptional. Pein hardly saw his parents, much to their chagrin, though not his. They were convinced that, if they'd been around more, Pein wouldn't be the person he was. Pein was too, but he didn't see any problem with the person he was, and didn't want to be the person they wanted him to be.

"Figures. Will everyone else be there?"

"Yes."

"Have you asked them all yet?"

"Konan's called Itachi and Kisame and Zetsu, I called you and Hidan and Kakuzu and you will call Deidara."

"Wait, what?!"

"You heard me."

"Since when do I have his phone number?"

"I have it."

"Then why don't you call him yourself?"

"Because he doesn't like me."

"And you think he likes me?"

"He knows you."

"We didn't part on the best of terms."

"So this is a way to repair your relationship."

"We don't have a relationship!"

This was met with peals of feminine laughter. Sasori groaned. He was probably on speaker phone. Wonderful.

Sure enough, Konan's voice came through his end. "Just keep telling yourself that, and you might start to believe it."

"I do believe it. And I'll thank you to stay out of it. Fix your own love life before you mess with mine, Konan."

"My love life is perfectly under control, thank you very much."

"Is it indeed? I'll remind you of that next time you and Pein get into one of your fights."

"I said under control, not perfect."

"Konan, cool it." That was Pein again, clearly trying to regain control of the conversation. It was a mistake

"Oh, you're one to talk! The way you're acting, you'd think this was the end of the world! Wouldn't it just serve you right if Deidara refused to come!"

"He'll come."

"You can't know that!"

"He'll come. Trust me."

Sasori grimaced. "If you two are going to argue, I'm hanging up."

"You do that." Konan. "See you around eight."

"See you. Try not to kill each other before then."

"I'll do my best. See you."

Pein cut in one last time, with a slightly muffled, "Call Deidara!" before the line cut off. Sasori looked at the phone in his hand for a long moment, then groaned. Now what? He'd forgotten to ask Pein for Deidara's phone number, and no way was he calling back now. He'd catch them either arguing passionately or kissing equally passionately, and he didn't feel like interrupting either. Instead, he did the nest best thing he could think of: he called Itachi.

"Hello?" Itachi didn't seem surprised to get a call from Sasori, but then, this was Itachi.

"Hey. Can you do me a favor?"

"Mm."

"I need Deidara's phone number."

"Oh?"

"Pein's told me I need to call him for tonight, and I don't have it. Do you?"

"Mm."

"And could you give it to me?"

"Ngh."

"Why not?"

"'Cause."

Wow, a whole word. Sasori wondered if he should feel honored. He didn't. "Stop being stubborn. Just give it to me, and I'll leave you alone."

Itachi was silent for a moment, then muttered a garbled set of syllables. Thankfully Sasori was accustomed to talking to Itachi, though not over the phone, and he managed to get it. He hoped.

"278-2264?"

"Mm."

"Thanks. See you."

"Bye." Itachi hung up, and Sasori sighed. That phone call had been cake compared to the one that would come next. Itachi might not be communicative, but at least he was on decent terms with the others. Deidara probably hated Sasori by now. Not that that was a bad thing, mind you! Sasori hated Deidara too, hated him in the same way he hated Tobi and Naruto: as an annoying nuisance who should mind his own business. But, like with Tobi and, to an extent, Naruto, Pein was making it impossible for them to mind their own business. It crossed Sasori's mind that maybe it was Pein that he should be hating, but Pein could make his life a misery far too easily, and, anyway, Sasori owed Pein big time.

He grimaced and turned back to the phone. Might as well get it over with. He dialed the number.

"Who is it, yeah?"

"Do you usually begin your conversations like this?"

"Who is it?"

"Sasori."

"You could have just said so, yeah!"

"You don't recognize my voice? I'm heartbroken."

"Really?"

"No."

"Oh."

There was a moment of silence during which Sasori picked up his sketchpad again. Then, "So why did you call? Heck, how did you get my number, yeah?"

"Itachi."

"Who?"

"Itachi. You know, the black haired boy with red contacts."

"The one who looks at you like he wants to kill you, yeah?"

"That's the one."

"Why does he have my number, yeah?"

"He's Itachi. He's got the directory memorized."

"Anal, anyone?"

"No, Itachi. He's like that."

"Oh. So why did you call again?"

Sasori sighed. "Pein's orders." Even as he said it, he winced. That probably wasn't the best way to begin a conversation.

Sure enough, Deidara didn't take it particularly well. "Oh, so you do his chores now? Do you bring him the newspaper in the mornings too, yeah?"

"No, that's Konan's job."

There was a beat of shocked silence. "Really?"

"No."

"Oh. Then…"

Sasori cut him off before he could go into full rant mode. "We can argue about this later. I have no desire to stay on the phone with you any longer than necessary, so listen up. Pein's having a meeting tonight around eight tonight. You're coming."

"I don't get a choice, yeah?"

"No."

"Like at lunch?"

"Exactly."

"Don't you get tired of doing what he says all the time, yeah?"

"You get used to it."

"I won't."

"You'd better."

"Why?"

"Because he can make your life a misery otherwise."

Deidara didn't answer this. Sasori grimaced. "That's the message. Be there on time."

"Where's it supposed to be?"

"Pein's."

"Which is…?"

"In the school directory." Sasori didn't listen to Deidara's protests and hung up, leaving the phone lying face down on the bed. Glancing at his clock, he saw he'd managed to waste nearly forty-five minutes on the phone. He picked up his sketchbook again; no reason not to use his remaining time in a productive manner. He got to work on a new sketch, purposely ignoring that it was, yet again, a sketch of Deidara.

Author's note 2: you know we don't usually do these, but it suddenly occured to us that we forgot something earlier: look at dei's phone number. cookies to those who get the joke!
--kyra