Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters.
Chapter Four
Let Me In
October 7, 2:34pm – The Big Bayou Hotel
Sasori could almost feel the heated rays of the sun against skin. He expected the harsh band of light that seeped through his apartment's window on an irritatingly daily basis to blind him as he slowly opened his eyes.
But that never happened.
Either the sun decided to be merciful today – highly unlikely – or all of that wasn't a dream. Sasori was mentally weighing each one's probability when an unwelcome face greeted him by slamming his bedroom's door wide open. He scowled. For a moment there, he had almost convinced himself that there was a solar eclipse and not an actual curtain over the useless windows that were not even his to begin with.
"You're finally awake, I see." Itachi smirked. Behind him, an attendant was holding up a pretty silver tray. Sasori raised a questioning but amused brow at his old friend.
"Breakfast in bed? Seriously? Did I win the lottery or something?" Not that he was complaining. The food looked absolutely delicious. There was just something about high-class hotel food that made Sasori drool; inwardly, of course.
Itachi dismissed the employee and seated himself comfortably on a sofa chair that faced Sasori. The latter knew he shouldn't have underestimated Itachi; the man was famous for many things back at the organization. He was extremely observant, analytical, and boasted a photographic memory that complemented all of his other characteristics. He was the very epitome of an international spy.
Sasori spilled butter and raspberry syrup over his flapjacks childishly before forking it and – rather sloppily and very much unlike his usual self – shoved it into his mouth. It caused his cheek to puff up as he tried to chew through the thick mess.
Several years ago, Sasori had gone on a mission with Itachi and Kisame. It had been an annoyingly simple mission, one that was done in a little less than a week and required virtually no effort at all for spies of their calibre. But somewhere along the way, Itachi had memorized every one of Sasori's most obvious patterns. Like how he always woke up in the afternoon and demanded breakfast food despite the fact that it was technically lunch time for everyone else for example. He also had an undesirable sweet tooth that showed itself when faced with syrup and jam and anything made of raspberries. It made him seem more truthful to the youthful appearance he paraded around.
Itachi pressed his lips together. Sasori was technically fourteen years his senior; they was no doubt about that. To a passerby Itachi was the obvious elder of the two; he was twenty-one, a young man. Sasori, on the other hand, had transformed his body into what it was now even before puberty was done with him. He still had a bit of baby fat making his face appear rounder than it should despite his wonderfully shaped cheekbones. His shoulders, while impressive, were not as broad as they should have been. He also lacked what Itachi considered proper muscle. Sasori could never have been truly burly what with the frame he was born in, but his stature now made him appear much too frail.
It was only his eyes that normally betrayed him. Reflected into those deep brown orbs was his true age, the thirty five years he had spent roaming the world restlessly for the inspiration he had so endlessly sought and never truly attained. He had found a temporary substitute for it in Orochimaru once upon a time, but that instant that come and gone and he was empty again. His adept talent would reject anything and everything that was unworthy of it, making his search more difficult than it should be. That much Itachi had learned about him. Still, Itachi often wondered to himself as to whether Sasori would have turned himself artificially immortal so young had it been a choice back then. The auburn-haired spy would never have admitted out loud, but who knew as to what went on it his thoughts.
"What?" Sasori demanded, furrowing his deep auburn brows together. Itachi suppressed a laugh. He truly did look like an adorable – yet truly beautiful – boy.
"Nothing. You just got some syrup on your cheek." He dismissed. Sasori groaned in annoyance as he tried to stick his tongue out as Itachi. But all that came out was pancake and syrup, making Sasori groan once more in disgust and irritation.
Itachi let Sasori finish his breakfast in peace. He figured the guy deserved as much. He preoccupied himself with staring down at the traffic that had accumulated outside. Currently, they were in the closest five-star hotel to Iwagakure manor. It just so happened to be The Big Bayou Hotel, a respectable high-class hotel located along the edges of Baton Rouge. Itachi wondered as to whether he should tell Sasori the true owner of the establishment. After all, it seemed that everything within a fifty-mile radius belonged to Deidara's family.
"Why are you here, Itachi?" Sasori finally said after a long pause. He had already finished his food, very nearly drinking the syrup cup dry. He pushed it aside but refused to look at his old friend in the eye. Itachi sighed.
"Keen as always, I see." He couldn't help but comment as he tried to put his words together. Sasori had probably never noticed, but it pained Itachi to see him so serious and alone. He took out a baby pink envelope from his breast pocket and placed it on the bed. Sasori opened it as he spoke. "Kakuzu found it in one of the bodies."
Even now you cannot resist me, can you? But this is only the start of your troubles, my darling. It can be like the old times, you know, you and me up on that stage performing. Only this time the strings are mine; all mine. You might be an angel, but I am your god now.
"Can you make sense of it?" Itachi's voice shattered the looming silence. Sasori blinked aback, only beginning to realize that he had been absent-mindedly staring at the small piece of paper for several minutes now. It only made sense that Itachi had glimpsed at the letter before giving it to him, though. He shouldn't be irritated by the lack of privacy. Being a spy all his life, he was surprised he even knew what privacy meant anymore.
"No." He admitted. It was true, anyway. His head was too out of sorts to make sense of anything at the moment. "He's only taunting me, I think."
Itachi nodded once, knowing better than to make some snappy or sarcastic remark when Sasori was in a mood that bad. They had avoided talking about Orochimaru at all ever since the incident that night five years ago. It was the rest of Akatsuki's persistence in talking to him about it that drew the barrier that now separated them. Kisame was one of those, unfortunately. Itachi on the other hand had never once spoken Orochimaru's name out loud before Sasori; implied it, yes, but never actually say it. And so he was able to keep connection with Sasori even as the years passed. It was minimal, but it was there. They still saw each other every week or so, despite Itachi's busy schedule and Sasori's nocturnal clock.
Itachi wouldn't admit it to Sasori right then, but he had been up all night with Kisame doing things that were much too professional for his liking. Sasori, while obviously miserable, had the easiest job of them all and still he managed to screw up. It was Itachi and Kisame who ran around keeping an eye out for virtually everything that moved within a ten kilometre radius. It was Itachi and Kisame who had to report anything and everything to headquarters. It was Itachi and Kisame who had to face the wrath of Pein when Sasori failed. Still, Itachi couldn't help but feel a tinge of sympathy whenever he looked at his redheaded friend's face. What he had now was nothing; at least – at the very least – Itachi had Kisame to comfort him. Sasori had all of his friends, true, but Itachi knew that wasn't what really counted. Inside, Sasori had no one, not even himself to confide in.
"You should get back to Deidara as soon as you can." Itachi cleared his throat to ease the rapidly thickening atmosphere. "You're on bodyguard duty, remember? Leave the cleaning up to the rest of us. We've got Hidan and Kakuzu here now. We'll be fine."
Sasori's thoughts instantly flashed to his memories of yesterday. Deidara's odd collection of paintings. Finding him all blood crazed surrounded by his victims. The overwhelming scent of alcohol that tickled his nose when Deidara embraced him. And then the hopelessness in his now dull blue eye after finding out that his cousin was not there.
It all felt so distant. But he knew that it had happened, every single bit of it. It felt just as real as every other memory Sasori's ever had in the past twenty years. He finished off his black coffee, loving the way the thick and bitter liquid mixed somewhat disgustingly with the taste of sweet syrup that was left over in his mouth.
"I'll drop by, I guess. Right now."
Almost robotically, he jumped off of the bed and headed for the bathroom. Itachi bid him a silent goodbye. Sasori was already in the shower when he heard the small click of the door's lock activating. He closed his eyes, trying to imagine how water felt like again. But all he could remember was the feeling of blood everywhere; the warm blood of his victims against his skin and even his own. Back when he was capable of actually bleeding, anyway.
October 7, 3:58pm – Iwagakure Manor
After smoothly parking the car in the driveway after having been calmly admitted in by Deidara's guards, Sasori spent several minutes inside, fingers around the steering wheel, eyes staring into the fog. He never composed himself; he was smooth, or so he liked to believe. But he did space out every now and then. Only the sounds of gunfire snapped him from his drifting thoughts.
Gunfire? He thought as the sounds registered to him. He immediately thought of the possibility of the mansion under attack at that instant. But no...that's impossible. The swamp was like a maze. The fog made it nearly impossible to see anything, and one wrong turn could – and most likely would – cost you your life. The shallow waters were, after all, infested with fat alligators. The thought of Deidara fattening them on purpose to ward off intruders crossed his mind. Even the house helpers seemed anxious when outside and thus the guard post was built. He figured that most of them didn't come home each night and were instead provided rooms inside the sprawling mansion at night.
The shots had settled into a rhythmic pattern, each of them exactly two seconds apart. Just practice, then. Sasori concluded. He took his time stepping out of his rented vehicle – Akatsuki's, gifted to him by Itachi to use for the meantime – and sullenly rounded the premises. He was smart enough to strap on some mud-proof boots this time, enjoying the way the soles sunk into the damp dirt as if it were quick sand. Just the thought that it probably was quicksand caused him to pick up his pace.
The humidity was seeping into his skin again and Sasori found himself clinging to his coat. He would have bought a beanie too if it weren't for the fact that his hair had still been wet when he'd gone to the store. The sounds weren't too far off now, but it wasn't until he was less than five feet away from Deidara that he actually recognized him through the fog, now thinning slowly.
He was dressed similarly to Sasori, his boots dirtier, his blonde locks clinging to his face in sweat. He was holding up what Sasori recognized as a single-action revolver characterized by the little hammer Deidara pulled down in-between each heavy shot. It was a classic, that one. Sasori distinctly remembered owning a few of those himself, having been fond of revolvers in a distant time, only this one was a forty-five.
"How's your head, un?" Deidara asked, having noticed Sasori creep up on him earlier.
"It's alright. Slight headache, but what do you expect?" He replied.
Not being able to sleep allotted him with a lot of time to repair all the cuts and bruises the fiasco from the night before had given him. Because Sasori's body was technically dead, 'healing' any injuries required Sasori to grab his handy surgeon's kit and puppet tools and operate on himself. Now he was good as new, repaired by only the best hands – his own.
"Mhm," Deidara said in acknowledgement. He pulled the hammer once last time, but just before he pulled the trigger Sasori beat him to it, having pulled out his own gun from before and shooting the big mossy oak down three times consecutively. Just when Deidara turned his head to Sasori irritably, the older male tossed him the nine. Deidara clumsily caught it with both hands.
"Revolvers aren't very practical for spies." Sasori explained frankly. "Handguns are a lot easier to carry and to wield."
"Hn," Deidara rolled his eyes and shot at the three several more times, each shot fired right after another in quick succession. "What a waste of bullets, un. I could go through hundreds within seconds." Then he glanced at Sasori again. "If I shoot you now, point-blank, on your face, will you die?"
"No."
"What about your forehead, un? If not once, then five times maybe?"
"The number of times you shoot my head won't make a difference." Sasori shrugged. "It'll just make the mess a little bigger and a bit harder to clean up."
"You're kind of immortal then, huh?" Deidara cocked a brow at him. Sasori tried to read his face, but it was perfectly composed. Deidara had apparently been thinking that topic through.
"Not exactly." Deidara frowned at how cryptic Sasori's wording was.
"If I shoot you elsewhere, like say the neck or even the chest, will you die, un?"
"Maybe." He sighed. "Why are you so keen on killing me, anyway?"
Deidara instantly pointed his gun Sasori's way and shot four times. He hadn't expected it, but Sasori was quick. He had already taken out a small knife to deflect the bullets, only they didn't go his way. He looked back to see a big alligator groan as it fell back dead into the water.
"Sorry about that, un." Deidara said, his tone clearly unapologetic. He was more than aware than he had just stomped on Sasori's pride by defending the more experienced man. "I figured being devoured by one of my pets might be enough to kill you if a bullet to the heart would, too."
"I would have handled it myself even if you hadn't intervened." Sasori retorted, noticeably not amused.
Deidara shrugged, feeling the pride well up just as another alligator attempted to get him from behind. He turned around just in time to see the knife land directly in-between its eyes, killing it instantly. When he turned around to look at Sasori, the redheaded man was smirking, revenge executed in the most perfect and sensible way.
"You let your pride get in the way of your senses." Sasori lectured him, a smirk evident on his normally expressionless face. "Keep your guard up always; especially after a kill."
Deidara ignored him, refusing to let Sasori trample his bloated ego. He leaned down to pull the distinctive knife out from the alligator's head and kicked its jaw back into the water. He held it up, examining it under minimal light. The blade was extraordinarily thin but obviously hard nonetheless. The handle was small and wooden, rectangular and plain in shape, but the figure of a scorpion was sculpted into it with obviously skilled hands. The seal was written in a red paint that looked too much like dried blood. Sasori of the Red Sand, Deidara read inwardly.
"It's poisoned, un." Deidara stated after seeing the nearly invisible purple liquid drip from the tip of the small weapon. "I don't see why, with such perfect aim, you would need to smear your knives with poison as well."
"Force of habit." Sasori admitted. "You can never be too prepared."
Deidara turned his gaze to him. "If I plunge this blade into your throat, will you die?"
"Stop with those questions, already." Sasori said exasperatedly. "My body's dead, okay? It can't die because it's already dead."
"Well, that makes no sense whatsoever, un." Deidara concluded. He stared into Sasori's eyes for a long moment, trying to decipher his thoughts as the redheaded man had begun spacing out again. He had always thought that the dreamy brown orbs had seemed empty, far-off, barely alive and even a bit lost despite their keenness and pretty shine. "Would you like to come inside?"
The blonde teen seemed not to care about the possibility of being pricked by the knife and dying of an incurable and painful poison as his hands were absent-mindedly playing with the blade. The sight of it was already causing Sasori anxiety.
"That's an idea, isn't it?" Sasori said, eyes still wide and focused on the blade as if staring it down would keep it from killing Deidara, who he was still – technically – supposed to protect.
Deidara feigned a smile as both men took to the back doors. Sasori was trying his hardest to keep his new boots from getting any dirtier; Deidara seemed not to care anymore, having lived with the muck all his life. They kicked the boots off as soon as they reached the marble floor. A passing maid promised to clean them well. The coats were put up on the rack.
Deidara was lounging comfortably and openly on a large sofa chair now, legs apart in a natural way. Sasori was sitting in a very modest and proper way, still like a statue – or a puppet without a master – with the exception of his ever flitting eyes. They took in the lovely detail of the cornices that rimmed the arches and the windows. The furniture was overstuffed, a golden velvet shade. Deidara had already picked up the television remote and turned it on. It was in one of those shows where 'crocodile hunters' were paid to mock the kind of animals instinct told sane humans to run from. Despite their 'professional' sounding title – professional to some, anyway – Sasori had always thought of them as nothing more than suicidal idiots. He was more than sure that the job came with a coffin.
But you know more than well enough that your job comes with more than just the coffin but the funeral arrangement as well. Sasori mused bitterly. It was ironic, he thought, how cautious of a man he truly was despite his way of life. But it wasn't the thrill of danger that he sought. He learned a long time ago that those that enjoyed it were those that were killed off first.
"I want to come with you, un."
Sasori's eyes widened in surprise, having been caught completely off-guard. Deidara's face was very serious, eyes avoiding him and on the screen, but something about how he was looking at it made Sasori think that he had actually already tuned the noisy show out.
"She's my cousin, Sasori. I'm obligated to save her." He paused, hesitating first, "I was in the military before. I'm no slouch. I can hold my ground and more, un."
But Sasori was already shaking his head. "Don't say this. Just don't. Not to me." He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. The sound the nasty but honestly entertaining show provided helped direct his attention anywhere but towards Deidara's words.
He should have told Deidara the truth. That he didn't come there to comfort him. He wasn't human that way, he just didn't care about 'feelings' and all of that. He came there because Itachi told him to and because he felt that he might as well tell Deidara that he had already given up on it all. His partaking on the mission had only amused Orochimaru. Things would be harder from then on, definitely. There was no rescue mission. Itachi was probably on his way to tell Onoki at that instant that it was a lost cause and that he should start thinking about the funeral party.
But that wasn't what we told Deidara. Instead, the words he said were, "Akatsuki doesn't normally do rescue missions, Deidara." Because Akatsuki always does things right. And if they don't, which is a rare occurrence anyhow, it's hopeless.
"But you have to!" The blonde man persisted. For a short moment, his voice drowned everything else.
"How do you know she's not already dead?" It was bitter, pained, and Sasori's eyes were focused on the pretty Persian carpet. He had tons of them back at in Italy, all in different designs and colours, but for some reason, he felt that they were all uniquely beautiful. This one in Deidara's home was no exception.
He expected silence. Deidara should have been quiet, thinking his words through. But no, that's not how it went at all. Sasori was cursing his lazing prediction skills. He distinctly remembered a time when his prediction skills were what made his great.
"Because Itachi told me this morning, un. They took her for hostage. They want the money."
Sasori narrowed his eyes at Deidara. The idea that Itachi told Deidara all of that made him ache a little. "You know, then. Just pay the kidnappers off and have it over and done with. You're wealthy, aren't you? And if you don't want to, that's okay, it's my failure, I can pay them off myself—"
"They're not giving her back, Sasori, un." It was raw emotion that fuelled his words. Deidara was on the verge of tears. "They're only making us pay to keep her alive. But they're not giving her back, no. They said that maybe if we complied for a while, when they're good and happy, they might consider giving her back at an even bigger price, un. But Itachi says that will never happen, even if they had already dried up our piggybanks. They would never stop, un. They'd kill her and then us. And then he said something about disfiguring her, and even torture. Please, Sasori. Let me in. Help me. Get the rescue mission going, un. Itachi said they can only do it if you said yes." He was already slurring his words, having talked way too fast.
"I've been out of commission for five years." Sasori murmured. Deidara was quiet, but he was listening intently. Sasori knew this and continued. "It was my first failure, you know, that killed me. After that I wanted to be perfect in everything. I had to be. And then I failed now again, for the first time in twenty years. I don't think I can do this. I'm not your man, Deidara. Maybe Hidan or Kakuzu will help you. Hell, get Pein to do it himself. He's friends with Onoki, isn't he?"
Deidara shook his head, laughing sadly. "So that's it, un? You're just afraid? Sasori – the Sasori of the Red Sands – is afraid?" Sasori's eyes widened at the mention of his title. Deidara's head snapped to him. "I told you, didn't I? I'm from the military. I heard about you. Sometimes you're an enemy, sometimes you're an ally, but you're extraordinarily powerful and must be avoided at all times." He pulled out the poisoned knife and chuckled. "I remember seeing this same blade on a carcass several years ago. You completely took out my team while I took a very well-timed piss. Didn't take you long, did it, wiping out the best America had to offer? You killed most of them, you know, with only a few needles wasted on each body. They were so expertly thrown. I was wondering why you had decided to use an actual a knife on our leader."
"He was killing Onoki's reputation with his lies back then." Sasori felt obliged to defend himself despite the situation. "But I didn't think you were there, too."
"I know why you did it, un. It was all over the news. And Onoki was absolutely fuming at that guy. When I got assigned to him, I didn't even bother telling Onoki about it before I got dispatched, un." He suddenly grinned a little. "He was shouting at me, you know. He knew I was Onoki's grandson and he loathed me. He was absolutely furious that I so happened to have human needs and lacked a steel bladder, un. But I think that what really ticked him off was that Onoki, who was supposed to be his junior, managed to make it to the top of the ladder while he was stuck babysitting Onoki's thirteen-year-old freak of a grandson."
"You're not a freak." Sasori murmured. Deidara threw his head back slightly and laughed a little.
"I know that, un. But that's what he thought, anyway. That's what everyone thinks." He rubbed circles around his palms.
Something about the small motion caught Sasori's attention. Deidara was wearing fingerless gloves now. He didn't have them on before, but Sasori could vaguely remember seeing a pair on his work table the first time he'd met Deidara. Of course he had taken them off back then; he was working on something. And he didn't exactly have time to slip them back on after Sasori dragged him out of his work and into disaster.
"So...will you do it, un?" The silence was eating him up inside.
"I honestly don't know."
"You're an artist too, aren't you? I could tell from the way you spoke about your art yesterday that you're a passionate one, too, un. You should already know that the most beautiful things come from spontaneity. Doing this now might be frightening you, but it's good to step out of your comfort zone every now and then. There's beauty in that action, I think. And besides, you already failed. It's not like you have anything left to lose, un."
Sasori smirked. "I'll give Itachi a call in the morning." Deidara laughed in relief despite himself. Sasori's eyes darted back to the screen. "Don't you have anything more sensible? Like a video game, perhaps?"
"As a matter of fact, yes. It'll only be a moment, un."
Sasori watched Deidara hop off energetically and busy himself as he rummaged through the nearby cabinets. He was calling out familiar titles to Sasori, asking about which ones he would like to play. Sasori was only half-aware of it all, though. He still couldn't believe that he, a thirty-five year old international spy was going to spend his Saturday playing video games with a teenager he barely knew.
"Oh, well. I might as well enjoy it." He concluded as he picked up a controller, his fingers already familiarizing themselves with the controls.
A/N: It took a while to finish, but it's finally up. Previous chapters was just to get the plot started. There's going to be less action and more actual interaction for a few more chapters until the next disaster. I think that's good considering this is supposed to be one part romance, too.
This chapter wasn't a drag, was it? I like it, but I feel that it was more on dialogue/description instead of the action-filled previous chapters. Which do you enjoy more, actual plot action or conversation?
