A/N: Music is my hot, hot sex. Raise your hand if you love that song!

I know it's short, but it's transitions, people.

The trees, the land, and what was left of the houses were now all familiar, but to Deidara, there was an edgy atmosphere that hadn't been there before. This time, not even a glace strayed his way as he walked through the shell-shocked streets of a skeletal city, grimly surveying people he once knew, emaciated and pallid, pick through piles of concrete and bodies to find any trace of food or valuables.

An hour ago, he'd landed the plane in a sparse collection of mangy trees and left Sakura sentinel while he went to scout out the city. A few minutes ago, he realized that the path he was walking on was once a sidewalk, and that corpse in the gutter was once a little girl who sometimes came to watch drills at the base. He looked up to see the clock tower and a wasted frame remained, topped by sentry machine guns, their users long gone.

As he continued towards his street, he considered the situation, trying to decide whether it was good or bad. Of course, what he and Sakura had come for would still be there; no doubt there were some storages of fuel in the underground warehouses, and food could be bartered for, if not violently seized.

A young woman with a small boy passed him quickly, staring at the swastika on his arm. He felt its caustic presence bore through the jacket onto his bare skin, leaving a mark only he could see. The mark of the one thing he promised his grandmother he'd never be. It was a disguise, a wearable pseudonym to hide behind, but its effect was disturbingly real.

A stray bit of shrapnel clanged when he kicked it out of his path, and he watched the two wisps of life drift away into half of a drugstore. Plumes of smoke curled above the caved-in roof, and Deidara marked the place for quick inspection after a check on his house.

Things were different now that the bombers had come. The arrogance was gone, totally replaced with emptiness. There wasn't even bitterness at defeat, and to his right he saw a Jewish man and a Pole silently exchanging bags of wilted produce. Even they didn't worry anymore. Could they feel it, too?

But what had really changed? Not the houses, not the landscape. Now there was a despair so deep and profound that it absolutely smothered anything else. As for Deidara, some part of him relished in it. Their pain meant that the war was turning against Germany, that the Allies drew closer to victory every day.

Neither side had his sympathies, really, but Deidara had to be wily to survive, and he knew that Germany losing the war would allow him to escape from this mad hell. The wartime inflation had gone through the roof, and money, most likely, got scoffed at nowadays by all the people waiting to peddle their treasures and heirlooms for a loaf of bread stretched by sawdust, toughened by weeks of hoarding.

His house presented itself to its owner just as Deidara expected, by not being there at all. The place had burned down at some point, and whatever was left from the fire salvaged.

"Well, that makes my job easier. Positives," he muttered to himself.

But it wasn't over yet.

He walked to the center of the foundation and kicked away part of a roof beam, and uncovered the familiar trapdoor entrance to his basement, which would be completely ordinary if it weren't stuffed to the brim with contraband.

Smiling, Deidara lifted the door up and dropped down to the floor below, running a hand over a box of grenades and dusting off bottles of explosive chemicals. It was a shame he'd be leaving all this behind, but there were some things he'd take along, of course.

And it wasn't like he didn't plan to make sure no one tampered with what got abandoned, anyhow.

Several hours later, he met back up with a near-panicked Sakura.

"Hey!" she called to him from the cockpit angrily. "That was so rude of you to just run off and—oh, my God! What's that? Where did you get all that? You didn't have anything to do with that explosion a quarter hour ago, did you?"

"Sniper rifle, some grenades, and things," Deidara yawned, answering her with an air of accomplished boredom. "They were in my basement. And yes, I had something to do with the explosion."

Sakura scoffed and ungainly flopped out of the window, ending up sitting on the edge of the wing with her arms propped up behind her. The coat she wore covered her hands, acting as sorts of gloves and mittens in the absence of real ones. Deidara added a pair of woman's gloves to his growing list of Things I Must Acquire.

"What did you do? Light a bunch of black powder?"

"Black powder? Are you insulting me, Liebchien? I only use that as a last resort, ja? No, no," he laughed, excited at the interest. Well, and here was someone to test appreciation of his talent.

"I was using the chemicals," the blond continued. "I detonated Nitroglyzerin, ignited a little bit of myrol, and probably some Isopropylnitrat, yes. There were lots of bottles. I lose count. The extra grenades in there maybe helped it along."

He barked out a laugh. It certainly felt good to be with his explosives again after so long. The woman wasn't feeling the same way, evidently. She slid off the wing slowly and picked her way through the snow to where he stood, loaded down with lovely assortments of high-powered, shiny weapons.

"Deidara."

"Ja?"

"How…far away is your house?"

"From this plane?"

"Yeah."

"Some kilometers, I think. Not long to walk, yes."

"What? And I saw that stuff blowing up from here! Deidara, were there people in that city?"

"A few."

"Augh! And you just decided to blow up your basement, just like that. God help me, I'm in a plane with an escaped asylum patient. As soon as we get close to an Allied base, mister, you'd better haul us over there, because I am not going to stroll around with someone who thinks it's a bundle of chuckles to—to completely disregard all life and blow up highly explosive chemicals for no reason. I swear, if you're carrying that stuff on you, you'd better—put me down!"

As Deidara had learned in the past few weeks, it was better to just get the main point over with, and save the explanations for later. So he picked her up, slung her over his shoulder, and sauntered back towards the plumes of black smoke, not bothering to chuck the artillery in the plane. He had to make appearances, after all.

The two boys who greeted the odd pair at the door of the drugstore had little to say after they caught sight of Deidara's uniform and his baggage, not to mention the limp American slung over his shoulder. By now, the woman had calmed down, and if they could get a seat by the cook fire in the rubble, maybe he could explain a few things to her. He didn't think anyone here could speak English. He hoped not.

Their frightened faces didn't fool him one bit, though. It was still twenty against two in the drugstore alone, and the fury imprinted on these eyes at the sight of him read easily in Deidara's mind. Some explaining was in order, and fast.

There were twenty-two curious civilians in the store now, all coming to share the bonfire and its pot of Mulligan Stew dangling precariously over it by three metal rods. He walked close to it and slung Sakura down into the nearest makeshift chair (a large, overturned glass jug), where she pouted and mumbled and bit her thumbnail.

Oily brown hair shone dully in the winter sun from across the fire. It was the woman from before, though the little boy was nowhere to be seen.

"What are you doing here, bastard?" she spat at him. "Thought you all ran off to save your precious Leader. And I certainly hope you aren't doing anything bad to that girl. We don't like your kind around here anymore. A fat lot of good you did us, as you can see."

She glared at him, and Deidara tensed at the shifting of the observing crowd.

"We're not here to start trouble," he replied lowly. "We're just stopping to get some things."

"Oh? And what makes you think we're going to give them to you? You may have those abominable scraps of metal, but we know perfectly well that you can't take on a thousand with them. Especially not if you're trying to worry about her. So tell me what you're here for."

"Look, I'm not here for anyone but myself, all right? This uniform isn't even mine. You probably don't believe me, but it's not my business to sit here and convince you what I'm saying is real."

"Hmmph. A likely story. And the girl? You picked up some country bumpkin, or what?"

"She's my girlfriend," Deidara sighed. He rested his elbows on his knees and dropped his head down. "…And she's pregnant. I want to get her away from here as soon as possible."

She couldn't understand the conversation, but it had taken an interesting turn, apparently. Because suddenly she was the center of attention and amusement (and quite a lot of scorn) for a bunch of starving German people.

Peering over at Deidara, trying to ascertain what in hell was going on, merely earned her a glare that clearly said be quiet or else. She obeyed; there really wasn't anything to gain from talking, anyway.

Then the woman across the fire stood up and rattled off something that equally brought itself forward as get away or else and all of the ragged group left, mumbling, as they scattered all directions from the drugstore.

Maybe she was some sort of leader for them, but more than likely she was a source of food. You just didn't argue with people who provided you with lunch nowadays. If they observed what a lovely shade of green the snow was this year, then by damn, it was green.

"Hey, girl," said a voice to her right.

Sakura nearly jumped out of her skin. That wasn't the heavily-accented English she was expecting.

The brunette laughed, the kind of grandmothery, six-packs-a-day, raspy laugh that made you think everything was better.

"Honey, yer jumpier than a catfish in a gator hole. Don't you worry, now, I'll take care of it all fer y'all."

"You…sound American," Sakura tried nervously. The woman laughed again, leaning her head back to do so.

"Girl, Ah was born there. These people here don't know that, though. The only kind of American they've ever heard is them Yanks. Now me, Ah'm straight outta Tennessee-Kentucky. Forget the particulars, ya see. Live right on the border, Ah do."

"Oh."

"Take this bowl here, and that one fer yer man, if that's what he wants to call himself. Can't have no pregnant teenage mother goin' around hungry, now, can Ah?"

"What?"

"Oh, I guess ya don't speak the language 'round here, do ya? Well, don't be embarrassed, hon. Ah've seen more pitiful scraps than you, now, you hear? Eat up. And then we'll talk about them other bullshit that Nazi puked up on me earlier. Like hell that ain't his uniform. Ah've heard it all, and Ah ain't no dumb cluck, ya see."

"Okay," Sakura mumbled. She drank some of the soup, surprised to see it actually tasted pretty good. Just as long as she didn't know what was in it, she'd be fine.

"Hey, there!" the woman yelled at Deidara, despite the fact he was sitting mere feet away. "Don't you mess up them damn bowls, now. They's all I got. So why don't y'all tell me why you're here, babies. My son'll go get you some water. Oh, and mah name's Tenten. What about you two?"

"I am Deidara, and this is my girlfriend Sakura," Deidara shouted back out of spite. He pointed at the woman. "And you are an American, yes? What are you doing here?"

"Ah don't suppose it's any of yer business, Nazi," Tenten scoffed. "But it is yer business to tell me what in Sam Hill you are doing in this place, and what you had to gain from damn near blowin' the whole town up, hmm?"

"We are stopping for supplies to continue on, I told you this. Oh, thank you for the water, little boy." Deidara paused to drink, and then passed the cup to Sakura. "I blew up my house because there were dangerous things in the basement. You should not go over there until all the chemicals are settled down again. It is dangerous, ja."

"Well, that's certainly int'resting. Ah don't suppose Ah'll get any more out of you, then?"

"I do not suppose you will, woman."

"Hah! Listen to him. Like he owns the place. Well, if you used to live here and that was yer house, than blow it up all you like, Ah s'pose. Finish that soup thar and be on yer way. It won't do y'all any good to be here if them Reds show up."

"Do you mean the Russians, ma'am?" Sakura inquired. Was it true? Were they really that far already?

"Mm hmm, baby," the woman answered grimly. "Everyone Ah see 'round here eventually keeps goin' westerner. It's safer with Americans than with them Reds, I tell ya. Bloodthirsty savages, all of 'em. You should go along, too. Safer for the baby, too."

Sakura coughed, and Deidara had the decency to look a little sheepish. She wished it was one of those times where you could just say 'Well, this has been a nice time,' and then excuse yourself, because that's what you wanted to do all along. Sadly, she didn't think this Tenten person would understand, and besides, this was far from a tea party.

"Well, you're done now, so git along before someone catches up t' you and decides to give ya what ya deserve, Nazi shit."

"It was lovely meeting you also, Miss Oily Hair."

"Go to hell."

"I am on my way right now, yes."

So they walked out of the drugstore together, away from Tenten and her Mulligan Stew, away from the still-smoldering house and the dead girl in the gutter, and along the path leading to the woods. They would need to get there fast just in case they had curious followers behind them, but there was still time to have a conversation.

"Deidara, I want to know why you said that," Sakura huffed.

"You know why," he huffed back easily. "If they thought otherwise, it might have created problems for us. Besides that, I received much more sympathy by having a pregnant girlfriend than a zickig tagalong, ja? Just calm down and stop being a bitch before you start. After I refuel the plane, only two and one-half hours will pass before we reach Auschwitz and that Mendelssohn person."

"That's nice, but where's all this fuel and stuff?"

"Follow me, woman. I know."

So she did, and he turned to his left and there was the military base, right there. Apparently, he was feeling crafty and thought a little backtracking was in order, because if Sakura squinted on her tiptoes she thought she could see the drugstore again.

More pressing matters were at hand now, though, so she helped him kick his way through the rubble inside a warehouse to reach a huge manhole in the back that led to a store of fuel.

It was easy enough to plan out, but the weight (not to mention sensitivity) of the fuel made Sakura apprehensive. But Deidara impressed her again by producing a giant wagon-like object from some hidden corner, and single-handedly chucked each container of airplane fuel onto the dilapidated jumble of wheels and wood—through periodic screams from Sakura to not throw it so hard or it would react with the pressure and air and blow everyone up, of course.

The next thing that happened was significantly more saddening and unfortunate and real than anything Sakura had ever encountered. Along the edge of the base, on an area of snow that hadn't been touched in ages, it looked like, there lay a dead baby.

He looked no more than six months, though it may have been partially because he was so skinny. Sakura had always felt sad for people whose babies were premature and skimpy. Fat babies always looked happier and healthier, and usually their parents reflected that same inner light.

Then here was this dead child, forgotten in the snow, standing for everything Sakura had tried to ignore before. Sure, she knew before the Axis starved their prisoners of war a bit, and maybe hurt their citizens a little, but this was almost like a slap in the face for her.

This baby wasn't dead from starvation, or even frozen to death, because there in his stomach was a round, smooth hole from a high-powered pistol. Its eyes stared up at her coldly, and she felt mocked for her naivety.

All her career she'd been trained for this sort of thing, but nothing compared to actual experience but that experience itself. Sakura hated it, now that she knew what it felt like. If this was war, then they could have it.

Finding herself sobbing, she dashed off in the snow towards the plane, and when she reached it she scrambled up into the cockpit and lay there in a ball, crying. She didn't stop when she heard Deidara refueling the tanks, didn't even look up when he opened the window to toss the ammo in the back. She didn't get up to help him clear the snow for a takeoff.

She did have to move a little after Deidara started the plane and squished back into the pilot's seat, though, but only as little as needed.

Like always, the plane started off slow and painstaking on the treacherous terrain, built up speed, then gave her a tickling feeling in her stomach as the ground dropped out below them. This time, Deidara moved the plane quickly in a conspicuous detour of the city, keeping wary eyes on the anti-aircraft guns littered everywhere. Just because they were citizens didn't mean they weren't unfamiliar with them.

Then he spoke, which was unusual, because he tried to avoid talking while flying if at all possible.

"It happened all the time."

"Deidara…"

"It was a Jew-baby. Just an animal to some Hitler Youth somewhere. You could tell it was a child who shot the child, yes. The aim was terrible, but the death was still quick for one so small."

"Why?"

"It is reality, Liebchien. It happens all the time, here. An example to the citizens, probably. I don't know, I was not there." He almost tried to turn around and look at her, but he kept his attention on steering the plane. "Stop! You must not cry!"

She was sobbing again and didn't even care. "A baby, Deidara." She paused, sniffled hopelessly. "And tell me what that damn word means. The one that you always call me. I mean it this time."

He sighed, looked out the window, made a sharp right turn.

"I think in English it means…just something nice to call someone."

"…A friend?"

"No, a little more than a friend. Ja…"

The cockpit was insufferably silent for a good five minutes, but then,

"So what will I see in Auschwitz? Will there be more…things like that?"

"Probably, Liebchien. They are much more bad in there, yes. Some SS members have been in there so long, they have forgotten what people look like who are not hungry and thin. Some are in uniform, and others in rags, but they are all thinking the same thing. They all want to escape. When we get there, you must not speak a word, do you understand this?"

Sakura nodded slowly.

"If they know who you are, you will have lots of trouble. They will not be like Hidan and the Colonel, you see. There is real hate in this place. It could kill you. I will talk, and you will be a good, quiet, German wife for me, for now. Walk a little behind me and look at the floor ahead of you. Do not make eye contact. And we should make a bonnet for you; you must hide that hair."

"Don't want anyone to recognize it, huh?"

Deidara nodded and coughed off to the side, sneezed twice, and looked back to the horizon.

"I hope no one recognizes me either, Liebchien."

With that enigmatic remark, the plane sped up and poked over the cold winter clouds. The sun was setting, but Sakura felt like their troubles had only just begun.