Clay and Puppets

Summery: In which, Sasori gains, through a string of seemingly unfortunate incidents, a new partner named Deidara. Reluctant to form any kind of friendship with the young Iwa missing-nin, Deidara seeks to get to know Sasori, while adjusting to his new life in the evil organisation of the Akatsuki.

Disclaimer: This product is meant for entertainment purposes only. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Some assembly required. Batteries not included. Use only as directed. Flammable.

A/N: Hey all! Here's the new update, and I've managed to post it right before my birthday, which is tomorrow! (June 30).

Now, I'm posting this as quickly as I can, because I'm off to see the live Big Brother eviction at Dreamworld. Yay.

Enjoy.

Where there is love, there is life.

Chapter 30: Sunagakure

- The Solo Mission -

Laughter chimed in the air, unrestrained and comfortable, as two voices spoke jovially to each other, a pair of partners revelling in the privacy and freedom of being alone together. The soft voices spoke confidingly, waves of content continuing to roll from them unbidden, as they lay one on top of the other on the couch of the Akatsuki hideout lounge room.

Kisame restrained his chuckling as he leaned down to whisper in Itachi's ear, the younger man smiling widely with amusement, the usually unseen mirth of the Uchiha freely expressed in the concealment of their embrace.

Itachi placed each of his hands on the juncture of Kisame's shoulders, letting his fingers run through the short blue hairs gathered at the nape of the shark-nin's neck, as he smiled up at his partner. Kisame grinned happily at the smaller man beneath him, as they continued whispering, confessing useless things to each other.

"You're pretty." Kisame stated simply, grinning sincerely at his own words, as he leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on Itachi's lips, their faces never more than a few inches apart.

"I know." Itachi replied, smirking humorously as he then leaned up slightly to kiss Kisame back. The Uchiha felt immensely calm, a sense of protection filling him as his larger partner lay on top of him, his mood greatly influenced by the other's excitable chatter and endless praising.

"Prettier than me." The shark-nin told his partner, his tone suggesting this was a great achievement, as leaned down to press his lips to the smaller man's neck.

Itachi laughed lightly in response, laying back on the couch as he revelled in the feeling of Kisame's body resting over his own comfortably, the blue man's sharp teeth nibbling lightly at the juncture of his neck. But it was in this moment of peace, that Itachi remembered suddenly the words he had had with Deidara the day before.

Frowning lightly, Itachi's thoughts became troubled. Should he tell the blue man what he had told Deidara? If Kisame genuinely thought that he was not attractive enough for Itachi, then it was his duty to straighten the shark-nin out, wasn't it?

With this thought in mind, Itachi took a steady breath. It was not usually his... forte, to express the way he felt about his koibito, but Itachi knew he must take the plunge - and swallowing his pride, the Uchiha placed his hands on either side of Kisame's face, pulling him up until their eyes locked and Itachi's expression became a mask of concentration.

Raising his chin slightly, the Uchiha readied himself. This is important, he thought, as he took a deep breath. Placing his hands steadily on Kisame's shoulders then, he told his partner in the most serious and dignified tone he could muster;

"I love..." He struggled, a fierce blush overtaking his features, as Kisame fixed him with a genuinely baffled expression - the struggle obvious on the Uchiha's face, before he finished grimly: "... your dimples."

Utter silence followed this admission.

For one long moment, Kisame's face became completely blank, and Itachi flushed continually darker as the seconds passed - and he felt suddenly that he had made a fool of himself.

Then, Kisame burst out laughing.

Itachi stared in shock, as the blue-man's hysterical chuckling resounded around the empty hideout, overtaken as he was by his mirth, and practically writhing on top of the Uchiha. After a moment of Itachi staring in awe at Kisame's strange reaction, the shark-nin began to settle down, and he smiled widely down at his stunned partner.

"Oh, 'Tachi," He shook his head slightly, chuckling heartily at the smaller man, though his tone held great affection - kissing the smaller man's face, the shark-nin was overwhelmed with thoughts of how sweet his lover could be. "Where did that come from, aye?" The blue man asked with amused pleasure.

Itachi still lay in shock, suddenly unsure of himself as he felt one of Kisame's hands rise to stroke his head, fingers running through his hair as the shark-nin now simply gazed down at him, his gaze half-lidded and smiling fondly.

Still blushing darkly, the Uchiha was suddenly overtaken by a sense of not knowing what to do with himself. What do you say after the affectionate words? He wondered in a sudden panic - and before he was aware of it, Itachi had opened his mouth and was muttering anxiously;

"Dimples are actually deformations of the underlying cheek tissue, caused by variations in the structure of the facial muscle known as zygomaticus major, genetically inherited and are a dominant trait."

Kisame blinked down at Itachi for a moment, before he chuckled loudly at the Uchiha's apparent embarrassment, as the man continued to flush red. The shark-nin couldn't blame him, he knew Itachi wasn't used to talking about such things - and Kisame wondered what had caused him to mention it.

"Went a bit too far there, honey." Kisame informed.

Itachi nodded understanding. "Yes," He muttered quietly, embarrassment staining his cheeks, "I believe I did."

Kisame merely chuckled, before leaning forward once again, as he placed a firm kiss on the Uchiha's lips.

"The things you say sometimes..." The shark-nin shook his head in amusement. And though he wouldn't have said anything, at the risk of embarrassing them both further, Kisame was thankful that Itachi had said what he did - it wasn't often he was reassured that, maybe, he was a good match for his younger partner.

Feeling the blood drain from his cheeks as he calmed down then, Itachi wrapped his arms around Kisame's neck as he pulled the shark-nin close - feeling the larger man's warmth as he lay over him, and the Uchiha tucked his face into the shark-nin's neck as he boldly told the other man;

"Love you, Kisame."

The shark-nin grinned. "That's right. Now say it like I like it."

Itachi sighed heavily, rolling his eyes as he told the blue man obligingly, "I wub you 'Same-kun."

The blue man nodded happily, nuzzling his nose against Itachi's then, and achieving his purpose when the Uchiha's face flushed ever so lightly in response.

"You're cute." The shark-nin commented sweetly, his giddiness seeming to double over as the Uchiha flushed darker and pouted indignantly.

"I am not cute." Itachi replied with great dignity, despite his current blush. "I am an Uchiha. I am powerful and honorable. Not cute." The younger stated firmly, pecking the other's lips in punishment of such a term.

Kisame grinned widely in response, leaning down to press kisses along his partner's face and down to his neck once again, as he muttered; "Of course not, how could I have said such a thing?"

Almost time, steady now. The man was still and silent, poised at the ready, as he awaited the signal he knew was coming. With his ear pressed firmly against the glass of the window, the even beating of his heart reverberated through his entire being, as he listened to the dull talking behind the curtain which obscured his perch from view.

After a moment, the talking ceased - and the man held his breath. Only seconds later, he heard the signal he had been waiting for; the decisive thud of the door, and he knew the guards had left the room inside.

Deftly, carefully, he slid his fingers under the glass pane - steady in his balance at the window sill, as he opened it just enough, and slid quickly through the opening into the dimly lighted chamber.

Flickering his gaze to each corner of the room, Sasori was pleased when he saw that he was, as he had expected, alone. Smirking ever so lightly, the redheaded puppeteer strode forward, sure in his path as he approached the tall, ancient bureau that stood against the far wall. Crouching before the darkly-wooded armoire, the puppet master stealthily slid open the bottom draw, and felt himself relax marginally as he gazed apon his goal.

Mindful of any noise he made, Sasori silently reached into the draw, and extracted from it a gold-trimmed scroll. 'Top-Secret', it read in kanji along the body of the scripture, and the puppeteer was placated that he had found the sacred scroll of Sunagakure.

Unsurprisingly, his home village had predictably gone about the protection of it's most precious vessel of information in a vastly different fashion than all the other head shinobi villages. Akatsuki had been proceeding on this most important venture for almost as long as Sasori had been in the organisation - and that was quite a sizeable amount of time indeed. Second only to the quest of capturing the Jinchuuriki, locating and attaining the Keiden scroll of each village was imperative to Akatsuki's future climb to power - for what better weapon is there against any country, than the threat to reveal their most valuable secrets to a powerful enemy?

Of course, usually, the home villages of each Keiden scroll went to great lengths to protect these secrets - hiding the scrolls somewhere unexpected, an abandoned house perhaps; while others would choose the location of the scroll to be sacred and heavily guarded, out in the open where any might wander apon it... One most notable example of this is the Keiden of Konohagakure, so named the 'scroll of sealing', which was held in a temple in the heart of the village. So far as the Akatsuki last heard of it, the Jinchuuriki of Konoha, some strange little boy no more than twelve years old, had temporarily stolen it on the orders of one of Hirohito's spies. Typically ridiculous Hirohito work.

Standing in the small chamber room of the old tower, Sasori wandered distractedly towards the open window he had come through, gazing out over the buildings of Sunagakure with no little amount of apprehension.

The journey to his home village had brought forth within Sasori a clarity of mind of which he had scarcely known for years now, born of a need to both escape and explore the forbidden territory of his childhood. The mission to retrieve the Keiden scroll, in particular - as simple a mission as it had been, and meticulously planned - also evoked in the puppet master memories of a different kind, that of the night a mysterious blonde boy had managed to both threatened to kill and ran away with a group of dangerous Akatsuki shinobi.

And within these memories, Sasori found himself wondering; what would have been the result of that night, if they had not been there specifically to retrieve the Keiden scroll of Iwagakure, the very object Deidara had been hired to protect? Would the blonde have come with them, if they had not in a state of alarm, with only minutes until the building burned down, as a fluke result of the defeated guards' carelessness? Would the boy have trusted them not to kill him, had it been anyone other than Sasori?

For the first time in all the months that Deidara had been his partner, the puppet master realised the utterly circumstantial, happenchance way in which the blonde had become all he was to Sasori. Where would he be, if Deidara had never come home with him that day?

Shaking his head of these thoughts, Sasori gazed back over the village in front of him, and his gaze locked on the Kazekage tower - and what, no, who he knew dwelled within the highest parlor of the ominous building.

The puppet master's head suddenly whipped towards the direction of the door then, where loud talking and heavy footsteps could he heard approaching the broken down chamber room.

Crawling back onto the window sill he had previously occupied, Sasori turned swiftly and drew the curtain back in front of the glass pane, before closing the opening silently once again - careful in his balance, as he listened for a moment, and hearing the steady open of the door once again - knew that the new shift of guards had begun, and his mission was successful.

The redhead's eyes shifted, as he gazed across to the buildings surrounding him - the cover of night too light to obscure his view, while aiding to hide him from the prying eyes of the village citizens sitting comfortably within their homes.

Leaping forward, his cloak billowing around him as he flew purposefully through the air, Sasori was swift as a shadow as he moved from rooftop to rooftop, ricocheting between building walls like a rubber ball, and twice as quick. The puppet master merely moved - unsure of his destination, and feeling again the need to see all corners of his old village rising within him - and with every turn he took, something old and yet new to him would reappear, the nostalgia of every grain of sand, every upturned stone, bursting forth within his mind; and the man was overcome with his need to submerge himself in it, in every memory he had of this damned place.

Before long, and without realising it, the redhead found himself following the same track he had once taken everyday from his academy as a child, now on foot. The eerily familiar route was entrapping, and all current thoughts of his purpose there, his life as it was, became null and void - as he was suddenly emerced in the reality of his past, all that he had spent the last twenty years denying.

Buildings, stores, the scenery... all of it was the same, not a stone out of place, and horrifyingly exactly as he had always known it to be. Perhaps, in some small part of his mind, he had told himself that nothing of his past would exist, that when he would - as he had always feared - walk this path again, he would recognise nothing, and feel no belonging here at all; and so it was, with the utmost terror, that he found himself to be like a missing puzzle piece to a long-abandoned life.

And it was with a shock then, his eyes widening at the terrifying sight before him, that Sasori stopped still, and his blood ran cold. There, barely ten feet in front of him, sat the hauntingly still figure of the puppeteer's abandoned childhood home.

The house was old, and for once it was not as Sasori had remembered it. Dusty and unkempt, the sandy brick walls had browned with age, the windows clouded with decades of dust, while the entire house itself held the feeling of something which had once been loved, and was now reduced to a shadow of what had once been.

It was in a dreamlike state, his mouth slightly agape, eyes wide and fearful, that the puppeteer felt himself move forward - his feet carrying him steadily towards the haunting building. His shinobi sandals made light snapping sounds as he stepped carefully onto the wooden expanse of the front balcony, the walls of the house looming over him as he gazed upwards. Moving carefully, as though the very floor beneath his feet was made of the thinnest glass, Sasori rose one hand slowly towards the door - and let it rest, gently, against the cold metal of the handle.

Closing his eyes briefly, the puppet master thought deeply on what he was about to do - and searching within himself, he knew there was nothing else for it. He could not go back now.

Clutching the knob of the door firmly in his grasp then, his knuckles turning white as he urged himself on, the fear within him mounting, Sasori turned the handle - and opened the door.

His arm moved slowly, long movements creating a sea of expression, every swipe controlled, every motion purposeful. The boy sat serenely, his mind wandering as he focused solely apon the expanse before him - moments ago blank, now filled with deep colour.

Deidara sighed to himself, a forlorn sound, as he pulled his arm away from the canvas standing in front of him. Releasing his grip, the blonde boy allowed the paintbrush he held to be placed on the floor beside him, as he gazed at his work reflectively, though his thoughts were elsewhere.

It had been almost a week now since Sasori's departure, and every day brought new hope that the puppeteer would come home - that Deidara would awake one morning, and find his Danna waiting for him.

Resting his hands on his crossed legs, the blonde absentmindedly rubbed the still-sore muscles of his recently injured limb, though he had been pleased in recent days when he discovered that the leg no longer impeded apon his walking or running, and Kakuzu had announced him fit to perform missions once again. At least his days of having to find ways to occupy himself where soon to be at an end.

Flickering his gaze towards his bedside table, Deidara let his eyes settle on the object he had placed there - one such means which had been to occupy him. The small wooden scorpion, poised at the ready to sting, sat unmoving beside the boy's bed - the promise of it serving more than anything as a constant reminder of where his partner was.

Deidara felt he could hardly wait anymore. He had never been good at withholding himself when there were things he wished to do, and the prospect of seeing Sasori once again, of apologising to the man and offering his support, to giving his partner the small scorpion as a token of his affection - all played heavily on the blonde's mind.

Rising from where he sat in front of his bed, Deidara momentarily abandoned his efforts at painting, as he found himself wandering over to his partner's side of their room. Reaching out, the boy allowed his fingers to run languidly over the many trinkets which littered the shelves of Sasori's side of the room - puppet parts, scrolls, blueprints, and many miscellaneous objects which Deidara thought must hold some unknown meaning for the mysterious man; some almost too old to recognise anymore.

It was strange how the need for Sasori had slowly grown within him, and the blonde boy found it almost alarming, the urge he felt from merely touching the redheaded man's possessions, how much he would have given anything to be with him in that moment. Deidara missed his partner terribly, and it had not taken him long to realise it - how the distance between them seemed to grow in his heart as it did with their bodies, and he ached for Sasori to return.

And most frighteningly of all, with every day that passed, the blonde boy came to realise not only how much he missed the puppeteer, but also how much he had come love him.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, as they say.

Walking dazedly over to his partner's bed then, the blonde boy sighed. He was falling in love with the puppet master, and he could hardly help himself. Without a moment's thought, Deidara lay down on Sasori's bed, and buried his face in the cold pillow - inhaling the scent of his partner, and with a slight shock, found it oddly comforting.

And so there, surrounded by the possessions, the feeling, and the scent of his beloved partner - Deidara fell asleep, his last comprehensive thought a plea to any gods that would listen, to Sasori if he could hear it.

'Danna, please... come home.'

The door swung open slowly, the hinges of the wooden barrier creaking loudly as it eased into the threshold of the empty house.

Sasori stood in the doorway tensely, his heart thumping cruelly against his ribs, as his wide eyes gazed fearfully into the silent house, which seemed to be drawing him inside like a siren to a lost seafarer.

Images, memories long since past, flashed relentlessly in the puppet master's mind - visions of himself as a child running through these rooms, his father walking briskly through the hall, his mother sleeping in her armchair in the lounge.

Sasori stepped forward, ever cautious, as though afraid the very house itself would swallow him whole and never let him leave again, for all that it had not been used for so long. The air was musty and cold as it curled around the redheaded man, the chill of it biting at his fingertips, and the floor beneath the puppeteer creaked with every step he took, dust rising to greet him in the unkempt hall.

Fighting to control his alarm, Sasori let his gaze wander carefully around the corridor as he walked slowly through to the main room - his eyes fixing for a moment too long on the open archway to his right, which he knew led into his old living room. From where he stood, he could see how the dust had gathered on the floral couch, how the plants in the corner had long since died and rotted, the room dark as the dirty windows obscured the light from outside - sending the entire house into a grey gloom.

Turning his head to the other side, the puppet master's heart stopped still. There, he saw a winding staircase - all too familiar - rising from his left, up to the second level of the house. The man did not hesitate now, as he stepped boldly towards the stairs, determinedly climbing one after another as he approached the most impacting area of the house; driven to face all that the frightening building could show him - feeling the need to banish whatever hold this house still had apon him, whatever fear he had.

As he reached the upstairs hall, the now carpeted floor underfoot discoloured with mould and residue, Sasori face a narrow landing. Two doors to his left, and one to his right. He knew where they led.

Stepping unceasingly towards the second door to his left, he ignored the first, as he felt the cool handle with his fingers, and after only a moment's reflection on his actions - he pushed this door open, and let his eyes gaze apon what lay inside. A large bed centered in the room, he remembered the sheets once resembling a light pink, and smelling of perfume - his mothers. Curtains half-covered the window high on the wall, while streams of pure sunlight shined in through the dusk of the glass pane, illuminating this room better than most as it gave shape to the soft wallpaper that must have once coloured it, now curling off of the walls.

The puppet master stood before this room for longer than any other place in the house, though he did not dare to enter. You must always ask permission to enter someone's bedroom, his mother had told him - and who was he to ask now?

Turning from his parent's bedroom finally, the man felt the bone-deep sadness within him grow, the regret and the ache filling his heart and soul; as he gazed now to the door on the right.

His room.

He was slower now, somewhat emotionally overwhelmed, and Sasori was no more brave than he had been when he had entered the house as he rose a hand to clutch at this doorknob, turning it instantly and steeling himself for the impact of the sight.

And as he stepped inside, the dim light from the room sending the vivid images in the mind into a frenzy of clouded, haunting memories - Sasori let his eyes lock on something, it drawing his attention like nothing else.

He stepped over the broken toys on the floor, dirty and dusty as they were; walking past the pictures of his parents and the old kunai set - blunted for a child's use. Forward he went, his steps sure, until he came to stand before a shelf, and on the highest ledge he saw something which to him was suddenly quite extraordinary.

Lifting a hand carefully, as though any sudden movements would scare the object from it's perch, the man ran his fingers over it's solid shape, the figure relaxed and unmoving as he let his hand curl around it's carved body, lifting it from where it had lay dormant for decades.

Bringing the nostalgic figure towards himself, Sasori gazed with wonder down at the object, his fear dissipating suddenly as he held this small, yet significant part of his past. A small wooden puppet, in the shape of a little man, with no features or decoration of any kind - plain, and yet alive it seemed to him, and he was mesmerised by it; as he had been when he was a child.

Taking hold of the wooden cross with which to wield it, the redheaded moved with no thought to his actions, as he placed the body of the puppet upright on the floor, the clear stings connected to the little figure's limb pulled tight as it came to stand on small wooden feet. Sasori stood over the puppet, his gaze never straying, before he moved his hand slightly - and the little man moved with him.

Soon picking up a rhythm, the puppeteer moved his subject, causing the puppet to walk - no, dance across the floor of his childhood bedroom, kicking up the dust of the floor playfully, the little person seeming joyful to be lively once again, as it moved freely with every tug of it's strings.

Sasori watched the puppet dance almost as though it were not he who were controlling it at all, a slow smile making it's way onto his lips, his eyes shining as he gazed on. A tear curled down his face unnoticed, as the puppet master stood, the dust of the room surrounding him though he no longer paid it any heed, and with a sudden burst of clarity - Sasori knew what he must do next.

There was someone he had to see - one more fear to conquer.

A low groan filled the stale air, no longer able to yell, and having long since run his voice hoarse with screaming. He knew no one could hear him.

Huddling in the corner, the man shook uncontrollably in the chill of the cell - pressing his body against the cold, dirty stone wall as he held tight to the clothes - once fine stitching, now reduced to rags - that still clung to his skinny body.

He was starved, he was cold, and he had not seen daylight for longer than he could possibly remember. Days melded into nights, weeks passing, months dwindling by as he sat - trapped - within his prison.

Was this how he going to die? He, Sato Yuki, praised spy tracker, who had survived the worst of conditions, escaped endless villages and too many hopeless situations - how could this be his end?

He wouldn't accept it. He couldn't.

Growling low in his throat, the eldest of the Sato brothers glared around at the dim cell block he sat in, his eyes flashing to the far corner where he saw a congression of rats gnawing on the dead bird which had become trapped in the stone cells some days before. He knew the bird would not last long in the hoard of disease-infested rodents, and soon they would come looking for him again, nipping at his hands, tearing off any flesh they could manage to bite as he attempted to fend them off.

He could not live like this any longer. The horrifying plant-man had long stopped coming to taunt him, and memories of his attack and capture were faint in the Sato brother's mind, as he struggled to remember his life outside this horrible place.

But wait, there was a boy... yes, a blonde boy, too young and too pretty for the Akatsuki, he had thought - and yet he remembered him, compassionate and weak as he was.

And it was then, as he sat curled around himself, covered in filth and blood, that Sato Yuki formed a plan. He would escape and get his revenge against the Akatsuki.

And that foolish blonde boy was going to help him do it.

A/N: Any of you remember him? Sato Yuki, captured Hirihito spy from chapter 16? Bet you all forgot about him, huh?

Anyway, I'm off now - please be wonderful readers and review for me as a birthday present!

Over and out.

-Emerald-