Love Lockdown

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They say it takes a village to raise a child. Similarly, it takes the entirety of Akatsuki to help Itachi get the girl.

Existing on the obviously alternate universe pretext – Sakura, captured by the Akatsuki, in order to heal Itachi's eyes. Completely intentional crackfic. (If you want a more realistic take on the pairing, check out Disturbia, my other ItaSaku fic. If you're just looking for the lulz, however, you're in the right place.)

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Dear Akatsuki,

What the hell.

Cordially,

Haruno Sakura.

P.S: As you may or may not be aware, your capture of me while I was preoccupied and tending to the wounds of my teammate constitutes a severe transgression of international law. Namely, Ordinates 7 and 8 of the Kumokagure Convention, Amendment 6 of Kiele's Law, and Article 3 of the fifth treaty of Suna. There are several more, but these are the most significant. All are punishable by death, and one of the acceptable death sentences from the latter treaty involves having one's eyeballs plucked out and then suffering their entire person being burned at the stake. I sincerely hope that this odious dwelling that you call "Headquarters" is located within the jurisdiction of said province.

The letter drifts down from a crack in the ceiling and lands on Itachi's head.

Normally, he would be far too sensitive to external stimuli to let something like this pass, but it is eight at night on Wednesday, which means that he is completely and intently focused on world domination.

He surveys the extensive fortune in front of him, before delicately selecting one five-hundred-yen bill and passing it to Tobi. "I intend to acquire Park Place."

After a few moments pass, and the orange paper is still clutched in his hand, Itachi looks up from his intense inspection of the Monopoly board, to find Kisame, Deidara, Tobi, and Hidan all staring at him with various measures of shock written on their face.

"…The fuck?" Hidan inquires in his customary eloquent manner, tilting his head in a puzzled fashion.

Normally, anybody who dared speak to him this way would receive a swift kunai to the throat for their troubles, but Itachi unhappily observes the Leader's number one rule in this instance; physical, emotional, and mental warfare among members is strictly forbidden. "Pardon?" he replies, in his customary deadpan, setting down his paper currency.

This slight movement is enough to send the letter fluttering from his head to land, squarely, in the center of the Monopoly board. Tobi whimpers slightly, as it upsets his tiny silver thimble playing piece. In a moment of uncharacteristic unity, all five Akatsuki lean forward in an attempt to study the scrap of bright red fabric. "The medic," Itachi deduces almost immediately, before deigning to prod it with one purple-painted fingernail.

Deidara gives him a suspicious look, as he is still trying to make out the script. "How do you know?"

"Crimson," Itachi says, by way of explanation. "None of us own anything quote so…flamboyant."

There is a pause, in which each man shoots a surreptitious glance at Tobi.

Tobi winces, obviously injured by their suspicion. "My pajamas are fuchsia, not bright red! And I would never tear them up in such a hideous fashion, anyway."

Deciding to rid everybody of the ensuing mental image of Tobi running rampant in fuchsia silk pajamas, Kisame inhales distastefully and takes a closer look at the rust-colored letters. "It's written in blood."

Hidan nearly recoils. "That's a hell of a lot of blood."

"How crass, un," Deidara says, rolling his eyes. "There's memo paper and a perfectly decent pen in the drawers."

"Our house isn't odious," Tobi cuts in, completely separate from the point, while sounding as if he is dangerously close to tears. "I decorated it myself!"

There is an uncomfortable silence around the table, before Deidara finally gathers enough courage to pat Tobi on the shoulder tentatively. "The paper chains and colored doilies are very…nice, un."

Hidan nearly has to stuff his knuckles into his mouth to refrain from bursting out into profanity-laced laughter after Tobi attaches himself to Deidara's arm in a crushing hug. "Thank you, Deidara-senpai!" he wails, tears of real emotion cascading down his face. "I will treasure this compliment to my interior decorating skills for the rest of my life!"

Kisame sneaks a look at Itachi, who still stares at the scrap of fabric, seeming more or less unaffected by the idiotic antics of his brethren.

"Kisame," he begins slowly, Monopoly forgotten. "We brought the medic here an hour and a half ago, at which point you had drained her completely of chakra and left her unconscious. It should have taken days to regain even a little of her strength."

The shark-man shrugs uncomfortably. "Part of the reason we sought her out was for her unusual degree of chakra control, after all."

"Interesting," Itachi looks up, his concentration momentarily diverted by the unwelcome sight of Hidan stuffing all the potato chips down his face at rapid speeds. He scowls with displeasure, and Kisame resolves to buy a few more bags during his trip to the market this weekend, for the sake of everybody's safety and sanity – Itachi deprived of his favorite snack is not a pretty sight. "Deidara," the Uchiha prodigy says evenly.

The artist momentarily ceases his endeavor of trying to claw Tobi off of him. "Yeah?"

"…May I borrow your pen?"

This simple statement gives Deidara a positively novel idea; he pulls the pen out of the inner pocket of his cloak, quickly stabs Tobi in the eye with it, throws him behind the battered couch, and vaults over to the game table smoothly. He makes to hand the pen over to Itachi, before pulling it back with an unusually shrewd look on his face. "What are you going to do with it, un? This is a very high-quality artistic pen."

"I intend to write a letter," replies Itachi in his customary monotone, reaching for the pen.

Deidara stuffs the pen down his mesh shirt with lightning speed. "No, un!"

Upon faced with this outright defiance, the wheels of the Sharingan start spinning, and Deidara quickly moves to the other side of the table. "Jeez, relax," he says defensively, whipping out a pristine sheet of ivory paper emblazoned with the maroon Akatsuki clouds, from the nearest drawer. "Everyone knows that I'm the head of the department regarding writing Official Letters To Be Written To Prisoners, un."

Itachi blinks, momentarily confused. "There is no such department."

Deidara wags the pen at him. "Yes there is, un!"

Predictably enough, the Sharingan starts up again, and Itachi is at his side at the blink of an eye, looking even more menacing than normal.

He lunges for the pen, and Deidara rolls deftly under the table, gripping one solid oak leg for security. Itachi slides off his chair, so that he is on his knees, looking at the blonde missing-nin with nothing less than murderous intent in his eyes. "You know, that's the kind of behavior that got you into this situation in the first place, un," Deidara chirps lightheartedly. "And don't even think about following me under here, because Hidan will see and then misinterpret it, and will then proceed making his all-homosexuals-are-cursed-by-Jashin-sama speeches, un."

Itachi ponders this for a few moments, before grudgingly seeing the wisdom of the statement. The Sharingan slowly fades from his eyes, leaving them as black as night. "Fine." He rises, and then seats himself back on the chair, steepling his fingers and resting his chin atop them.

Kisame, who had been in the kitchen searching for acceptable refreshments, finally emerges, clutching a glass of chilled Vitamin Water. He casts a jaundiced eye around the room – Tobi is curled up in a ball behind the couch, nursing a mysteriously bruised eye, Hidan has fallen asleep amid a veritable storm of potato chip crumbs, Deidara has taken cover under the table, and Itachi is seated at said table as regally as ever. The shark-man sighs. "I leave you alone for one minute." He walks back to the table, setting the glass down, and nods at his partner. "By the way, I think the medic is clawing at the door – not like that'll help any, but you can hear the infernal scratching sounds from the kitchen."

Deidara, sensing safety, slides out from under the table, pen and memo paper ready, before grabbing the next available seat. Kisame perks up slightly. "What are you two doing?"

"Replying to our captive's missive, of course," Itachi replies, before looking upward. "Her room is directly above here – she must have managed to shove it through the floorboards."

"I keep telling Leader-sama that this place needs remodeling," grouses Kisame.

Deidara snorts disdainfully. "Bullshit, un. Like he'd let you paint the whole thing blue with little fishies all over. It's even worse than Tobi's paper chains and doilies."

Itachi taps an impatient pattern out with his fingers.

"Oh, fine, Uchiha, keep your pants on…"

Itachi's left eye twitches slightly. Kisame's glass of vitamin water suddenly acquires a spiderweb crack in it, and he takes it hastily and downs it, before disaster strikes.

Dear Lovely Captive, Deidara begins—

"Too unprofessional," Itachi interrupts coldly. "She offered her name as a closing; it seems fitting that we use it."

Deidara rolls his eyes expressively.

Dear Sakura,

"Too informal."

"Go to hell, Uchiha."

In a testament to his agility, Kisame grabs Itachi's fist before it finds its mark. "Remember your breathing exercises," he says in an undertone.

Itachi crosses his arms and comes as close to sulking as he possibly can.

Deidara smirks, and continues writing.

Dear Sakura,

Greetings, and welcome to Akatsuki! You will be our honored guest here for an as yet undetermined period of time, for purposes which will be made clearer to you upon your first encounter with the official Akatsuki Welcoming Committee. But that's only going to happen later, after you kind of get your bearings a bit, and freshen up – sorry about all the blood and stuff, Hidan gets a bit carried away sometimes, but he's essentially a nice guy.

"Gut the fucking panda," Hidan snarls, in his sleep, and all three men pause for a moment and direct uncertain looks at him.

First of all, let me acquaint you with our facilities. Assuming that you are up and about, approximately fifteen feet from the door (which is made out of chakra-enhanced solid oak, so don't even try scratching it or punching it or whatever the hell you do – you're just going to hurt yourself), is a dresser. It is pink. Kind of like your hair. Leader-sama got it on sale, but Itachi and Kisame didn't want it in their room because they think they're too badass for it, I think Hidan said that it was "the ugliest fucking color he had ever seen in his life" and then threw it at somebody, and Tobi had opted for the lime green instead, although I don't know why, it has no aesthetic value—

If Itachi had been a cruder sort of individual, he would have cracked his knuckles. Instead, Kisame hits Deidara solidly on the head. "Get to the point."

Anyway. Inside the upper right drawer of said pink dresser, you will find a pen and memo paper. That will save you from using your own blood as ink, and from tearing up your lovely shirt in order to correspond with us. Although I'm not complaining in the least—

"I know where you sleep," Itachi says in a monotone.

With a slightly alarmed look, Deidara crosses out said offensive sentence.

…Well, yes. If you have any further questions, feel free to send another letter. You may address it to Deidara, Official Head of the Official Letters To Be Written To Prisoners Department, and shove it through the floorboards. It will find its way to me.

Cheers!

Deidara,

(and Itachi and Kisame, I guess.)

P.S: We're not within the jurisdiction of any laws whatsoever, by the way. One of the perks of claiming membership among the number one terrorist organization in the world.

P.P.S: Please do not attempt to escape. You will fail. Miserably. And then we will all laugh at your foolishness behind your back.

Deidara sets the pen down, a rather pleased expression on his face, and folds the memo paper neatly, before signing Sakura's name on it, with several unnecessary flourishes. "Now," he announces, "who wants to give me a hand up, un?"

Itachi somehow manages to distance himself in every possible way without actually shoving his chair back from the table – a miraculous feat. Kisame shoots his partner a dirty look. "Thanks."

"Anytime."

Instead of the promised hand up, Kisame instead opts to sweep Deidara into his arms, bridal-style, and dangle him up toward the ceiling, as he struggles to push the letter back up into the floorboards. Kisame looks down at Itachi briefly, and then once again – unsurprisingly, a tiny smirk adorns his normally impassive features. Thankfully, the letter finally makes its way up the floorboards.

"Success, un," Deidara says triumphantly.

Kisame takes this as his cue to promptly drop the artist on the floor; unconcerned as to Deidara's groans of pain, he pauses by the table on his way back to the kitchen. "Vitamin water, Itachi?"

Deidara moans theatrically at the sound of Kisame's voice, and back in the corner, Tobi has wrapped his arms around his knees and has begun to sing catchy pop tunes to himself, which he often does in times of great emotional distress. Meanwhile, Itachi hears the distant echo of a feminine howl of rage and frustration, followed by a resounding thud – presumably, an unprotected fist connecting with a solid oak door.

The Uchiha prodigy massages his temples. "Yes, thank you, Kisame. I will probably need it."

And so it begins. :)

Feedback appreciated!