Forget Me Not
Chapter Three – Forget Me Not
There is a German legend that just as God had finished naming all the plants, one was left unnamed. A tiny voice spoke out, "Forget Me Not O' Lords!" And God replied that this would be its name.
— Dieter F. Uchtdorf
Seven years earlier…
"I don't have a very good feeling about this Ino," Tenten couldn't quite keep the tremor from her voice, or stop the way she still felt a little shaky.
Ino threw her hand over the brunette's shoulders, "It's that type of attitude that's going to give you away."
She opened her mouth to retort but her voice died in her throat, leaving her lips parted in a gape when she saw the granite-like expression on Ino's pretty face and watched as she indicated to the bar tender who poured shots of brandy into two glasses and slid them across the solid oak bar towards the duo.
"Sit your ass down," she instructed fiercely, tugging her down on the stool next to the one she occupied. "Or we'll not blend in," it was a warning but Ino's pouted lips sold it as a desperate plea.
"I don't know about this Ino," Tenten finally sat, running her finger back and forth through a drop of condensation that slithered from the chilled glass. "What if someone recognizes us?" she whispered, cautiously looking over her shoulders.
Ino adjusted her bosom purposefully, tossing back her flaxen mane. For a moment Tenten admired the red dress that the girl wore, the particular shade enhanced the gold of her hair and accentuated the red of her lips. She was quite a stunning picturesque, one that would make a very dramatic effect on canvas. And given that they were at an art gallery, she was certain a few people of the trade had thought the same.
The bartender that served them however clearly had other things on his mind and it had nothing to do with art. The scorching golden eyes that raked over the mane of blonde curls framing Ino's heart-shaped face, before roaming down to the pouting curves defines by the fine fabric of her dress, were in no casual way. The appraisal was so hot, Tenten was surprised that Ino's body hadn't started smoking; her face was already so flushed, she looked to have been suffering a fever.
"Don't be ridiculous Tenten, no one our age comes to these events," she swallowed, gripping her glass to stop from fanning herself with her hands.
"I do..." she reminded her companion sharply.
A calculating pair of cerulean orbs flickered over the girl's features simultaneously bringing a scowl to the wearers face, "That's because you're a forty-five year old trapped in a sixteen year old's body," Ino sighed irritably.
Brushing off the comment with good humor, Tenten asked, "Why are we here again?"
Ino took a deep breath as if to bring her annoyance under control, "I know how much you like these things…" she said tightly, the pulsating vein in her neck an indication of strain. "…So I thought that, rather than waste the tickets, I'd take you."
Tenten laughed, shaking her head. "You're so transparent."
"Shut up," the younger girl rose her glass to her lips, hoping the burning liquid would help her to regain her fraying composure. She was getting nervous and flustered for no reason.
"I think you're supposed to drink that a little slower. It's not cough syrup you know," Tenten said, gently settling back her friend's hand and glass to the counter.
"Well obviously it isn't," she rolled her eyes, her tone nursing a bite.
Tenten pulled a face and pushed the shot glass from her. Some of the liquor sloshed onto the counter. "So who's the unlucky guy that Ino Yamanaka has got her eyes on?" she asked, spinning herself around on the stool to face airy gallery. "I know you didn't come here for the art."
An incisive glance around had Tenten deducing that the floor was the perfect venue with its wide marble columns and stone-framed full-length doors. Massive potted palms reached metres skywards yet still fell away short of the high opaque ceiling that allowed the filtered starlight through. Chamber music staff a four-piece ensemble filled the room. Crispy tailored waiting staff circulated with drinks and hors d'oeuvres.
The polished floors were empty of everything except for a collection of towering modern marble sculptures in the centre and glass display cabinets built into the walls. They were beautifully craved, exquisitely and provocatively detailed. Both girls had blushed a great deal upon seeing a male and a female effigy joined at the hips, barely clothed in their clay garments. The woman's arms were wrapped around the man's shoulders, her fingernails scoring deep into his back. The man had one of her legs in his arm and well…the expression on their molded faces spoke for itself.
Tenten stifled a giggle at the memory of the thorough tour of the gallery they had taken. One particular painting stood out in her mind, it had not been as explicit as some of the previous but a trick of light on the gallery wall where it had been hung had made a shadowed-in area look like a certain part of the subject's privates.
The brunette had always had a soft spot for art and literature, both contemporary and historical, but Tenten had to admit that this was a stretch too far. When Ino had said an art exhibition, never in a million years had she expected this sort of thing. It was no wonder the blonde had dressed them both up so maturely and suggested that they took their fake ID's.
"Whoever he is, I can't imagine him being anything other than a deviant…considering he's into this type of art," she laughed.
"He's also in college—" she said it so quickly Tenten had to slow the words in her mind to be able to process them. "—and a friend of my brother's which is why I sort of need you here," guilty blue gaze dropped shyly to her stiletto adorned feet. "He'll need to be distracted…"
Her jaws dropped, angry eyes crashing into Ino like a pair of ice picks. "Have you lost your mind?" she demanded, getting up from her seat. "A college boy Ino? Are you serious?"
Her friend caught her arm, a pleading look in her eyes. "He's not much older than I am, he's only twenty-four," she winced as if the age gap had just occurred to her.
"That's nine years older than you are," Tenten said, drilling the memory. "And if you were looking for a wing girl why didn't you take Temari?"
She puffed out an ill-tempered breath and pouted childishly, "She has nothing in common with my brother, they'd probably end up fighting and—"
Tenten laughed dryly, cutting Ino off. "She actually knows the guy, which is more than I can say for myself."
"I have been nothing but nice to you since you moved here," Ino whined, trying to gain compliance.
"And on every occasion it was only because you wanted something," she reminded her before she excused herself and headed to the ladies room.
Ino had some nerve, Tenten bristled to herself. She had always suspected that there was a boy behind the Ino's sudden interest in art but this was totally unexpected. What did Ino take her for? She might be the new girl, but she wasn't desperate to make friends enough to be anybody's pushover.
As if her legs had minds of their own they halted before the painting that had held Tenten captive earlier. She saw an odd semblance of herself in the nude figure—brown eyes, chestnut curls and cupid-bow pink lips. The girl in the portrait sat cross-legged with her hands curled over her knees and her spine ramrod straight, her eyes discreetly shut as though she were meditating. However the young lass in the painting had a more superbly defined bone structure than Tenten, a heavier bust and a glowing complexion that gave rise to the image of having been recently oiled all over by a lover.
It was, in fact, a captivating painting. But the artist was obviously aiming to strike the woman as a mystical being with animalistic sexuality. It was somewhat flattering and yet, frustratingly infuriating because it was probably every girls' dream to look that way.
It certainly was hers.
Little hairs rose all over Tenten's skin, but she tried to ignore the way she immediately felt someone's presence so acutely, putting it down to the fact that she had been ogling at the inappropriate piece of art.
Guilty as charged.
With every intention of leaving, she turned to slip away, least it was someone that would recognize her—but before she realized it she'd turned towards the body behind hers. She became aware of a pregnant taut silence. Feeling oddly compelled, she looked up and came face to face, eyeball to eyeball with a boy who could very much have been transported from the cover of a glossy, teen magazine.
He had eyes that seemed to glow cobalt and silver under long lack lashes. And fair brows. High cheekbones. And a mouth that was held in a smug, smooth flat line. His shoulders were broad, blocking out what little light was in that particular corner of the gallery and he was well over six foot.
Tenten's eyes made her stop and linger, a hot feeling in her belly, the sizzling in her blood as their eyes remained locked for what seemed like days.
His cologne overlaid by the smell of alcohol was an intoxicating combination of the most virile scents.
For a fleeting moment his eyes flashed to the painting above her, she felt as if she'd been caught in the air, suspended, and now she was hurtling back to earth. It was the strangest sensation and it left her slightly freaked out.
She made to bolt, but then he spoke.
His voice was low, deep and somewhat taunting. It was directed straight at her, hitting her like a wrecking ball.
"I call this piece Tengoku."
"Heaven…" she breathed, the pink tip of her tongue arrived to nervously calm the little tremor that was happening with her lips. She shifted her stance and turned shamelessly back to the piece, mainly to avoid the teasing blue of his eyes. "You know…my name sort of means heaven," she said, making idle chatter but folded her lips when what her words could insinuate dawned on her.
She heard him chuckle, "I don't doubt that."
She flushed at the way he said it and felt his gaze running up and down the length of her back. "I was not implying that…I am—" she told him with perfect ineffectiveness, then opted to redeem herself by asking, "Did you paint this piece?"
"Who wants to know?"
She took a calming breath before she turned to look at him again, steeling herself not to snap.
"The name is Deidara," he smiled a smile that possessed a killer charm and Tenten did not like the stinging flutter she felt suddenly attack the lining of her lower stomach. "It's nice to meet you…Heaven," he held out his hand.
She looked at it and gulped, reluctantly holding out her smaller one but made no effort to correct her name. The last thing she wanted was for someone here to be able to recognize her by name after tonight. This sort of event was not the type of thing she'd feel comfortable making small talk about over soda.
Their hands met, his fingers wrapping around her hand until she couldn't see hers anymore. They rested on the frantic beating of her pulse point on the delicate underside of her wrist.
"Who's the lady in the picture?" Tenten pulled her hand away, telling herself that it wasn't tingling.
He bit the insides of his mouth thoughtfully, his expression oddly familiar. "Before, she had just been a figment of my imagination but now…" his gaze swept over her languorously. "I think I'm looking at her."
Tenten felt hopelessly flattered yet slightly flustered at the same time. It had something to do with the way that glittering ocean blue gaze was appraising her, like he was undressing her with his eyes and seeing her without a stitch of clothing on.
His head cocked on one side, he looked her up and down for again. "Would you pose for me?" he dug into his pocket and handed her a card.
Deidara Yamanaka.
Her lips parted but no sound came out, she merely gaze on the bold print, not breathing.
"I'd really like to paint you."
Her brain froze. Her heart tripped. It was shocking, and it wasn't a question. It was an imperative—a calling that set her blood racing and heart beating fast again.
She cleared her throat uncomfortably, "You want to paint me?"
He nodded firmly. "You're the physical manifestation of Heaven."
She swallowed, needing at that moment to stave off the effect of his erotic proposition. Being an art fanatic she had always dreamed of being the subject of a piece but—
"It would be in the nude of course," a smirk found its way on his daunting lips.
Tenten scrambled back to her senses, glaring at the infamous Deidara whom Ino had told her countless tales about. She never expected him to be this charming and good-looking from his sister's description. And she most definitely did not expect someone like him to be fond of art, let alone, be an aspiring artist. Ino always made him out to be some delinquent, egocentric, rebellious college brat.
But looking around at the raunchy crafts, and seeing his own masterpiece, Tenten supposed this was the rebel side of him.
"Actually, I was going to enter Heaven in Konoha's annual Art competition," he sighed expressively, tossing the gold silk of his bang out of his face. The action drew her gaze to his face. "But if you allowed me to paint you, then I would be making improvement in areas where the piece is lacking. Then I could enter you instead."
Her cheeks stung so bad she felt they had gone swollen. His words hinted something far more intimate than he must have intended and Tenten mentally face palmed herself, having allowed her mind to stray.
"Flattery gets you nowhere Deidara," she swore it wasn't a conscious decision to make his name slip from her tongue so huskily. "Besides, there are far more intriguing subjects available. You could throw a rock and hit one in this very room."
He threw his head back and laughed.
Instinctively she felt a smile tugging on her lips, his laughter was infectious. It bubbled throughout her like a jovial inferno intent on burning out every last bit of resistance. She felt like fainting.
"How about a drink by the bar?"
"I'm under aged," she told him flatly, hoping that it would discourage his pursuit so she would be free of his dark magic.
He didn't look surprised by that fact, but she saw his jaw clench slightly. "So does that means you won't be posing for me?"
She shook her head ruefully.
He seemed to be wrestling with something. He looked at her then, and the intensity in his eyes pinned her to the spot. Then he said, "A teenager without a fake ID is unheard of."
Tenten straightened herself with determination, unsure why she was reacting this way when she hadn't even known him for half an hour. Why was this happening to her?
"Even so, I don't drink," she nervously made her way pass him, her body brushing against his for an explosive second, igniting forest fires all over her flesh.
"Even so, you should give me a call," he told her with a wink.
And she did.
Two weeks later.
Those fourteen days had been absolute torture for her. No matter how much Tenten fought it, his image remained annoyingly vivid in her mind and his scent clung to her olfactory cells. She couldn't clear her head of him or his offer. Then she made the mistake of telling Ino about the encounter and had been coaxed even more into calling Deidara. Deep down she knew the younger girl was encouraging it solely because of her own motives.
But Tenten couldn't help it.
The same as how she couldn't help the look of complete shock that stiffened her face when he showed up with his great pair of shoulders inside the dark blue dinner suit he was wearing. His bright white dress shirt gave the honey-gold tones of his skin a warm, tight, healthy glow that annoyingly made the tip of her tongue grow moist.
She cast a look down at herself, simultaneously marinating in shame.
He had come for a date.
She had called him to paint her.
"This is embarrassing," she rasped, self-consciously brushing a strand of hair out of her flustered face.
He smiled that charming smile that made her stomach do acrobatics and presented her with a bunch of Forget-Me-Nots wrapped delicately in blue paper. "Here's to an unforgettable first date."
To hide her embarrassment, she blindly took the bundle from him, inhaling the non-existent scent, pretending the there was some heady fragrance bathing her senses. "You've got that right," she vaguely remembered saying before she invited him inside, clutching the lone robe she wore like her dear life depended on it.
The Present…
Deidara entered what was presumably the kitchen he had been eating breakfast in, for the last couple years of his life. Nothing was remotely familiar. It was a huge, glossy white kitchen with a wooden table standing in the middle of its white-tiled floor. It was all very new, very modern safe for the massive refrigerator covered in horribly drawn and poorly coloured pictures.
One of the fridge doors swung open but Tenten hadn't moved which meant that the little twit was helping herself to whatever it was they used to refuel themselves. As adorable as the twerp was, he could not stomach the thought of having it around. All they did was whine, make messes and nose fuck themselves—ie, pick their noses.
The living room had been even more foreign, his gaze had flickered curiously around the room made up of countrified furniture complete with chintzy soft furnishings. Its floors were littered with toys, suggesting that Harumi frequented it more than any other room.
There were picture frames all over; of himself and that haggard woman, of himself and the brats. He noted grimly that there were quite a number of himself and the little girl—silly ones, normal ones. And it was unnerving to admit to himself that, he looked rather content in all photographs, flaunting cheesy grins and lopsided smiles. But he knew of the prowess of Photoshop, so he still was not ruling out the possibility.
Though what had truly struck him was the gigantic portrait of Tenten on the wall overlooking the dining table in the kitchen. There was no denying the cursive of his signature positioned in the corner of it.
He cringed, "Did I paint that?"
Harumi's head suddenly stuck out from behind the fridge, "Dei-dei, look what I drew!" she pointed to the drawings, telling him which one of the stick figures they each were. "I gave Daisuke a big head because he thinks he's so smart," she frowned at the picture.
Tenten burst into a gaiety of laughter.
Deidara turned up his nose, refusing to comment on the child's pitiful doodles least Tenten took a swing at him. She was dangerously close, a little too close for comfort. He was catching the lavender whiff of her shampoo and noticing things about her that made him want to remove his sinful eyes.
"Yes you painted it," she finally answered. "On our first date."
He choked on his saliva, fighting the burning sensation in his face. "Some first date it must have been if you're wearing nothing but a bathrobe."
She did take that swing at him, and from that distance she wasn't going to miss. "Take your mind out of the gutter."
He scowled at her, "No offence chubs, but you couldn't get my mind in the gutter even if you were holding my face down in one."
She growled, somehow managing to keep her temper under wraps. "You were going to paint me nude," she told him, relishing the look of horror that drain every last bit of blood from his face.
He looked down at her protruding stomach, not able to shake the disturbing images of that nasty bump bare along with the rest of her body. He gulped, "I think I'll skip dinner to—" the rest of his sentence died in his throat as he caught sight of the vase of Forget-Me-Nots at the centre of the dining. "Is that a jab at my apparent amnesia?" he demanded bitterly.
Tenten followed his gaze and giggled, "Now that I think about it, it just might be."
A/N: I'm sorry about the delayed update. I lost my collaborator and for a while I didn't want to continue this story :( Don't worry she's not dead or anything, she's just no longer on fanfiction. But the show must go on…
I did a little flashback, might be adding a couple more of those to kind of show how DeiTen came into being. But I will be sticking to the present for a while, because I'm sure you wanna see how much of an epic fail of a father and husband a teenaged Deidara is =^.^=
I hope however that this chapter wasn't an epic fail. Please Review to keep me motivated I'm still not a 100% back on board.