Words of Wisdom
Disclaimer: I do not own the Naruto franchise, nor do I profit from posting this piece of fiction based on the series.
Author's Note: No, this story is not off hiatus. I just wanted a break from pulling an all-nighter to assuage my guilt on not updating Heaven Forbid, my HidanTenten multi-chapter fanfiction and main priority, so I did some polishing on my latest one-shot (Speech Impediment) and this story. I probably won't update for awhile again, but feel free to review! They actually do make me feel more motivated to at least work on this thing. In fact, if I don't get reviews, I kind of forget what I'm supposed to be working on in the end. So review away, my lovelies!
Enjoy!
Chapter Three: One Condition
"I don't believe it should be legal for males to cook this well," sighed a very content, very full young woman as she leaned back in her seat, lethargically rubbing her satiated stomach with a languid hand. Fingers pressed against satiny material, pushing the fabric into smooth creases outlining a small handprint.
Needless to say, her opinion of the eccentric blonde man changed quite drastically once his culinary skills were brought into question.
Deidara laughed good-naturedly, reaching over the table to grab her empty plate. "You didn't even leave me any leftovers, yeah!" he joked.
Holding up her index finger, Sakura claimed the pile of plates, utensils, and cups before the blonde could argue. "Since you got to make this excellent, scrumptious, delicious, tasty, and utterly mouthwatering meal, it's only fair if I wash the dishes." Without letting the writer interject, she marched purposefully, dishes in hand, out of the dining room.
Moments later, she reentered, dishes still in hand, and asked sheepishly, "Which way is the kitchen?"
Suppressing uproarious laughter, Deidara could only point wordlessly for the woman, who ducked her head in embarrassment as she shuffled past his shaking form. With a smirk at her disappeared form, he stood and followed her into the kitchen, where Sakura busied herself with soaking, soaping, and drying the few dishes they used, humming a nameless tune as she worked.
"I can dry."
She looked up, startled, with widened green eyes, pink strands of hair falling artfully in front of her face—they managed to somehow avoid masking her eyes. Damn, she's pretty.
"I'll be fine."
"I insist," he asserted, picking up the dishrag in a single, smooth motion, nearly undetectable to the naked eye.
Sakura smiled inwardly. "Whatever." Together, they completed the menial task of dishwashing in comfortable silence, occasionally broken by the clinking of their wine glasses or utensils with each other. The silence was meanwhile occupied by the pair surreptitiously stealing subtle and curious glances at the other.
The peace was broken by his cell phone, ringing now to the tune of another band's five minutes of fame.
An apologetic smile directed at Sakura, Deidara walked into the next room, flipping the device open as his soft smile dissolved into a vicious sneer. "I'm busy. What is it?"
"Deidara—" The blonde's sneer faltered at the atypical urgency in his typically grouchy editor's voice. "—look, something's up. The others, they're reestablishing contact with each other. They called me, asked if I knew your phone number. I told them we hadn't spoken since the article; they shouldn't be able to dig up much since I use a different name as your editor. Deidara, you there?"
Shaking his head, the author assured, "Sorry, Sasori, yeah. Hope they didn't give you too much trouble."
The man on the other line snorted, "Nothing I couldn't handle. It's you I'm worried about. After that farewell you gave Itachi, I've an inkling that they'll want compensation in addition to their original demands. Why again didn't you decline joining their 'secret society' from the beginning like I did?"
Deidara sighed. "'Cause you're an artist and therefore too independent and proud to be impoverished. As an author, which I still say is as artistic as your woodwork, I'm more desperate for attention and finances. That is how you described me, right?"
"In my defense, that was before I really knew you, so I was going with stereotypes," Sasori admitted. "But you know I'm right."
"As always, yeah. Thanks for the warning Sasori, but I'm in the middle of a date."
"Don't do something stupid." As impatient as ever, the redhead rudely hung up on Deidara without waiting for a response or offering any good luck.
Snapping his phone shut, the blonde stalked back into the kitchen, masking his concern with false amusement for Sakura's sake.
"Who was that?" asked the young woman, leaning on the counter with a curious expression.
"Ah, no one important. Just my editor, yeah," he said, waving the question away with a flippant hand.
Sakura raised an eyebrow, unsure to believe this man she barely knew—yet was undeniably attracted to—and pointed out, "But you were being all hush-hush in the other room."
"I just don't want any of my super secret plot points to leak out early," lied the man with a wink though he grimaced on the inside, "or else those critics will attack me before anything even hits the shelves—you know how I'm a misunderstood writer and all."
Rolling her eyes at her date, Sakura pushed herself off the counter and towards the young man, reaching up to fiddle with his collar, an object that suddenly caught her immediate attention. "I better be going, but I just wanted to say…thanks."
He grinned, a true expression despite his inner turmoil. "No problem. Let's do it again sometime, yeah."
"Yeah…" Unable to think of anything more to say, Sakura tiptoed and pecked her lips on his cheek, leaning back with a grateful smile. "I honestly did have a marvelous time."
Before he could speak again or—bless his heart—kiss her back, a knock on the door rang through the mostly empty rooms of his flat.
"Shit." Despite his alarm, the blonde was still inexplicably impressed at the timing of the callers.
Alarmed, Sakura asked, "Did I say something?"
"No, it's not you, yeah," Deidara hastily replied, too distracted by the imminent danger to answer kindly. He quickly rushed to his door and, glancing through his peephole, saw his visitors to be none other than the esteemed Uchiha Itachi and his hired muscle, Hoshigaki Kisame. "Shit," the blonde cursed again. "Sakura, um, you know in the movies, how the heroes sometimes climb through the air vents to escape the bad guys and stuff?"
Eyes widening in disbelief, the pink-haired girl said, "No. Stop right there. I don't know what's going on, or what perverted kind of game you're playing, but there is no way you are getting me to do that." Her arms crossed stubbornly, and she took to glaring at him as though he ought to be ashamed.
Deidara, meanwhile, found himself close to having a panic attack and, at that moment, really did not want to beg, but he could think of no other option. "Sakura, this is a really dangerous situation, and if you don't do this, we may die, and I really, really don't want to!"
At the strain in his voice, Sakura sobered with a sigh and looked to the nearest vent. "I swear, this is the weirdest date I've been on," she muttered, thinking back to one particularly disastrous blind date in the hopes of proving herself wrong, as the young man ripped off the grate with unexpected strength and helped her slip into the small passage. "Did you forget to pay your gas bills or something?"
"Shh!" hissed Deidara as he followed her into the tiny opening with much more difficulty.
Unable to turn her head enough to grant him a glare, she resigned herself to scoffing and following his whispered directions through the ventilation system. She never noticed that, despite the possibly hazardous situation, he quite thoroughly enjoyed the view he held of her behind. After several uncomfortable minutes of crawling, an unfortunate rip in her well thought-out attire, and the blonde's long hair catching in another grate, Deidara finally instructed her to push open their exit, yet another grate that faced downward. Finding some difficulty with it, Sakura was herded forward, and Deidara gave the metal grill a good kick, sending it flying downwards, and jumped after it.
The young woman followed with a less than enthusiastic expression and, having jumped wrong, fell into Deidara's arms, though she pushed herself away from them within the same instant.
"The car," he whispered anxiously, his azure eyes darting back and forth as he tugged her towards his sports car.
Sakura strapped herself in and immediately crossed her arms with a hardened glare directed at the blonde man. "I want to go home."
As Deidara started the car and joined the traffic, he sighed, "Too dangerous, yeah. They probably know you're with me and are searching your place, too."
Scowling, she demanded, "First of all, who is 'they'? Secondly, why? Thirdly, do you know how much this skirt cost?"
A traffic light turned red, and Deidara slammed his foot on the brakes, throwing their bodies into the seatbelts. While they waited for the green, he turned to Sakura and answered irately, "This is a life or death situation! Can you please forget for a moment that I ruined this night and find a safe haven before someone, other than you, castrates me?"
Her eyes darkened hatefully at his reproach. "It's green," she gritted through tightly clenched teeth. The blonde seemed surprised at her words, as though he was oblivious to the horns honking behind them until she pointed them out. He gassed the car and crossed the intersection, the wheels squealing at the sudden movement.
When the tires finally quieted down, she muttered, "I've one condition."
"What's that?"
"Just don't get me killed."
Deidara hid his wistful smirk.
Sakura folded her arms crossly in a different and noticeably cheaper-looking car, glaring yet again at the blonde man with an angry frown. He merely grinned enigmatically in return.
"I am going to take advantage of this and leave you behind, you know," she said clearly.
"Sakura, don't be like that. We both know you can't hurt a fly, let alone a drop-dead-sexy novelist such as myself, yeah." He stepped out of the car before locking and trod nonchalantly to the nearest teller machine.
Really, his ability to joke in their dilemma was infuriating.
As Deidara withdrew essentially his entire bank account from the ATM, Sakura sighed, seriously considering following through on her threat of abandonment. Then she remembered that he was right—she simply was incapable of leaving the man to his as yet unexplained doom. She sighed once more and closed her eyes, wishing the nightmare away.
When she opened them, she found herself alarmed to discover that not only had the dream continued, but a rather conspicuous van with tinted windows parked next to their new vehicle. She peered harder, hoping to see through the darkened glass, but there was no need, as an incredibly muscular man stepped out and made a beeline towards the unsuspecting Deidara.
Having formed a sort of affection for the author despite their misadventures together (One could only assume that this could be attributed to his excellent cooking capabilities.), Sakura climbed into the driver's seat, started the car, and honked the horn repeatedly as if her life depended on it (which it did).
Both Deidara and the burly man, distracted by the noise, turned to see the flustered young woman rapidly backing the car out of the parking spot and careening towards the ATM, nearly plowing over several pedestrians along the way. Still honking, she threw the passenger door open and screamed, "Get in!"
Deidara, needing no further prompting, leapt into the moving vehicle, still clutching the bills he withdrew to his chest, as he glanced backwards to see his pursuer.
Clutching the chicken handle for dear life, he said gratefully to the young woman, "Thanks, yeah. That was some quick thinking."
When no response came from her, he looked over to see her jaw clenched and her grip so tight on the steering wheel that her knuckles whitened dangerously.
"Pull over."
Wordlessly, she complied. They switched seats quickly and silently, having reached a form of agreement between each other as the reality of their flight was finally grasped.
The pair maintained their silence for the next several hours, in which they switched cars yet again and found a cheap motel to stay at. Without consulting Sakura, Deidara booked a room for the two of them, posing as a married couple so as not to arouse suspicions.
As soon as they entered their room, Deidara procured a pair of scissors—from where, Sakura could only guess—and headed to the bathroom. Peering into the mirror, he fingered his hair and wondered aloud, "How do you think one of those faux-hawks—the ones that are all the rage—would look on me?"
The young woman, who had been staring listlessly at the blank television screen, nearly choked on her cough. "What?"
"Faux-hawk…on…me…maybe…yeah," the blonde reiterated slowly.
Sakura shook her head, disbelieving. "No, not at all. And why do you ask?"
Deidara seemed somewhat offended that she thought he could not pull off a faux-hawk, but he explained, "We should probably change our appearances a bit. Hair's a good start, yeah." He fingered a lock. "Buzz cut?"
"No!" Startled at her own vehemence, she amended, "I mean, it seems a waste, since you take such good care of your hair."
"Well, I've got to do something!"
"Fine," the woman said snappishly, grabbing the scissors from his hands. "Let me cut it."
With surprising gentility, considering her current disdain for the man, Sakura snipped at his long blonde locks until they transformed into an inconspicuous, short, layered shag. She stepped back to admire her work and gave a slight nod of approval. Deidara, who had watched the entire process in the mirror, fingered his shortened hair admiringly, noting how the simple change rather drastically altered his entire appearance.
He smiled gratefully at the young woman. "You're turn."
She shook her head. "There's not really much you can do about the length. It's already pretty short—" Her lips suddenly stopped moving as his hand swept a stray lock aside. Sakura mentally cried at her heart to cease its pounding and resume a calmer, healthier rhythm.
Deidara suddenly sighed. "I'm gonna miss it, but we've gotta dye your hair."
The young woman clenched her teeth, ignoring her desire to protest with the unfortunate knowledge that pink hair does tend to stand out in a crowd.
He went out to purchase some hair dye at the closest drug store. In the meantime, she returned to listlessly watching the blank television screen, allowing her aimless thoughts to wash over her.
What the heck did she do to deserve this?
As she mused what possibly could have gone wrong to screw up her karma so badly, Sakura drew a big fat blank. After all, the young woman was in medical school, working part-time as a reader to kids in elementary school to foot her bills—hardly incriminating actions. Well, there was that one time…
She blushed when the memory resurfaced. There was the exception that proved the rule, she supposed.
Thankfully, a distraction arrived when Deidara returned. Noting his choice in color—black—she raised a skeptical eyebrow.
"Am I going to need a fashion overhaul as well?"
Rolling his blue eyes, Deidara shook his head. "It's just that black hair and green eyes are a winning combination. Of course, not as good as what you've got going now, but it's next in line. And we want you looking your best, yeah."
Sakura gave the man a sidelong look before taking the bottle and heading into the bathroom with an emphatic slam of the door. Her mouth twisted into an ironic half smile when she heard him wish her luck beyond the wall.
Resuming her earlier train of thought, she mumbled, "Oh, yeah. I'm here because I kind of like that guy."
Afterthoughts: Yes, I know, I'm horrible for ruining their hair, but come on—it's the smartest thing to do when one's being tracked down. R.I.P. Deidara's long hair and Sakura's pink locks. You shall be sorely missed.