Sickness
A Crack-fic by Sarehptar
Theme Song: Amsterdam (Coldplay)

The mirror is dirty. It's the first thing you notice this morning, and not because it's the first place you go, but because most of the time you're not really conscious until lunch. Sasori knows it, he avoids you in the morning and you can't help but think that's one of the smartest things he's ever done. He almost never sleeps; he probably can't even remember what grogginess feels like. So when you see him vanish down the corridor like he doesn't even know you -wasn't watching you- it doesn't register. He's just a bobbing blob of red and black, and until you manage to fight the tangles from your hair and scrub your face -ew, is that drool?- that's all he'll be.

The wide bathroom mirror that you all share is dirty, and the fact that you notice at all is surprising. Who the hell was in here last? It's way too early to be thinking, but today you can't help it, and great, things are already starting out troublesome. A thought flits across your mind, and the snicker that matches it cracks because your throat is always sore in the morning—Sasori and his obsession with the heater... Always feels like a friggin' desert in your room—You hope against hope that the weird blotch on the mirror isn't from that pimple you spotted on Uchiha's face yesterday. Briefly you wonder who pointed it out to him, and exactly how they got around to telling him he had a flaw.

But on closer inspection -God, you really aren't conscious, why the hell are you looking closer at all?- it proves to be nothing but flecks of toothpaste. That annoying minty kind, because it has this very subtle green tint. That's Kisame's favorite, and you find its tube squished and still dripping on the shelf right next to Uchiha's bubblegum-flavoured crap. How pretty boy deals with the taste of sugar in his mouth so early in the morning, you can't even begin to fathom. You're a bit relieved to realize the mess on the mirror isn't what you thought it was, but then again, you're not that relieved, because it means no one's told Itachi about his blemish and that's all you're going to be able to look at during breakfast. Gross. The idea of revenge skitters across your mind, but it's not really fair to blame to the Uchiha. Sweat happens.

Kisame, you think. You can blame it on him. He should have told Itachi about it, and his irresponsibility is therefore the reason you'll be too disgusted to eat. Deftly, silently, you snatch his battered toothbrush, and without so much as a smile -just in case anyone walks in- you proceed to clean the clay out of the mouths in your hands. You'll take the heat for it later, but hey, you love violence, and Kisame is so brutish that he doesn't stand a chance against your art. Maybe he'll be so tired tonight he won't even notice? When you take your own toothbrush and your own toothpaste -orange flavour, eat your heart out traditionalists- and scrub your real mouth, things finally start to come clear for the day.

Wash, wash, the water is really cold against your puffy eyes and it feels nicer than anything you've felt in a long while. This time when you look in the mirror, you can see more than just the specks--you can see your hair which, somehow over the course of the night, has become a rat's nest. Half of your bangs are standing on end, or bent completely in the wrong direction, and the despair you've been feeling since entering the bathroom suddenly doubles. Bad hair day. Taking a kunai to the mess might be your only choice this time.

It's Zetsu to the rescue: when he comes wandering into the bathroom all dressed and almost looking happy to start the day -that weirdo, how can he possibly be happy?- he takes one look at you and, thank the gods, doesn't burst out laughing. There are tons of things he could have pointed out, from your tousled mop to the fact that because Sasori turned the heat up so far you'd been forced to ditch the standard issue night clothes in favor of boxers that had -Buddha, didn't you throw these away?- little green lizards dancing all across them.

"Uchiha put his hairspray in the crevice under the counter this morning." He says in that voice that is all flat and much less interesting than you'd expect from a man with a plant growing out of him. Itachi has taken to hiding things from you lately, probably because you have this tendency to claim everything in your hideout as communal property. Skillfully you peek down under the counter, and sure enough, in a crack between the side and the outer wall, there's a bottle and a wire brush tucked away. Bastard. Whatever the heck it is that he buys, it works like a miracle, and soon your hair is laying flat and shiny. You don't bother hiding the bottle again; Itachi is going to know you used it anyway.

Zetsu doesn't lower himself to ask when you sail past him giggling. You're just picturing those two -Uchiha and his overzealous guard-shark- discovering this evening what you've done. Itachi hates shopping; even though he won't show it, he'll be furious with you. You can just see him glowering as Kisame chases you around in circles intent on hanging your hide on the wall. Zetsu shakes his head, making this weird rustling noise, and you're glad your brain is still full of cotton because if you'd been all the way awake this entire morning might have given you a migraine. As it is, you're still debating curling up under the covers again and burying your face in the warm pillowcase that smells like 'Summer Rain' fabric softener. Unfortunately, Rei-sama has marked today as Conditioning Day -don't you kill enough to stay in shape without all this extra exercise?- which means he'll expect everyone outside before eight. Much too early, you glower at the shouji that lines the hall.

Sasori is not sitting in the room when you shove open the door, meaning you're probably already late for breakfast. Speedily -food is, after all, almost as important to you as sleep- you round up the first clean clothes you can find. You absolutely hate the fact that the uniforms are standard--damn it, you've put on one of Sasori's tops again; it's two sizes too small and clingy, but you're too sleepy and late to really care. He might be ticked off later because that was probably his last clean shirt, and weakly you pray that tomorrow is laundry day so he won't miss it.

When you finally slouch into the kitchen, it's not surprising to find everyone already eating. Someone has cooked pancakes, whose sugary warm smell is clashing badly with the rice and eggs someone else has made. Uchiha's head snaps up when you enter, and you're surprised at the action, until you notice his eyes are dark and empty, devoid of their normal crimson depth. He's conserving Chakra for the sparring you will all do today, and you're more than relieved. With his bad eyesight, he won't notice the spray in your hair right now. You clamber to your place between Zetsu and Sasori, and pass when the plant man offers you the spongy cakes. It's much too early for sugar(1), and you don't hesitate to point this out for the Uchiha, who is in the process of pouring more syrup onto his plate.

His wrist is resting on the porcelain edge, you notice, and the reason comes to your fuzzy brain a few seconds later—he can't see the plate and is touching it to make sure he doesn't unwittingly pour maple onto the table. A little twinge, close to pity but not quite there because you're still both heartless murderers, tugs somewhere inside. How many other changes has Itachi made to himself so that he can continue functioning like the rest of you? If your eyesight failed, shudder at the thought, you could probably never continue being a ninja. Of course, you don't just drop out of Akatsuki—you're no legendary sannin and you're willing to bet Rei-sama wouldn't have any trouble making sure you never leaked vital information.

The rice is satisfying, and as you eat in relative silence -what is there to talk about?- you can feel the mental processes in your brain slowly picking up speed. Suddenly incurring the wrath of both Hoshigaki and Uchiha doesn't seem like the brightest of ideas. Too late to fix it now... Sasori is complaining about something beside you, and since you haven't heard the word "art" yet, it's probably safe to tune him out.

He's always griping about something, from Iwa ninja's girlish looks to your bad habit of turning sideways on your futon and kicking his bed in the middle of the night. Today, Uchiha-san is the victim of his grouchiness. Oh, you realize, you can't tune him out this time—that idiot Tobi had come in earlier and pointed out Itachi's offending pimple. You stifle a laugh as Sasori demonstrates the face Uchiha wore upon discovering the unsightly blemish. The way his eyes widen and his mouth hangs open reminds you an odd cross between a frightened woman and a dead cat. A nod from Zetsu confirms the correctness of this imitation, and you think it's a shame you missed something like that. Itachi glares down the table like he knows you've all been poking fun at him, and you're really glad he can't make out the gritty glare your partner is sending in his direction, because you'd rather not start the exercise sparring over a syrupy mess of dough and sticky rice.

Dish duty is going to be hell today, but since it's not your turn it doesn't really matter. Sasori is still glaring, and you're willing to bet his whole bad mood can be traced back to one thing. An azure glance confirms it—your grouchy partner is the one who'll be scraping plates tonight. You don't really care so much. Then Uchiha-san is standing, and carefully, meticulously clearing his place. It's a sign to you to hurry because you're all going to look really disobedient if Itachi's standing with Rei-sama waiting while you all lag behind. And even though you don't care about Sasori at all, you're determined not to leave a single grain of rice in the bowl. You're just that hungry, really. Akasuna won't even know this dish was yours.

The well hidden entrance peels itself open, flooding half-lidded, morning clouded eyes with unwelcome light. Everyone squints except Itachi. His black irises -why aren't they white?- are undaunted where you are burned. That's Uchiha-san, through and through. He strides past your hesitant self without a second's pause, throwing his mind -nearly, never fully- into the battles to come. He must have heard Sasori talking about him after all, because he drifts in your partner's direction, toying with a kunai hidden in his long sleeve.

Then everyone else is outside too, and it's only you still standing on the threshold between home and the battlefields and shadow and light and sleep and reality. The doorframe that's not really a doorframe, but looks like one, is rough beneath your callused fingertips. You can feel the last vestiges of sleep slipping away, and hesitantly, weakly, you cling to them for just a moment. Zetsu looks, disinterested, in your direction, but you shut your eyes and lean against the wooden wall that isn't really wood and ignore him. It's normal, isn't it? You want to hold onto your grogginess -five more minutes- because it's a sign that you're still natural, still a normal man who doesn't like sugar and who steals toothbrushes. This morning sluggishness is human... You love almost nothing more.

Suddenly Rei-sama is growling and you've waited too long. With a breath -a sigh though you won't admit it- you pass through into the light that robs the last of sleep and dreams and leaves you a discomforting mix of cold and warm. Now you will fight and flee and bleed and aim to kill -not really, but really- the one who cooked your breakfast and the one who'll clean it up and the ones who have reason to be angry at you and don't even know it yet. You will fly and stab and trick and trigger destruction with a word and a power half the world doesn't have.

Uchiha-san's sharingan are burning, and his concentrated look reminds you nothing of a frightened woman or a dead cat. You'd never be able to tell from the Scorpion's alertness that he doesn't ever sleep. Somewhere to your left, Kisame is telling you to hurry up so he can skin you alive. The Kibaku Nendo(2) in your fists says he's got no chance. Tonight you will trip, stumble, be carried, fall into bed. Halfway through the night you'll shed your clothes because of the oppressive heat and kick Sasori in the process. In the morning, you won't even remember thinking this at all—you'll be clinging to sweet dreams and fuzzy warmth and everything it means to be an average man.

As a clay spider clambers up Kisame's leg -watch him dance- you can't help think... It's not so pointless is it, this groggy morning ritual—this sluggishness of mind and judgment that will invite a kunai to your throat one day.

After all, it's fun pretending to be human.

Author's Notes: Okay, are you going "What!"now? This my (one and only probably) Akatsuki crack-fic. It's random, and I think it's vaguely interesting that way. It's written with an almost omnipotent second-person view, which I have NEVER done before in prose. It was fun to try, but I probably won't do it again. It's also present tense, which is somewhat addictive. What did you think? Was it pointless? It appears to be so, but I think I also read a lot into the tiny human flaws everyone has. With this piece, I wanted to make them all seem like real people. Maybe I failed? So much of OOC... I actually wrote this about a week and a half ago and had to talk myself into posting it.

Notes:
1) This is cultural reference. A lot of traditional and older Japanese people dislike the sugary foods (like doughnuts and pancakes) that most of us Americans are addicted to. I don't know why, but Deidara strikes me as someone who complain about sugar for breakfast. Yet I gave him orange flavored toothpaste (my own personal favorite), something very untraditional. Hmm.
2) Kibaku Nendo: Exploding Clay

To Smallpox Plum: You got me wrong! I LOVE your long reviews! Like more than words can express. Please, write me an essay every time! I think it's sooooo cool that someone cares enough about my stuff to really put thought into their reviews. You're my hero:) I'm glad you understood the last one, I was worried that maybe I didn't express my own crazy dreams right. And I'm glad I managed to portray both Deidara and Sasori's views on art to the point where it was hard to pick one or the other. They are both so valid, aren't they? I want to write something about that one day. Your analysis about the nature of Sasori and Deidara is just so dead on. It's like you took the words right out of my head! You're too cool. Anyway, what did you think of this one? It was a little bit misleading I think.
To Arisawa: You took down all your ItachiDeidara stories! I'm sad now. When I posted that chapter back there I did hate the two, but you changed my mind. I have many ideas for DeiIta now... But I am so lazy, I don't know if I will ever write them! Thank you for reviewing! I might write a chapter of this story in German, you will check my grammar for me, right?
To Ione-girl: You remind me of a good friend. She does that same thing (putting her hand to her chest and going "That was so deep!") Funny coincidence. Anyway, I'm really glad you liked the last chapter, and I hope this one wasn't really disappointing. Tell me when you post your fic, mmkay?
To Jazzy Uchiha: Thanks for reviewing!
To tidAL rabbiT: Yay, I didn't kill anyone with that one! I like watching birds, and the sky is really so blue it always reminds me of the surface of a lake. What did you think of this one? Dumb, right?
To Rikou Suiyou: I'm so glad that you liked it! Your opinion means so much to me, and I glad I managed to get the ideas across in that last one. I almost didn't post this one... Any sadly, the last sentence from last time was only centered, not indented. I want to indent my paragraphs so badly! Someone needs to lobby for a change in the accepted HTML codes.
To The-MarmaladeCat1: Thank you, I'm so glad that you like these. As I write, I think I'm developing my own nuances to Deidara and Sasori. The more I think about them, the more dialouge and thoughtsI can put into their heads. I'm a little afraid Deidara won't turn out like I've written him though! Thanks for reviewing!