Checkmate
A Sasori-centric Microfic by Sarehptar
Theme Song: Dying (Five For Fighting)

Sometimes I think that Sasori-danna isn't fit to be a ninja. I know he isn't fit to be a murderer, despite the fact that he seems to revel in it. Zetsu once laughed when I voiced that opinion. He told me I didn't know my partner well at all. That isn't true, I'm certain. I know him better than anyone else. Sometimes the other members drive me crazy. Damn bastards are so wrapped up in themselves that they've stopped looking beyond the end of their own kunai. I'm bad with weapons, so I'm good at seeing.

Sasori-danna has made his face beautifully blank, but even so, he's miserable at hiding. I have always seen straight through him, like a damp sheet of rice paper. It has made him hate me. I like that best about us, because even though he can't stand me, he needs me, we're a team. I love his distrust, because in the end I don't trust him either and we're just equals. It's the game we've played forever -halfway between hatred and comradery- one so complicated that I've long forgotten the objective.

Now we're only playing so we won't slip into friendship. We're playing so that when he dies I won't be sad, and when I die, he'll curse instead of cry. I love the barbed remarks, the quiet lies, hell even the threats are fun, because every word he mutters makes him a little more transparent. My partner is like a tiny droplet of water--the same you might catch on the end of your tongue in the rain, the same that might run from your eyes. He's clear and flawless; his unmarred surface reflects everything that's trapped within.

Sasori-danna is weak, horribly so, and I know I get protective of him more often than I should. It's just that despite all his wood and metal, buried inside is beating bleeding heart and I can't help but notice that no matter how strong his shields are, he drops them far too often. He's older than me, but really I'm older than him; he's just a hollow toy, an empty drop of water. He's afraid of pain and afraid of loss and even though he's stripped away all his humanity, he's still more human than I'll ever be.

He's a murderer but isn't and frightening but not and no word suits him but paradox. Because even when he kills them he keeps them close, and I know he does it so he'll never be alone, so that even when he's as doll-like as them, he'll be a part of someone's world. He calls it art, I call it fear, and with him those two are one and the same. Everlasting--unable to leave him behind.

I think sometimes he isn't fit to be a ninja. When I'm washing the blood from his hands and he's shouting he can do it but letting me go on anyway, I think he's not like me at all. I think that even though he's carved up human corpses and torn apart nations, he's still innocent. When he's smiling that stupid blank smile under those calculating but bright eyes, it comes to me that he should have been some woman's loving husband, some kid's doting father, someone's art teacher... Even when he's lashing out at me with that venomous boyish voice, I see him for what he is--a casualty, a coward, a child lost in his own false reality.

Kisame likes to call me the weakest, but he's as blind as his partner and far less perceptive. I'm stronger, I know, though Sasori calls me intolerably idiotic, and I call him Master. It's part of our life-long game. Give and take, weedle and sacrifice, attack and defend. I let Kisame talk.

We are in a graveyard looking for some poor bastard's ashes--I can't remember what Rei-sama wants with them. I'm too tired to ask Sasori, and hell, he's in too awful a mood to talk to anyway. It's not easy robbing a ninja village's sacred grounds, so here we are at 3 AM, breath coming out in misty clouds, toes completely frozen. Neither one of us expected to stumble across someone else awake at this ungodly hour.

On this night, we're both unprepared. With skill that some say doesn't match our looks, we silently hide ourselves behind the gravestones. Thank God we're such small people! The thought of Kisame trying to cower behind a tombstone almost makes me giggle, but I stifle it well. Sasori's sour expression only deepens as the intruder stops one row away, directly behind us. The silence wears on me, and I can hear my breath and the Scorpion's weak little heart beating beside me. Curiousity takes its toll like always, and I peer around the dark granite.

"Mother, Father." The interrupter is on his knees, and I can see the tears from here. "Father..." The dark-haired boy's voice seems loud in such a quiet place. "Why did you leave me?" Beside me, my transparent partner's angry glare has vanished, and he is shivering. I know it's not from the cold. "You left me!" And the boy is sobbing, and he looks nothing like my delicate partner but suddenly they're the same person, the same fragile creature unable to sleep, the same broken child. Sasori stares blindly ahead, and I wonder if he even knows I'm watching him. It hurts to look at him like this, because I see that even though he has made it impossible for his body to shed tears, he hasn't escaped the sadness.

I feel then that someone ought to protect him, run a comforting hand along his winged back, whisper something comforting into his ear. I want to do this myself, I want to keep my weak, innocent murdering Master safe from his own heart... But that would break the rules of our little game, knock our entire battlefield board onto the ground. Instead I let him whimper in his own head and give him only a disinterested glare. In the end, he is unfit to be who he is, and I am too proud to forfeit the game.

Author's Notes: HOMG. I am so sorry. I like... Died. I haven't written anything for thisfic is months... Wow, really sorry. Umm yeah. I try hard to be more on top of things from now on, but life is passing me by. Anyway, I don't like this one that much,I really felt the need to post something, since I ignored my Akatsuki loves for like three months... Sasori seriously gives methe Mother-Hen Complex. Especially since I was right about him all along! I knew it, the moment I saw him--he was sweetie pie trying hard to look evil. My poor psychotic baby... I just wanna hug him. He's so tragic and... yeah. I think it sucks HORRIBLY that Kishimoto killed him. Deidara isn't going to be the same for me without him. But now that he's dead I have a lot of weird ideas that I could write. Hnh, yeah.

To The-MarmaladeCat: Thank you saying such nice things! I'm really glad you liked it, and SOOOO sorry that I totally haven't updated in like forever. T.T Oh, and I did read your fic. It was lovely, and I'm surpremely jealous. I left a nice long review too. :) I hope you remember me after so long a gap...
To Rikou Suiyou: Yes, I love the word cacophony much too... But my favorite word HAS to be 'Paradigm'. I mean come on, it's so spiffy looking... You need to update your fanfiction! ((Poke))
To Smallpox Plum: You always write the nicest things! ((Super glomp)) Yes, Deidara is such a badass. Hrmh, yeah. I think this drabble is like off the hook. It's just too crazy and out there for me. But I always knew Sasori was a cutie pie, and I can't help making Deidara note that. Yeahhhh... Warm fermented strawberry. Have you ever tasted blood? I have REALLY low iron count in my blood, so when I bleed, it always tastes like sweet water. I couldn't help comparing it to wine, but since it doesn't taste like wine... Heh, the contrast between strawberries and rotting corpses was intentional, but I didn't pull it off well enough. Maybe I'll edit that part.
To noname: LIAR! Heh, the Kakashi line just demanded that. Pinocchio... Hee hee. Poor Sasori though, you shouldn't pick on dead people! Anyway, I think I'm the one who got lost on the path of life... I hope you still remember this fiction, and thanks for reviewing.