Naruto 1. Knew You Before We Met

Caught You on the Flip Side

By: firefly

Note: In no way is this connected to "Visitation Rights" (which I swear I'll update ASAP). I have no reasoning behind this fic—it just came to me and wouldn't leave me alone and I blame Aims21 for infecting me with love for DeiIno. This was originally supposed to be a oneshot, but it got way too long and crazy so I'm splitting it into three or so chapters.

No warnings about this fic, but I will say it's pretty different from anything I've written so far in terms of genre/format, and a lot of it is experimental. Oh, and it's AU, obviously, and takes place in a modern real-world setting. Enjoy, and reviews are always love!

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"Each man we see, except those who have been transfigured, is but a semi-ego, and each woman the same - two of these having one spirit. When the perfection time cometh, all the halves shall unite, each with its own."

_A Dweller On Two Planets_

- Frederick S. Oliver

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Caught You on the Flip Side ch.1

Nightclubs had never suited Deidara very well. He wasn't much of a drinker, he disliked techno music, and he didn't dance. And every time he resolved to take the mug and drink its contents, the yeasty stink of it made him set it down against the table again. His fingers were cold—low blood pressure, he figured cynically—and he alternated between kneading his forehead where a not-quite-headache prickled and wedging his numb hands under his thighs. He sat hunched, tapping his foot restlessly, and glared at the surface of the table. The smell of his untouched beer was tempting him into wanting to pick it up and smash it over the DJ's head.

Across from him, Kisame watched him and grinned.

"The tattoos are fading. You need a retouch."

Deidara instinctively unfurled his fingers and looked at his palm. The ink had dulled to a faint gray outline in the centre of his hand, resembling a faded pen illustration. He could scarcely make out the teeth that had once been bared in a grin.

"It happens," he said dispassionately, closing his fingers to hide it. "It's been a while since I had it re-done."

"I can tell," Kisame replied, making a point of eyeing Deidara's faded t-shirt and clay-caked jeans "You're lucky Pain knows you and got you in looking like that. Why so glum?"

Deidara gritted his teeth and worked to unstick his jaw before speaking. "I'm fine, un."

"You don't have to be so uptight around me," Kisame said. He tipped a pitcher of sake down his throat. "I'm not Sasori-san."

Deidara thought of his colleague and how he was currently holed away in his workshop, crafting a new puppet. An intense wave of envy washed over him.

"I knew something was up when I saw you at the gallery," Kisame continued. "I figured you were stressed and thought bringing you here would help you relax. But it's been two hours and you haven't done anything but stare into space. It's sort of obvious you're hiding something."

Deidara looked chagrined but didn't say anything.

"What's wrong with you?" Kisame asked, not impatiently. He was oddly polite like that, Deidara noted.

"I'm..." he paused, considering whether or not to divulge such personal issues to Kisame. But then again, Kisame had proven himself to be one of the less aggravating, more trustworthy people in his small circle of acquaintances, and if he was going to do anything to make himself feel better, it might as well have been by talking it over with a friend.

"I'm stuck," Deidara muttered. "In a rut."

Kisame gave him a puzzled look.

Deidara felt the twinge in his forehead escalate into a dull throbbing. He stared at his distorted reflection in the table and spoke with deep disgust. "I have artist's block."

Kisame fell silent and mulled over the admission. In addition to being strangely polite, he had a talent for being oddly perceptive about others. It was a skill he'd been forced to develop after going into business with Uchiha Itachi, and as a result, he knew exactly what _not_ to say in a delicate situation.

He took a moment to lean back and consider his companion.

It was difficult to believe this was the same Deidara he'd gone to college with, the self-proclaimed artistic genius who could go days without sleep while working on his creations and never lose his focus or the vivacious gleam in his eyes; the one who derided the lesser mortals for not understanding the scope of his genius and held sell-outs in the highest contempt; the one who'd decided to dedicate soul, mind and body to his art and accept his inevitable destruction with a beaming smile.

Yet here he was, weary, faded and burned out, with the agitated air of someone perpetually hounded. It had been in Deidara's greatest interests to remain an independent visionary and never fall victim to commercialism, but it was unavoidable with the ego he had. No matter how ardent his postulations about never selling out, his need for acknowledgment and praise had won out in the end. The president of the city's art gallery had personally taken interest in his sculptures and persuaded him into selling pieces, and taking advantage of the mind-clouding euphoria that arose from fame, he persuaded Deidara into a contract that required new pieces every year for the next five years.

This was year three. And Deidara had everything he'd ever wanted. He was famous, rich, respected, and admired.

And it was all slowly killing him.

It was obvious to everyone but the artist himself, but then Deidara had always been the type to forgo health and happiness in the pursuit of art. Kisame also knew of Deidara's insanely sensitive pride, so feigning ignorance, he rested his chin in his hand and gave him his full attention.

"Talk."

Deidara gave him a meditative look. He rarely spoke about his shortcomings—something he didn't think he had much of, anyway—let alone his artistic failings. But then again, this restless sense of unease, misery and frustration had been rending him from the inside for months now, and it was only a few hours ago that he'd abandoned his three-week stint in his workshop in a fit of pique (after destroying several mediocre sculptures, hence the dustiness).

After a minute of struggling with himself, he leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms.

"It's only temporary," he said shortly. "But it's trying my patience and the people at the gallery are expecting new pieces from me. I can't stand not being productive, and this lack of..."

He trailed off and grimaced.

"...inspiration?" Kisame supplied.

Deidara's posture deflated visibly.

"That's understandable," Kisame said, seeing his pained expression. "It happens to all artists at some point, right?"

"Not for this long," he muttered.

Kisame mulled over the situation for a few seconds. "Can I offer a suggestion?"

Deidara would normally be annoyed that a non-artist would even attempt such a thing, but was too miserable and desperate to care.

"You're jaded. You've surrounded yourself with the same people for too long," Kisame explained, thinking it was probably best to be indirect with someone like Deidara and let him figure out the rest. "Those people at the gallery—they're leeches. They just want to make money off of you. What you need is a change of company."

Deidara pursed his lips but said nothing, narrowing his eyes questioningly when Kisame suddenly raised his head to look at something behind him. Curious, he straightened and glanced over his shoulder to follow the other man's gaze.

He immediately scowled when he saw what Kisame was looking at.

"No."

"I know," Kisame placated, raising his hands. "No room for distractions. But social interaction is generally conducive to sound mental health and it's pretty obvious you're cracking up. So maybe just a chat?"

"_No_."

"All right," Kisame relented, giving him an impossibly wide grin, "but a little stimulation for the mind goes a long way. I've got to meet with Itachi to settle a business deal. Unless you want to tag along, I suggest you give it a try."

Before Deidara could reply, Kisame stood up and immediately disappeared into the crowd. He stared after him, half-contemplating following him, but then, against his better judgment, he glanced over his shoulder again.

She was sitting alone at another booth a few aisles down, gazing absentmindedly out into the dancing crowd. She looked young and wore a sequined azure dress that ended a few inches above the knee and she swung one leg while her fingernails tapped around the edges of the table.

Deidara rolled his eyes at Kisame's train of thought and turned back around to glare tiredly at his stale beer. He sat there for a minute more, then abruptly stood up to leave, reaching into his back pocket and sifting through the wad of notes and paper until he grabbed what felt like money and threw it down on the table.

It was a hundred dollars. He couldn't bring himself to care and left for the exit, walking past the booths without a backwards glance. He was about to weave his way through the group of hostesses depositing drinks at a group table when someone tapped him on the shoulder.

"Hey."

Deidara stopped. He turned his head and found the blonde girl standing behind him and holding a folded piece of glossy paper.

"You dropped this," she said.

It was the pamphlet advertising his new art exhibition. He felt half-tempted to tell her to throw it away but forced himself to take it back.

"Thanks," he muttered, pocketing it.

The girl smiled in a bemused sort of way and cocked her head at him. "I've seen you somewhere before."

Well, he was considerably famous in the art world and that was usually the default pick-up line in the club scene, but then again he'd never heard of a girl using it and she sounded genuinely surprised. He looked at her, this time properly.

She had iridescent glitter on her cheekbones that reflected the strobe lights flickering overhead. Delicate features. Blue eyes. Blonde hair. Very pretty. It was like peering at himself in an alternate universe where he made a freakishly beautiful cross dresser. And he had the inkling that he'd seen her somewhere before, too, but it was a vague nagging feeling that didn't elicit any serious consideration.

"Maybe," he replied vaguely, shrugging.

Her smile widened slightly and she gave him a strange look he couldn't place. "I really feel like I should know you."

He thought that perhaps she was trying to flirt and wondered why when he looked like complete crap and was dressed like a construction worker. But then she shook her head as if freeing herself from the thought and offered him a departing smile before striding past and onto the dance floor.

At the same time, a small scuffle broke out at the entrance over someone attempting to bypass the velvet rope, and as Deidara moved towards the exit, two massive bouncers shut the doors and barricaded the way.

"It'll be just a minute or two," they said shortly when he gave them an exasperated look. "For your own safety."

Muttering a curse, Deidara turned away from the exit and went back to the junction between the dance floor and the lounge to avoid the crush of sweaty and drunk socialites. He found a spot against the wall and leaned against it, turning his gaze back to the dance floor where a mild commotion was taking place.

He watched as a group of girls fanned out in a circle, cheering wildly and enticing the rest of the crowd to join in when one of them took to the floor solo. Deidara didn't have to move any closer to realize it was the same girl from the booth.

She spun and split the crowd with the force of a dynamo, her long blonde hair whipping out and around her and sending the other dancers scattering. Her eyes were closed and a smile was breaking slowly across her face, skin glittering blue, purple, red as she continued with the ecstatic verve of a whirling dervish.

He realized he was staring, but then again a lot of people were, and they all wore the same expression; smiling, curious, envious awe, all thinking 'this girl has completely cut loose' and entertaining what kind of high they'd experience in doing the same, in not fearing the scrutiny of an audience.

He stood there, watching and feeling oddly transfixed until someone tapped him on the shoulder.

"Problem's over," the bouncer said in passing. "Door's clear."

Deidara blinked himself out of his reverie just as wild cheering broke out through the crowd. Through the gaps in the queue, the girl could be seen sweeping her hair out of her face and smiling her appreciation for their applause.

Deciding he'd been there long enough, he headed for the exit and emerged into the balmy night air. A stifling, perfume-scented breeze wafted after him from the club doors and he walked faster, holding his breath. He left the entrance and the conglomeration of cars and people jostling to get in, circling around the corner of the street to call a cab. The lights and voices faded and only the rhythmic thump of bass followed him onto the nearly deserted street. Car headlights twinkled in the distance. The lights in the surrounding apartments were out and the concrete of the sidewalk appeared a dull orange beneath the rutilant glow of lamp posts. When he got there and pulled out his cell phone, he found the battery dead.

"Shit," he mumbled, thumbing the buttons haplessly. "Forgot to charge it."

With that, he looked left and right down the street, considering finding a payphone, then decided he'd wait for the line in front of the club to thin out so he could make his way through it and to the gas station at the end of the block. With a curse of resignation, he lowered himself to sit at the edge of the curb, sneakers kicking up dust as they scraped over the asphalt.

A few cars drove past and he stared discontentedly at some spot on the road. His head still hurt but the pain felt muted after the two painkillers he'd taken earlier. A discomforting murk settled over his mind, and the distant wail of car horns were dull remnants of noise he couldn't tune out.

What happened to me? He wondered, picking up a pebble to throw into the slots of a nearby gutter. Since when do I lack inspiration?

_Since you got a taste of fame_, a snide voice answered in the back of his head. _It's all about listening to the wants of art collectors and rich patrons now, isn't it? Sell-out._

"Tch." He threw another rock and glared tiredly at the tire treads in the dust underfoot. Then he reached into his back pocket and withdrew the bundle of notes again. They included a list of deadlines, a prescription to renew his painkillers, preliminary sketches for new sculptures, six hundred dollars in cash, and the pamphlet.

The paper was sturdy. High-quality. The vapid faces of his creations stared back at him from the cover, and feeling his resentment for himself and everything around him boil over, he scrunched it into a ball and threw it at the gutter. It bounced off the grate and rolled over onto the road.

He sat there for several more minutes and didn't bother looking up as footfalls came around the corner.

"Oh."

At the sound of the surprised voice, he glanced up and found the blonde girl from the club standing a few feet to his right, holding her heels by the straps in her right hand. She was wearing flip flops now.

"Hi again," she said, easing into a smile when she recognized him. "Almost ran over you. Waiting for a cab?"

Deidara looked down at his dead phone. "That was the plan, un."

She noticed the inert display screen. "You can use mine, if you want."

He stood up and brushed off his jeans, shaking his head. "I'm just gonna walk."

_I need time to think._

"Same here," she said, slinging her shoes over her shoulder. "Well, goodnight then."

He nodded, and with that, they started down the street and made to separate at the intersection. He kept his gaze trained on his shadow and the cracks in the sidewalk, subconsciously waiting for the footsteps to disappear off into the distance. But when he passed the intersection and the sound followed, he stopped at the same time she did and they looked at each other.

"You're going this way?" she asked, pointing and smiling sheepishly.

He looked down the street and fought off the urge to sigh. "Yeah."

She shrugged and fell into step beside him again. "We can keep each other company, then."

Deidara said nothing and merely continued at his ambling pace, hoping his silence would put off any attempts at conversation. Despite that, the soft, clicking rustle of her sequined dress repeatedly jarred him from his thoughts, and resentful of her presence, he dug his hands into his pockets and glowered at the ground.

As they crossed the first block in silence, he wondered what she had been thinking, wanting to walk home alone in a getup like that. The thought only aggravated him when he realized she easily could have gone home with her girlfriends instead of burdening him with her presence. When he finally spoke, it didn't occur to him to think his question would sound accusatory to anyone but himself.

"Why didn't you go home with your friends?"

"Friends?" she echoed. "Oh, you mean those girls? I have no idea who they were. I don't know anybody here, so I figured I should just go out and mingle. What about you?"

He thought of all the things he could have said to spare himself the obligation of idle chatter, but his brain felt irresponsive and cantankerous so he settled for the first and honest thing that came to mind.

"I realized I didn't know what the hell I was doing there, so I left."

She laughed. "You looked like you were thinking that when I ran into you."

He smiled humourlessly but said nothing.

"Were you with friends?" she asked.

"Yeah, one." He paused, realizing the irony of his own words and hoping she would get the hint. "He wanted me to chat up strangers, but I wasn't in the mood, un."

"That's a pity," she said, raising her head to gaze at the passing streetlamps. "You seem like a cool person. Tired and kinda standoffish, but cool. You should go home and take a hot bath."

At his bewildered stare, she shrugged her shoulders. "Just saying. You seem stressed."

"Are you always that up front with strangers?" he asked dryly.

"Always. Life is short, you know. Might as well be straightforward with people so you don't waste time trying to figure them out." She paused a moment before laughing. "But then again that approach scares people off."

Deidara couldn't help but think of Sasori and secretly agree.

"It's because of that I can't find the right people," she continued, clapping her hands together and entwining her fingers. "I don't _mesh_ with anyone, you know? I'm starting to think it's because people are intimidated by me."

Deidara was giving no indication that he was interested or that he was listening, for that matter, but she bulldozed ahead anyway.

"Be honest. Do you think I'm intimidating?"

"No," he almost snorted. "Why would I?"

She shrugged as though it was obvious. "Because I'm beautiful. And confident. And all-around awesome."

The corners of his lips twitched even as he resumed watching the sidewalk. "You forgot 'humble,' un."

She smirked. "Humility isn't my style. Besides..."

On the pavement, he could see the shadows of her arms rising and stretching languorously over her head. Her voice was calm, wistful.

"These looks won't last forever. I should be proud of them while they do last."

That was close enough to his train of thought to shake him from his reverie, and just in time to alert him to the streetlamp he was about to walk into. He came to an abrupt stop.

She stopped, too, and looked at him quizzically as he recalled the crumpled pamphlet he'd thrown at the sewer. With mounting regret, he thought of the sculptures he'd donated to the gallery and how they would remain there indefinitely, gathering dust in the fine lines and cracks until they greyed, accumulating fingerprints beneath the onslaught of strange hands until they withered, and withstanding time until they crumbled into something mundane and mediocre. There was a twist in his gut and he felt sick at the knowledge that his creations would one day elicit disinterest, even apathy.

Without thinking, he turned to look at her and spoke with thinly veiled desperation.

"Do you wish it would last forever?"

She opened her mouth to answer, but something in his tone gave her pause. Her smile faded into a pensive look.

"Well, of course I don't want my beauty to be short-lived, but I don't want it to last forever, either." At his nonplussed expression, she gestured for them to keep walking as she tried to elaborate.

"It's because people get bored of things, even beautiful things. I guess it's human nature, but after a while you get used to seeing it. You start looking for flaws. You start nitpicking. And I wouldn't wanna stick around long enough for that to happen, to be honest."

When he didn't reply, she continued with an airiness that was at odds with what she said next.

"Actually, as crazy as it sounds, I sometimes hope that I'll die—" she snapped her fingers abruptly "—like that. Young and beautiful. It's kinda weird and morbid, but I have this fear of aging. I don't want to fade into obscurity. People remember beautiful girls who die young. Like Marilyn Monroe."

She was silent for a moment. "Is that vain of me?"

"No," Deidara said, gazing out at the lights twinkling in the distance and feeling weak with relief. "It isn't."

"Really?" she sounded surprised.

He didn't answer but gave her a look to show he was serious. She caught him off guard with a beaming smile and a twirl of her heels that narrowly missed his head.

"You are seriously the first person who didn't look at me like I was crazy!"

"There's nothing crazy about it," he said, a look of contempt shadowing his face. "People might as well be Neanderthals, they're so narrow-minded. Any form of aesthetic can be interpreted as art, and true art is fleeting. It's only natural for you to think that way, un."

She gave him an amazed look. "I definitely didn't expect that from you."

He looked offended. "Why not?"

"Because you had all the verve of a friggin' zombie a second ago."

He opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. "It's been a long night," he mumbled instead.

She smiled sympathetically and didn't reply, lapsing into silence again as the sidewalk gave way to asphalt and formed an incline to the railway crossing. The railroad was silent on both ends, its signal lights glowing faintly in the distance. Pebbles and gravel were strewn beneath the tracks and the cool skin of her arm brushed his as she carefully sidestepped the rocks. He pretended not to notice and ignored the strange sensation of déjà vu that swept over him when she glanced up and momentarily met his gaze.

"Can I ask you something?" she said suddenly.

He felt inexplicably exposed, then, and quickly looked away. "Yeah?"

"Do you apply that art philosophy to life?"

He shook his head. "The other way around. It's the ephemeral nature of life that inspires art to be fleeting, un."

"So what does that mean in terms of living your life?"

It was more of a statement than a question, the way she asked it, and he pointed out her straightforwardness.

"You said it yourself. Life is short, so be up front with people."

"Yeah, but to what degree?"

It felt odd that she was asking him, a stranger, philosophical questions that she seemed personally invested in, but at the same time he couldn't help but admire her for it. Self-conscious self-awareness was all he seemed capable of these days, and he envied her carefree demeanour.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," he answered eventually. "Your choice, un."

"And if people don't like it?"

He didn't look at her this time, thinking of the patrons of the art gallery and grimacing at the taste of his own hypocrisy. "It doesn't matter what people think."

"Can I be up front with you, then?"

'_I thought you already were' _was on the tip of his tongue, but feeling curious, he glanced over at her.

She gazed at him intently. "I _really_ feel like I should know you."

He gave her a blank stare and she laughed as though she couldn't blame him for it.

"I know how it sounds, and no, I'm not coming on to you. No offense or anything—you're really cute—but you're not my type."

No wonder she'd asked what people would think of varying degrees of straightforwardness. After all, there was always a bit of indignation inherent in being rejected point-blank, _especially_ if it was before he'd even had a chance to consider her in that light.

"It's all about tall, dark, and handsome," she added. "If you were wondering."

(He wasn't wondering, but then at the same time it made sense. He was short. And his hair was a peppy, sunshine yellow. And he was more pretty than handsome...)

"But it doesn't matter," she continued. "Because you probably have a girlfriend—"

"I'm married," he interrupted.

She did a double take. "What?"

"To my work, un."

"Oh." Her voice became teasing. "You look awfully young for such a committed relationship."

"Twenty-four is not young."

"Don't say that. I'm only three years behind you."

Though he still felt no inclination to talk, doing so was oddly effortless now. She didn't stop talking, for one, and filled whatever empty gaps he left in the conversation without giving awkwardness a chance to linger. It was sort of ridiculous how open and frank she was now that he'd given her the go-ahead, and it might have grown tiresome had he had any energy to care about maintaining some sort of affected personality.

But he didn't care about anything in that moment and answered her with a bluntness to match her candour.

"You're a Taurus."

He twitched but didn't show his surprise. "Yeah."

"Ha, I knew it. You've got all the qualities of a Taurus."

"I don't buy into that astrology stuff, un."

"Who cares. It's fun. Guess what I am."

He picked the first sign that came to mind. "Libra."

She was silent for a moment. "You're pretty good at this for someone who doesn't buy into it."

"It was a lucky guess."

She didn't ruminate on the subject for very long and changed topics frequently. He tried not to cringe when she told him it was adorable that his favourite animals were birds and tried not to crack a smile when she told him she was madly in love with his hairstyle. Even though his mind was a mess of deadlines and worries and painkiller-induced fog, he found it relieving, and even pleasant, to cut loose and 'talk about dumb shit' as Hidan put it.

"Be honest. What do you think of Andy Warhol?" she asked, sucking in a breath as if preparing herself for his answer.

"I hate Andy Warhol," he said flatly.

"You're lying!"

"Pop art is dead. And I hate canned soup, un."

"That's it. We're twin souls," she declared with finality. "I was the only one in art class who didn't like his work. Bunch of hipsters."

Deidara snorted faintly in amusement before she suddenly slowed her steps and came to a stop beneath a street sign.

"Ah, here it is." She peered down the dark, one-way street and sighed. "I'm staying with a friend for the weekend. Then I've got to head back to my city on Monday."

She stopped, suddenly, and whirled to face him, gravel crunching under her shoes. The darkness in the background seemed to swallow her and the sequins on her dress glinted under the streetlamp, dotting the dark sidewalk with quivering specks of light. She looked like a glam spectre ready to depart into the pitch after a night's excursion, and him, contrasting her in a drab t-shirt and dusty jeans, watched and mused over how surreal she looked against the void. She gazed at him intently for a long moment, a look he returned with a raised eyebrow.

"Would you mind if I was really straightforward with you this time?" she asked plainly.

He shrugged, which had been his response to most of her weirder inquiries during the night, but he found he was somewhat interested in what she could possibly interpret as 'really straightforward' when she'd practically interrogated him already.

"I'm not going to find someone like you back home," she stated.

There was nothing in her tone to assure him that this was a compliment and he wondered what she meant until she stepped forward.

"I really like you."

Deidara went abruptly still when she rested her hands on his shoulders and leaned forward, bringing her mouth close to his ear.

"Can I take you home with me?" she whispered.

He slowly turned his head to look at her and found himself dumbfounded.

"You would be my best friend," she continued, pulling back. "And you're cute. I'd find you a girlfriend in a heartbeat."

He merely stared at her, too surprised to respond.

"No?" she said disappointedly. "Oh well."

She didn't wait for him to speak, instead leaning forward again to press a kiss to his temple. It left a shimmering, pink, bow-shaped print.

"Bye," she said. "I love you."

Then she turned to leave and he stared, dumbstruck, after her. She took a step into the blackness, the reflections of glimmering sequins vanishing from the sidewalk, and he raised his arm and parted his lips to speak before he could reconsider.

"Wait."

She stopped and turned, expression politely quizzical.

He quickly dropped his arm, not bothering to reassume his look of casual indifference. A baffled sort of intrigue showed through every facet of his face and he felt no compulsion to hide it.

"What's your name?"

She blinked before a slow smile crossed her face. "Ino."

Then she was gone, disappearing with a wave of her high heels and leaving him standing, somewhat stunned, under the singular glow of a streetlamp. Several seconds passed, and though he lacked the capacity to assess the bizarre happenings of the night and the girl who may or may not have been a figment of his analgesic-addled mind, he instantly became aware of how tired he felt and that his feet hurt, and that he'd completely lost track of where he'd been going since leaving the club.

He pulled his hands out of his pockets and looked at his watch. It was 2:30 AM. He'd been walking for an hour and forty-five minutes.

Confounded, he glanced at the unfamiliar street sign in front of him before spinning around to look at his surroundings.

Just where the hell was he?


	2. Appeared Here to Vanish There

Caught You on the Flip Side

By: firefly

Note: Gah, this chapter took forever to write. That's what I get for starting five fics at once. Anyway, thank you so much to everyone who reviewed the first chapter! I was apprehensive about this fic to begin with, so the feedback is immensely appreciated. :D

Anyway, here is (the very long) chapter 2. Enjoy, and reviews are always love!

Caught You on the Flip Side ch.2

Ino had never been afraid of dreaming big.

Every opportunity was met with the expectation of leading to something great; every blessing and every lucky break was accompanied by a sense of entitlement; and every day that went by was thought of bringing her closer to some great life-changing event.

It had become a daily occupation to wonder what that first milestone would be.

Did the term only apply to events that literally changed a person? Did it only apply when Ms. became Mrs.? When a name gained an acronym like MD? When you had children?

Whatever it as, she was certain the word 'milestone' applied to any event that had a profound effect on one's life, and it was this belief that one day led her to understand that the single greatest event to affect her life had occurred eleven years ago, when she'd only been in elementary school.

When Ino was twenty-one years old, she realized her first and greatest milestone occurred when she'd met her best friend.

At the age of ten, she was a more seasoned traveller than the majority of adults she knew. Her father's job as a government official led them across the country and she had developed a fearlessly confident personality as a means of coping with constantly changing faces and atmospheres.

She found appreciation for nature and hard work after their two year stint on a farm, the rural setting imbuing her with cheerful readiness and the desire to help. Those qualities were nearly lost when they spent the following four years in a bustling metropolis. Suddenly there were ten times more people than she was used to and they all walked with their heads down; there were people she was taught to avoid, people who didn't say 'hi' back and instead responded with suspicious wariness, and she coped with the emotional void by finding a sudden, newfound love for clothing and material goods.

Then again, this new juvenile sense of entitlement and arrogance found temperance when they moved from a condo in the middle of downtown to a two-bedroom apartment in a public housing project. Then suddenly it wasn't safe to wear her diamond earrings or carry that designer purse, and she was forced to take a bitter dose of humility that left her oscillating somewhere between the friendly farm girl, metropolitan fashionista and ghetto youth.

Then came their final move, a year later, to a nice little bungalow on the dividing line between the city and suburbs.

Her father had secured a more steady position and her mother was considering starting a flower shop, and Ino's new school was only three blocks away.

This time, hopefully, they could stay put.

They settled into their new home in the middle of July and Ino spent the remainder of the summer holidays watching television when she wasn't at swim practice or helping her mother renovate the new property for their fledgling flower shop.

By this time she was ten years old and had never felt the lack of a friend. She was amiable by nature and got along with everyone, making enough acquaintances to help her get through the one or two years they spent at each location. But unlike the farm or the city, this place felt quiet and boring without someone to occupy time with, and the television didn't help matters, either.

In retrospect, she could say that much like the women who gained all their expectations about romance and marriage from movies and novels, she'd developed expectations about friendship from television. Besides the occasional prepubescent romance, the majority of teenybopper programming revolved around themes of lifelong camaraderie, meeting your other half, remaining steadfastly loyal, defending friends from harm, and the enrichment of life in general due to finding a best friend.

She became enraptured with the idea of exchanging sacred tokens with someone special like that, something like a locket or a ring or a bracelet, anything that would symbolize the depth of their love and support for one another. And because she was Ino and Ino always got what she wanted, she decided she'd scout out her best friend the very first day she started school.

The wait had been torturous, but September finally came and she waved her mother goodbye at the school gates when the bell rang. Her new teacher, Iruka-sensei, made an immediate impression as an endearing, bumbling sort of man who was kind to a fault. The kids instantly took advantage of his lenient disposition and the class rang with talk and laughter even as they did their work.

In the midst of the clamour, Ino raised her head every so often from her worksheet to scan the classroom for potential candidates. There was one dark-haired girl who seemed promising; the way she cowered and blushed immediately struck Ino with the urge to swoop in and save her, but then her shyness seemed to be a chronic condition and Ino couldn't see herself lasting with someone that demure.

There were a few other girls, but none made much of an impression within the classroom, and though Ino had resolved not to befriend any of the painfully immature boys, she found her gaze returning repeatedly to the dark-haired boy sitting next to the window at the rear. The more she looked at him, the more she couldn't look away, and she grew disconcerted with the way her face flushed when he glanced up and caught her staring at him.

Abashed, she ducked her head and didn't look up again till recess.

The students who knew each other from past grades ran out together and commandeered the playground fixtures in groups, most of the boys taking the basketball court while the girls overtook the swings and hopscotch squares. The rest wandered the yard in pairs or groups of threes or fours, and a few new students like Ino milled around by themselves, hoping for an invitation from the others.

Despite herself, Ino initially couldn't help but look for the dark-haired boy from her class. She found him walking up the track by himself, followed closely by some of the boys in her class. He seemed disinterested until one of them, a loudmouthed blonde, pointed his finger at him and challenged him to a race.

She settled down at the edge of a sandbox and watched them for the rest of recess, fixated on the dark-haired boy as he easily outran the blonde and anyone else who challenged him. He wasn't prone to smiling, but when a triumphant smirk crossed his features each time he won, Ino found her heart giving a hard thump.

She was distracted from the races ten minutes later when she heard shrill laughter coming from her left. Ino raised her head, glancing over to the water fountain.

Three girls stood before a fourth, the latter outnumbered and clearly distressed. Though she couldn't see her face from where she sat, Ino could tell she was close to tears simply from looking at the way her shoulders were hunched and her hands were clasped defensively in front of her.

Without thinking, she stood up and made her way over to them, straying close enough to hear some of the taunts the girls were throwing at her.

_Honestly, making fun of someone's forehead? How lame._

"Hey," she said loudly once she came to stand behind them. "Quit blocking the fountain. Some of us are thirsty, you know."

The group turned to look at her, eyes narrowing into suspicious looks. The victim, a pink-haired shrimp, took a step back but couldn't bring herself to run away. Ino resisted rolling her eyes and put her hands on her hips.

"Thank you," she said sardonically, shouldering past them and to the fountain. She took her time running the water but didn't drink any of it, instead listening to the girls to see if they'd continue the bullying.

When no sound was forthcoming, she stepped away from the fountain and regarded them coolly.

"What are you looking at?"

"Nothing," the middle one answered, narrowing her eyes. "Get lost. We're busy."

"You first," Ino replied, returning her hands to her hips. "I'm allergic to losers like you. I mean come on, three against one? That's just pathetic."

The girls looked visibly started by this and looked towards their leader who mouthed wordlessly for a few moments before glaring.

"What's your problem? You don't even know her."

"So?"

"So it's none of your business!"

"I'm making it my business. What are you gonna do about it?"

The girl said nothing but balled her fists. Ino took a step towards them, allowing the pink-haired girl to hide behind her.

"What were you gonna do next, anyway?" Ino asked disdainfully. "Steal her lunch money? Better get to it, then. You're gonna need a lot to afford plastic surgery on that ugly mug of yours."

Looks were obviously a sensitive spot for the middle girl, for her face coloured in humiliation and she instantly retreated, her two friends following close behind. Unrepentant, Ino spared them a look of contempt and turned to look at the girl behind her.

"Are you okay?"

The girl stared at her with something akin to awe before slowly nodding. Her tears were already drying against her cheeks.

"What's your name?" Ino asked.

"Sakura," the girl replied hesitantly.

Ino considered her, eyeing her head to toe.

Well, she was slightly better in terms of confidence than the dark-haired girl from their class. Kinda weepy, but that could easily be remedied with some tough love. Seemed to have a lot of potential, wouldn't cramp her style, sounded nice enough...

The girl shuffled her feet awkwardly before giving her a shy smile. "What's yours?"

Ino wavered only a moment before grinning back. "It's Ino. Wanna be friends?"

* * *

It lasted seven months, and though it was only seven months, Ino could say with easy conviction that she'd met her soul mate. They were like fitting puzzle pieces, compatible in every way, with Sakura's reserve tempering Ino's outgoingness and vice versa. They never slept on sleepovers, giggling all night and never running out of things to say when their parents went to bed. They shared lunches. They played together. They defended each other. They comforted each other. And Ino grew proud watching Sakura blossom from someone shy and subdued into an intelligent and assertive girl.

After much contemplation, Ino decided to forgo the use of a bracelet, ring, or locket and instead presented Sakura with a pretty red bow, the one she'd use up until the last weeks of school and when it all fell apart.

No one had to tell her that Sakura also liked the dark-haired boy, Sasuke. Every girl (except maybe Hinata) had a crush on the Uchiha, a fact Ino hadn't made public about herself save to some other girls when they'd been discussing him. As for Sakura, her infatuation was obvious whenever Sasuke was around her. When he was chosen to hand back graded assignments, her fingernails would curve over the edge of her desk till her knuckles turned white and her chest would still as she ceased to breathe, relishing the moment he spared her a look and dropped her work onto her desk.

Ino observed this and said nothing, unconcerned and content with the belief that nothing, including having a crush on the same boy, could possibly affect their relationship. It was for that reason she never bothered telling Sakura about liking him in the first place, reassuring herself that it would make no difference when in reality an unsettling, cold feeling began lingering in the pit of her stomach as the school year neared an end.

The feeling only worsened when Sakura suddenly started finding excuses to avoid walking home with her, or when her smiles became strained and no longer reached her eyes. Ino continued to ignore her unease, denying it like the terminally ill would their worsening symptoms, as if pretending it wasn't there would simply make the problem go away.

Ignoring the foreboding feelings no longer became an option one day late in June, when a crumpled note landed on the surface of her desk and rolled onto her schoolwork. Her toes curled within her shoes and her stomach dropped when she unfolded it.

_I have to talk to you after school._

After that, she couldn't remember how the rest of the day had transpired. The rest of the lesson faded into a dull blare in the background as she stared at the board and repeatedly assured herself:

_She won't do this to me. She wouldn't do this to me. She _can't_ do this to me._

The bell rang and she automatically gathered her things and headed for the main gate where Sakura usually met up with her after classes.

Surely enough, Sakura was standing there. She was holding the red ribbon in her right hand.

The sight of it and her grim expression was all Ino needed to see. It was like being stabbed in the gut.

Her face must have paled, for Sakura's expression flickered and for a moment Ino thought she could see regret in those wide green eyes. But then her pride forcefully contorted her features into a sneer even though it felt like she was being rent on the inside. She couldn't remember what she'd said—probably some bluff about how she'd beat her at her own game or something to that effect. The only thing she could remember afterwards was heading home and finding herself with the red bow clenched in her hand. Her throat was throbbing painfully and it wouldn't stop, and though she knew the pain would relent if she gave into it and let herself cry, she endured it to the end of the day, refusing to let the tears fall.

What had happened to the idea of being friends forever? She believed it in her heart of hearts to be true and the dissolution of their relationship had left her shaken to her core. How could it be a lie? And if it was a lie, why would the world give her the impression of it being true in the first place?

It hurt to the extent of making her feel sick and she vehemently vowed to never forgive Sakura, viewing her betrayal as a transgression of the highest degree and seething the summer away with the resolution to never attempt making friends again.

It wasn't a hollow promise, and she stuck to it when the next school year started, even though her new reserved demeanour opened her up to gossip without the fear of reprisal and the rumours ran wild. Suddenly she was the one responsible for their friendship ending. Suddenly she was being accused of trying to steal Sasuke away when it was clear to the entire school that Sakura was in love with him.

Ino bore it with her head held high and a stony expression, even though she crumbled a little inside each time she caught Sakura's eye on the playground and her heartache overwhelmed her anger.

Then, two months after school started, something happened that made Asuma-sensei disappear for a few days, and they had some tired old substitute sit in for him while they ran amok of the classroom. A week later, the principal walked in and informed them Asuma-sensei would not be returning. Before they could ask any further questions, he introduced their new teacher.

The man, who had been standing silently behind the principal the entire time, stepped forward and raised his hand in a wave.

"Yo."

The kids stared at him. A few giggled at the off-colour greeting and the rest looked at the principal sceptically.

The principal cleared his throat. "His name is Hatake Kakashi and I expect each and every one of you to treat him with the same respect as you did Asuma-sensei. Do I make myself clear?"

A sonorous "yes" echoed throughout the classroom. Satisfied, the principal murmured a few words to their new teacher in private before patting him on the back and leaving the room.

Kakashi stood in front of the silent class for a moment longer before turning to his desk and setting his briefcase down. They watched warily, trying to gauge whether his laidback demeanour was just a front for a tough disciplinarian. He took his time removing his coat and gloves but didn't unravel the scarf that covered most of his lower face. He turned towards them and sat on the corner of his desk, surveying them through half-lidded eyes.

No one moved or spoke, recognizing him as the type of teacher who commanded respect and silence without having to ask for it.

"Well then," he said at last, reaching up to scratch his unruly head. "Which one of you feels like taking a trip to the staff room?"

Silence.

Then a hand rose slowly in the back.

He inclined his head towards it and gestured for the volunteer to stand.

"What's your name?"

"Ino," she said promptly.

He rubbed his forehead. "You mind getting me a coffee?"

Ino blinked and nodded and he gestured for her to go ahead.

Then he grabbed the attendance chart off the desk and marked a check next to her name as she hurried out of the room and closed the door behind her. She paused outside the class for a moment, listening as he began rattling off names for attendance.

She took a breath and released it slowly in relief, taking her time ambling down the halls and taking the longest route possible to get to the staff room. The longer she could stay out of class, the better.

The halls were empty and they echoed faintly with the voices of teachers muffled behind closed doors. She hurried past the main office and made her way to the staff room, finding it empty. There was a coffee dispenser in the back, along with a stack of paper cups. Again, she took her time, filling the coffee slowly and gazing around the room.

Her eyes stilled on the box of pastries someone had left open on a coffee table. The teacher _had_ seemed a mite peckish to her, and he seemed to be a no-nonsense, non-favouritism type of guy who wouldn't tolerate any future misbehaviour from the students the way Asuma had. Perhaps if she made a good first impression, he'd grant her permission to do what she'd been bothering Asuma-sensei for since the beginning of the year. Suddenly hopeful, she decided she'd grab a donut for him, too.

By the time she returned to the classroom, the students were sitting hunched over worksheets of multiplication tables while their new teacher wrote some problems up on the blackboard. Ino wordlessly deposited the coffee and donut on his desk and returned to her seat.

By the time the morning recess bell rang, they'd been working on multiplication problems for a straight hour in absolute silence. They looked expectantly over at Kakashi, who didn't even look up from his book as he waved them away with one hand. The class dispersed and filtered out of the room, breaking into loud voices and laughter in the hall. Eventually the voices faded outside and the classroom was silent, the only sounds emanating from the soft rustle of Kakashi turning the pages of his book.

Then he heard a chair scrape over the tiles and lifted his head to see Ino still sitting at her desk, looking idly out the window.

He blinked before leaning forward to look at his chart of seating arrangements and find her name. "Did you need something…er, Ino?"

"Can I spend recess indoors?" she asked without looking away from the window.

His brow wrinkled slightly. "Why would you want to do that?"

"I won't bother you," she continued as if she hadn't heard him. "I'll just sit here and read."

Kakashi tapped a finger against the edge of his book and considered her. It was obvious she didn't want to discuss it, and for such a young kid, she was impressively skilled at the art of inscrutability. But she was not so skilled that she could conceal the slight waver in her voice and the way she swallowed hard each time before answering.

Eventually, Kakashi set down his book and sighed. Handling social issues was not his forte and he was as qualified for dealing with self-esteem problems as he was performing brain surgery. Uncomfortable with the entire situation, he considered calling in one of the female teachers to deal with her, but then realized he couldn't leave her alone in the room.

After a while of weighing the pros and cons, he gave up and slumped back in his seat.

"Why don't you want to go outside?"

She shrugged. "I don't get along with the other girls."

"What about the boys?"

"They're too dumb and immature for me."

Well, he couldn't argue that point.

He thought a moment before trying a different tactic. "You need your fresh air and exercise. You should try making up with your friends."

"When girls fight," she said slowly and empathically, turning a page in her book, "they _never_ make up."

Kakashi rubbed his chin. He couldn't deny that to be true, either.

Typically when boys fought, they punched each other a few times to vent whatever anger and aggression they held toward each other. Then once they'd exhausted themselves and felt satisfied with their respective injuries, they generally forgave and forgot.

And more often than not, girls avoided violence and fought covertly, with vicious tongues and cold shoulders, enabling enough misinterpretations and resentment to ensure a lifetime of enmity.

He _really_ wasn't qualified to deal with this, but he supposed it wouldn't hurt to try.

"Maybe we can work this out," he said. "How about you tell me what happened?"

She didn't reply.

Assuming she needed some time to form an explanation, he leaned back in his chair and waited. But when she remained silent and continued to stare at the same spot in her book, a concerned look crossed his face.

"Ino?"

There was a long silence.

Then she slowly set her book down.

"I didn't do anything," she said at last, voice cracking.

Kakashi stared at her, dismayed when her lower lip drew inward to contain the impending sob and tears streaked down her face. After a minute, he sighed and forced himself to get up and go over to her, grabbing the tissue box off his desk along the way.

He had to give her credit for trying to suck it up and save face in front of him, but whatever was hurting her had to have been hurting bad for her to continuously fail and dissolve into muffled weeping. Wordlessly, he sat down next to her and slid the box across her desk, sparing her dignity by looking away when she snatched the tissues and mopped her face.

"It's okay," he said after she'd managed to compose herself. "You can stay if you want. I won't push you anymore."

Her hands were visibly trembling and she entwined her fingers to still them. "I'm sorry..."

He shook his head. "Don't worry. If anyone asks, I'll make something up." He floundered for a moment, trying to think of something that would cheer her up. "I'll tell them you're allergic to the sun."

It was a lame attempt, but she made a muffled noise that might've been laughter.

"Sure, people will think you're a vampire—"

She emitted another watery giggle.

"—but I suppose it's a sacrifice you're going to have to make."

She nodded, smiling through tears even though her chest still hurt, but the feeling ebbed a little when he reached out and patted her comfortingly on top of her head.

"You'll be okay."

She nodded again, feeling too embarrassed to look him in the face. He seemed to sense this and circled back to his desk. A few minutes later, the bell rang.

As the children filtered back into the class and Kakashi rose from his chair to begin the next set of lessons, Ino spared him a grateful look and hid her face in her book till the end of the day.

* * *

Ino had fervently prayed that night that he wouldn't change his mind about letting her stay indoors the following day. After all, teachers tended to be dismissive of the social conflicts of children and, more often than not, would let their initial compassion dwindle into apathy.

So when the recess bell rang the next morning, Ino remained at her desk and didn't dare look up lest he catch her eye and change his mind. The classroom emptied and fell silent, and after a little while she heard a soft thump and turned her head to look at him.

Kakashi had propped his feet on his desk and folded one arm behind his head. He was looking out the window.

Ino chewed on her bottom lip and tried to go back to her reading, but when she found herself rereading the same page over and over again, she set the book down and looked at him again. Her voice started him out of his reverie.

"I really didn't do anything," she mumbled.

He stared at her, uncomprehending. Then it dawned on him and his gaze turned thoughtful.

"I don't doubt that," he said after a while, shrugging. "Some kids are just jerks."

Ino blinked in surprise.

"It gets better once you get to college," he continued, looking idly out the window again. "But then again…you'll meet jerks in every setting. It's just one of those facts of life."

There was something strange and unfamiliar about the way he was speaking to her, and it confused her until she realized, with a wave of awe and uncertainty, that he was speaking to her the way adults spoke to each other.

When she didn't say anything, he sighed and scratched his head. "I'm not a very good counsellor, am I?"

Ino couldn't help but smile at his self-deprecating tone. "It's okay…" She followed his gaze out the window, the smile gradually fading. "Because I'm _never_ trying to make friends again."

Kakashi spared her a mildly surprised look. "That's a pretty heavy decision for an eleven-year-old."

She fixed him with a defiant look. "It's not my fault."

She half-expected him to lecture her about forgiveness and saying things she didn't mean, but he merely sighed and nodded. "Yeah, I guess you can't be blamed."

He looked out the window again. "I was a pretty lousy friend, too."

She looked at him curiously. He didn't elaborate and she felt it prudent to keep quiet, especially when she took in the pensiveness that crept into his features. Returning to her book, she forced herself to continue reading until the bell rang again.

* * *

The next two weeks passed in the same fashion, the two comfortably tolerating each other in the room while she read and he graded homework. But the monotonous routine was beginning to wear on her and Ino grew restless, hungry for conversation and like-mindedness.

She would disparage herself furiously whenever she found her mind returning to Sakura and she refused to say anything to her teacher about it, knowing he'd probably respond with something along the lines of 'I told you so.' But he was far more perceptive than she gave him credit for and he called her out on it when she put her book down to gaze yearningly out the window at the other kids.

"I had to learn some stuff about child psychology before becoming a teacher," he said offhandedly, not even looking up from his book. "There was a section this big..."

He raised a hand and held his thumb and index finger two inches apart. "...about how important it is for a child to socialize and make friends."

Ino glared half-heartedly at him. "I'm not a child. And I don't _need_ friends."

"Everyone needs friends."

Her tone became petulant. "Then why don't _you_ be my friend?"

"Ah, I would, Ino, but sensei would get funny looks from the department of education."

She sighed and looked out the window again. "This sucks."

He hummed in agreement.

"Was there anyone else who stayed indoors for recess at your old school?"

He was quiet for a long moment. "I taught at a different kind of school before this one. There were no recesses."

Ino gave him a funny look. "What kind of a school is that?"

She could tell he was smiling, even behind his scarf. "A special school."

She felt he was being deliberately vague and gave him a sceptical look. He laughed lightly and rubbed the back of his neck, finally setting his book down on the desk. After a moment's consideration, he gestured for her to take a seat on the desk closest to him.

"Bear with me," he said as she moved to the seat and looked at him curiously. "I'm going to step up on my soapbox for a minute."

He folded his hands together and rested his elbows on the desk, eyes trailing thoughtfully over the stack of graded tests.

"I'm not going to sugar coat the truth. I'm sure you can tell by now but I'm not very good at solving these sorts of...problems. So I'm going to go ahead and tell you what I do know."

He took a deep breath.

"The truth is that you'll meet lots of friends in your lifetime. Some you'll only know for a few days, some a few years. There'll be a couple who hurt you. There'll be a couple you might end up hating. Most of them will forget you, but if you're lucky, you'll meet one or two who'll remember your name even years after you drift apart."

Ino stared at him, flummoxed and a little horrified as he calmly and casually demolished her idealistic model of friendship and negated everything the TV or preteen novels had ever taught her. He seemed to anticipate her reaction and regarded her calmly before continuing.

"Knowing this, you have two choices. You either stay indoors and avoid everyone so you don't get hurt again, or you risk it and give people the benefit of the doubt. Maybe you'll get hurt again, maybe you won't. And if it works out, you might get one or two good friends along the way. If you're one in a lucky million, you'll find a friend who'd even give his life for you."

He paused. "But you have to be brave for that. It's not easy, finding real friends, and sometimes you have to suffer disappointment before you do find them."

Ino mouthed wordlessly at him before finding her voice, the words coming out stilted. "But that's not fair. I was...nice to her. I never hurt her feelings. I never did anything wrong."

He shrugged. "Sometimes it works out that way. You just have to move on."

Ino curled her fingers into trembling fists. "She _really_ hurt me."

He was silent for a moment and studied the surface of his desk. "You won't realize it now, but when you're older, you'll learn that the fear of getting hurt is what keeps people so far apart. Even two people who have the potential to become friends never do because they're afraid. And not just of getting hurt. They're scared of feeling stupid. Of distraction. Of failure."

He smiled at her. "It's why you're lucky to be a kid while it lasts. Kids don't worry about that sort of stuff."

Ino looked torn between bitter resentment and a desperate want to believe him, and after a moment of struggling with herself, lowered her head in acceptance.

"So what am I supposed to _do_?"

"Be yourself," he said simply. "And never be afraid to show how you really feel."

He was silent for several seconds and though he was staring at the graded stack of tests, his eyes eventually lost their focus and his voice grew quiet. "You might regret it for the rest of your life."

She watched him, recognizing his expression to be the same pensive one she'd seen the last time he'd talked to her. It was subduing enough to stem her hurt and anger at his nonchalance and she took the time to calm down and consider what he'd said.

"So..." she began unsurely. "I should tell people exactly what's on my mind?"

"Depends," he replied. "If it's a good thing, never hold back."

"...can I tell you something, then?"

He looked up.

"I think you're weird," she stated. Then her lips turned up in a small smile. "But I think you're really cool, too."

He blinked at her before chuckling and reaching out to ruffle her hair.

They fell into a comfortable silence once more. Ino studied him, wondering what had him so lost in thought.

"Sensei," she ventured, looking up at him imploringly. "You know how you said...if you're lucky, you might meet a friend who'd give their life for you?"

"Mm."

"Do you have a friend like that?"

The wistful look faded from his eyes and he nodded. "Yes. I did."

She bit her lip. "Will I ever meet anyone like that?"

"I don't know," he said, smiling a little at her crestfallen expression. "Maybe, maybe not. But think of it this way—there are six billion people on earth, and at least one of them should be a perfect match."

Ino's eyes widened. "Like...a soul mate?"

He tapped his chin. "Oh, I don't know about _that_, but considering the finite range of personalities and the huge base population, you could say it's a possibility. Logistically speaking, of course."

Ino made a face at him. "I don't know what any of that means."

"Sorry," he said, eyes crinkling at the corners. "I'm getting old, you know. Forgot I was talking to a nine-year-old."

"I'm eleven!" she exclaimed.

"What? Really?"

"Kakashi-sensei!"

"Sorry, sorry—"

He was trying to make her laugh and it was working, and though she was still full of hurt and anger at Sakura and confused over the slew of contradicting and sobering information he'd given her, it gave her a sense of relief to know she'd been wrong.

The possibility of finding true friends, though much smaller than she'd anticipated, was still real. It would simply take some time and effort.

"So," he said, resting his chin in his hand. "If anyone asks, what should I tell them about this whole indoor recess thing?"

Ino hesitated.

"Tell them..." She looked out the window at her playing classmates.

Slowly, a small, determined smile crossed her face. "Tell them I'm not allergic to the sun anymore."

* * *

Looking back on the experience years later and coming to learn subsequent facts about her teacher, Ino came to realize just how difficult it must have been for Kakashi to make the transition from military school to an elementary school. And not just difficult, but painful to have had to make lessons out of his own mistakes for a child who had no concept of real problems.

Now that she thought about it, his patience with her petulance had been remarkable. He talked to her like an adult because he didn't know how to talk to children, and that was a fact he'd done nothing to conceal and something she was grateful for.

There were several things he'd done right and several he'd done wrong, as was to be expected from a man who had no place in an elementary school and didn't know how to deal with prepubescent girls. She still wasn't sure if his obvious regret and habit of reminiscing over his nameless friend had been an appropriate thing to do in front of her, simply because of the way it had enthralled her at the time. She often found herself wondering if people would remember her the same way if she, too, were to die. It was a romantic, selfish and morbid thought, but it became a coping mechanism each time she foresaw a relationship not working out and each time she felt the disappointment and self-disparagement.

Your first best friend was like your first love, she supposed, and it was for that reason she never did fully overcome her reservation to commitment. She was both brave and afraid, being the first to assimilate into groups of friends and being the first to leave before the newfound friendship had a chance to spoil.

It was a hollow way to live, but she coped by assuring herself she'd stick in their minds because she was beautiful and confident and charming, and that one day she would get what she deserved because she was Ino and Ino always got what she wanted. Like Kakashi-sensei had said, out of the six billion people on earth, she would inevitably meet the one who'd be her perfect match.

And if life was right and fair, he would be tall, dark-haired, and have fine, aristocratic features. His bangs would fall into his eyes a certain way, he would talk a certain way and walk a certain way. They'd meet unexpectedly and recognize each other as their missing halves. They would marry and have children and grow old together. They would die together.

It was a ridiculous pipe dream, but if she was fated to be one of the few brave souls taking the fall in the effort to connect with people, it was only fair. Life owed her that much.

Though it wouldn't be all bad. She could remember making a few memorable, fleeting connections, recalling the widowed old lady at the Laundromat, the only child in the family living next door, and the world-weary blonde she'd met last year in that nightclub.

At the thought of him, Ino blinked open her eyes and gazed up at the ceiling.

The room was dark and the contours of her furniture gleamed faintly in the night light. The window was open and she listened to the sounds of cars crunching over gravel in the distance, her head turning against her pillow to look out into the dark.

Vague snatches of their conversation floated into memory and she smiled faintly.

He'd been tired, standoffish, and gloomy. And yet...

She hugged her pillow to her chest.

Something that reminded her of herself—something fervid, bright and disarmingly familiar had burned in his eyes like the flame of a candle about to go out, and she'd found herself drawn to it without any real explanation. When their walk had ended, she had been unnervingly sad to see him go and found it imperative to say exactly what she'd felt in that moment.

_I really like you. _

And because she didn't want to leave—

_Can I take you home with me?_

Ino closed her eyes at the memory of his surprised face and smiled ruefully.

Despite the ridiculousness of the question, she wished he would have agreed, not so much for her sake as his.

When she'd walked away from him, leaving him standing there in the dark, he'd looked as though he'd wanted nothing more than to take her up on the offer and leave his world behind.

* * *

Deidara sat in the middle of his den and stared at the wall. The second hand ticked loudly over the face of the clock, interspersed with the hum of the refrigerator and the light rattle of the air conditioner.

Pages rustled and a pencil scratched over paper. The clock struck noon.

He lowered his eyes to look at his accountant, wondering why his presence was needed at all. But he supposed he couldn't complain—accountants normally didn't make house calls and he would have been stuck waiting his turn in an office somewhere had he not known this accountant since sharing a social science class with him in third year university.

Kakuzu's eyes remained on the figures flashing across the calculator display and Deidara slouched in his chair, wondering how his friend found joy in a career so dry and insipid.

After another ten minutes passed, Kakuzu finally spoke.

"You have $2.2 million in your savings account," he said with a hint of approval. "The figure's gone up a lot more than I expected. Do you have stocks I don't know about?"

Deidara shrugged. "I just get my pay cheques and toss 'em in the bank. Don't care too much about spending."

The way Kakuzu's eyes flickered around the unpacked boxes and meagre furnishings showed he believed him.

"You never struck me as the bungalow type," he commented.

Deidara smirked. He was living alone in a modest, four bedroom house in the middle of the suburbs, the sort of place you'd usually find as the setting for a family-oriented sitcom. But the house was empty and dusty and full of unpacked boxes, and would have looked long-deserted had it not been for his workshop in the basement.

He glanced apathetically around him. "If you're assuming I'd want a house that reflects my occupation, you'd be wrong. Only posers do that, un."

Kakuzu didn't seem bothered by it, which was to be expected. The man was so frugal, Deidara was honestly surprised he didn't live in a cardboard box.

"The main source of your expenditure is your medical bills."

Deidara made a non-committal noise, staring distractedly out the window. Kakuzu sorted through the stack of receipts, tracing the names of the drugs and observing the dosages increase with each ensuing prescription.

It was normally not his business what his clients did with their money, nor did he care. But Deidara fell somewhere between a client and someone who was more than an acquaintance, and he'd known him long enough to see that he'd undergone a drastic change since their last meeting.

"Trouble sleeping?" he said when the blonde finally looked at him.

His face was expressionless. "You can tell?"

That was an understatement. Deidara's skin had lost its lustre and tanned complexion and his eyes had a shiny glassiness to them that bespoke chronic insomnia. And his posture was terrible. He looked half-ready to slide onto the floor.

Kakuzu looked down at the papers. "It says here you had an appointment for a cardiac loop."

Deidara shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah."

Kakuzu stared at him. "That's not part of your usual physical."

"I had to go," he said, rubbing his eyes. "My boss forced me."

When Kakuzu merely gazed at him, Deidara shifted again and made a dismissive gesture with his hand.

"It was nothing. The doctor said it was just a minor syncope, un."

He used the medical term for it, hoping Kakuzu didn't know what it meant and that he'd drop the subject.

But the accountant raised his eyebrows instead. "You fainted?"

_Goddamn it._

"I didn't faint," Deidara snapped, all the more aggravated because he could feel his face colouring. "I was setting up my art pieces in the gallery and lost my balance. That's all, un."

Kakuzu regarded him coolly. "And you remember this?"

Deidara hesitated and instantly realized his mistake in doing so. "No. They told me what happened."

"So you fainted," Kakuzu said with infuriating decisiveness. "Not surprising, considering the amount of drugs you're on. Were there any other symptoms?"

Deidara looked clearly unhappy now. "I was having a weird, fluttery sensation in my chest."

"Were you in love?" Kakuzu asked dryly.

"It was arrhythmia," Deidara said, annoyed. "A side effect of the sleeping pills."

"But you haven't stopped taking them."

The tension left his shoulders and his head dropped in resignation. "I can't sleep without them."

"And the painkillers?"

Deidara gave him a withering look. "You try sculpting twelve hours a day."

Kakuzu remained stoic. "I won't deny that your artistic efforts have paid off; your account balance is proof of that. But you look terrible."

He paused.

"You're not going to die, are you?"

He said this so blandly that Deidara couldn't help but laugh, though it sounded strained and humourless to his own ears.

"I've got another decade or two left in me, un."

"Good," Kakuzu said, hefting his briefcase onto the desk. "Because you're a valuable client."

It was so like for the older man to hide any genuine concern behind that acerbic and sardonic personality, but Deidara could tell that what he said next came from a more personal place.

Kakuzu stood up and glanced at him, looking at him fractionally longer than he needed to. "Take care of yourself, Deidara."

In response, Deidara offered him a thin smile but didn't say anything and Kakuzu left the house shortly after gathering his things and his pay cheque.

After Kakuzu's departure, Deidara got up and meandered around the house for a bit, kicking a few boxes out of the way and doing what he could to avoid looking at the dry-erase board nailed to his kitchen wall. But the compulsive need to glance at the deadlines won out in the end and he found himself standing before the board and staring at the underlined, bold writing at the top.

_6 PIECES DUE FEB. 17__th__._

He looked at his calendar.

August 24th.

"Shit," he muttered, just like he did every morning. It was almost a ritual by now. Wander around the house like a ghost trying to avoid going into the kitchen, but eventually ending up there anyway and feeling his stomach drop each time he looked at his deadlines.

Feeling slightly ill at the recollection of the sad mass of misshapen clay he'd left in his workshop, he looked at the other writing on his board and cursed again.

_Review contract with Jei._

His boss would hound him until they had the meeting and got it over with and Deidara briefly considered holing himself in the house and unplugging all the phones. But after three weeks of trying to sculpt his next piece, the walls were beginning to feel stifling and he almost felt resentful towards the house for failing to provide the conducive atmosphere it once did to creating his artwork.

He debated with himself a while longer, eventually deciding to go for the meeting with the hope that a trip to the gallery might help jumpstart his motivation. That, and he didn't trust himself to stay in the house any longer lest he burn the whole thing down in a fit of frustration.

Without further deliberation, he called a cab and trudged upstairs to get changed into a clean t-shirt and jeans, grabbing his wallet and keys along the way. The car honked outside ten minutes later and he left the house, squinting in the obscenely bright light and muttering a greeting to his usual driver.

If he had the time or the inkling, he might have invested in buying a car or at least learning how to drive, but the vast amount of money sitting in his bank account spared him the need. Navigating downtown in a car was suicide as far as he was concerned, anyway, and the last thing he needed to worry about was getting into a four-car pileup and a subsequent pile of shit with an insurance company.

The taxi pulled up beside the art gallery twenty minutes later. Deidara handed the driver the cash and climbed out, leisurely making his way inside. It was a Wednesday afternoon and the gallery was quiet, the usual atmosphere in the summer when the schoolchildren were absent.

A few old people wandered around and Deidara made his way through the atrium and into the hall of classical art, trying to remember where Jei's office was when a voice rang across the hall.

"_There _you are!"

Deidara looked up and fought back a grimace as Jei rushed over to him, looking both relieved and indignant.

He took an automatic step backwards, one because the man had a habit of standing too close and speaking in an affected undertone that struck Deidara as deliberately patronizing, and second because he wore too much goddamn cologne.

As if on cue, a wave of sandalwood washed over him and Deidara fought back a cough.

"I've been waiting a week for you to show up," Jei scolded. "I hope you were aware we had a meeting today to discuss the contract—"

"That's why I'm here," Deidara interrupted, in no mood for preamble. "Where's your office?"

Jei frowned. "The office isn't necessary. I just called you here to make sure you're keeping up with your quota."

Deidara all but glared at him. "You called me here for that?"

Jei's voice immediately softened and he sidled closer, oblivious to Deidara's annoyed expression. "Look, I know it's a lot of pressure and I'm worried about you. I just wanted to see how you were doing."

"I'm fine," Deidara gritted out. "And I'll have the quota filled."

"Oh, I have no doubt of that," Jei said while still managing to look extremely doubtful. "But I want to remind you I'm getting calls from Italy. These people are _serious_. Do you know what this could do for your career?"

Realizing Jei had gone off into full lecture mode, Deidara tuned him out and nodded without hearing a single thing he was saying, instead staring past him and at the small group of people filtering through to the classics. There were some art students from the local college, a few distinguished old people, some foreign tourists—

He blinked and tilted his head more to the right to look past Jei's face and at the figure standing near the rear of the group. Her long blonde hair was done up in a ponytail and there was something disarmingly familiar about the way she'd slung her handbag over her shoulder and was twirling the hole-punched itinerary.

Jei immediately detected his wandering attention and moved to block whatever was distracting him. "Deidara, honestly, this is a big deal. I feel like I'm talking to myself, here. Do I have your word that you'll come through on the six pieces you promised for February?"

Deidara looked up at him blankly, tuning in long enough to hear the last half of the sentence. At the same time, he could see her move towards the edge of his peripheral vision and felt his denial creep towards uncertainty. His boss was staring at him with expectation written all over his face and Deidara hazarded a guess at what he wanted to hear.

"Er, yeah."

_Get real, Deidara. There's such a thing as pushing the limits of probability._

Jei wrinkled his brow and shifted his body in the direction Deidara kept looking in. "Are you sure?"

He relented beneath the brunt of his own scepticism, forcing himself to look away and back at his boss. But then the girl turned around and his eyes reflexively flitted back in her direction, ready to look away just as fast until he saw her face and did a double take. Jei detected the surprise in his face and turned to look at the same time she departed through the doorway and into the next exhibition hall.

_Holy shit. That is her._

"I'll have them ready," Deidara suddenly said, meeting Jei's gaze when he turned back around with a confused frown. "I promise, un."

Jei looked at him uncertainly. "Fine. I'm counting on you. In the mean time, there's some paperwork in my office I need you to fill out."

Deidara looked towards the other hall. "Right now?"

"Well, not next _week_, certainly—"

"Tomorrow," Deidara interrupted, already backing away from him. "Right now I need to...go do something."

With that, he turned around and hurried out of the room.

The pessimistic voice in his head was ready for him the moment he stepped out into the hall.

_What do you think you're doing? Are you really that desperate for a distraction that you're going to go chasing after a girl you only talked to for two hours last year?_

His steps slowed at that but he didn't stop. True, he had been looking for an excuse to get away from his boss and the impending deadlines, wanting, for just a moment, for his mind to be occupied by something irrelevant and different. It was just like last year, when he'd allowed her to distract him from his responsibilities in favour of a two-hour conversation on horoscopes and Andy Warhol.

But this time, the coincidence of seeing her again a year later in the same city was too much to ignore, and he felt it imperative not to let her out of his sight.

_Be careful, Deidara_, the voice in his head said dryly._ You're turning into an escapist airhead._

He ignored the thought and followed her, keeping his distance and growing more and more disillusioned with what he was doing.

She won't remember me, he told himself repeatedly, watching her pause near a 17th century painting. And even if she does, there's no guarantee she'll be the same person she was last time.

In retrospect, after he'd managed to find a payphone on that deserted street and had taken a cab home, her odd behaviour during their first meeting made him think she'd probably been drinking. He couldn't think of anything else that would justify the things she'd said or the way she'd kissed him goodbye. Sober, cautious people didn't do things like that.

But then he knew he'd be denying her obvious lucidity and the way she'd initiated a discussion on artistic philosophy. He couldn't think of many drunks who'd do that, either.

So maybe she's mental, he thought dismissively, stopping at the doorway and watching her make her way to another display. But based on the way she carried herself and dressed, he decided she was far too put-together to fall into the mentally unbalanced category. And even if she was crazy, it was certainly in a harmless, pleasant sort of way.

She stopped, suddenly, turning her attention to a group of statues, and he stopped a short distance behind her.

_So what the hell are you intending to do, exactly?_

The rapid fire of cynicism receded, then, and he merely stood there, half-tense with the resolution to walk towards her or head back the way he came.

_She won't remember me._

But you remember her, he reminded himself.

Without further thought, he slipped his hands into his pockets and walked forward. Some art students and elderly patrons milled around, eventually moving towards the other end of the room as she lingered by a Roman statue in a hollowed alcove. His sneakers were soundless against the polished tiles and his steps eventually slowed until he was standing a few feet behind her.

She was reading the information plaque on the side wall, oblivious to his presence, and he took his time musing over how different she looked compared to the last time he'd seen her. No flip flops, sparkling sequined dress or iridescent glitter highlighting the crests of her cheeks. Her new look was far more subdued, consisting of a purple silk blouse over pants and black flats, whereas he looked marginally better than last time in a t-shirt and jeans absent of dust and clay.

And he still didn't even have an adequate explanation for why he was there, his only real reason being the shallow desire to distract himself from work. That combined with the disparity between this girl and the one he'd met that night was enough to dissuade him. Why ruin a good thing? Their first meeting had been remarkable enough to stick in his memory, and he had the inkling a follow-up would only be awkward and pale in comparison.

He studied the distance between them, noting she was standing close enough for him to touch.

He reached out, hand hovering uncertainly in the air above her shoulder. She lingered there long enough for him to easily get her attention, but eventually the weight of his pessimism forced him to drop his hand back down to his side. He watched her move to the next piece while twirling the itinerary again and couldn't help but smirk faintly at the familiar gesture.

Making up his mind, he tucked his hands back into his pockets and backed up a few steps, watching her wander away before turning to leave. The small group of people began filtering out of the room behind him and he could hear the light tapping of her shoes as she made to follow. The steps almost faded to silence until he heard a distant clatter.

He turned his head instinctively and found her kneeling to gather the itinerary that, in the midst of her twirling, had flown out of her hand. Before he could react, she'd straightened and lifted her head, looked right through him and shouldered her bag before turning to follow the rest of the group.

Then she stopped.

Deidara blinked when she turned towards him again, her expression stilling. For a moment, her face mirrored the faces of every patron in the gallery—opaque, self-absorbed, unreadable—but then her eyes widened and the only thing he could liken the transformation to was someone startling from a deep, long sleep.

The spark of recognition in her eyes rooted him to the spot and he was too distracted by the blazing radiance of the smile that spread over her face to realize that she'd broken into a jog.

It only took her a second to reach him and he stumbled back in shock when she threw her arms around him. Reeling backwards, he nearly crashed into a 275 thousand dollar vase and blindly reached out to steady himself, managing to grab the wall. Once he had his balance, he glanced quickly over his shoulder to ensure the safety of the vase before looking back at her in astonishment.

She pulled away and held him at arms-length, her smile only widening at his expression. "I can't believe this. I remember you from last year! I almost didn't recognize you but your hair gave it away. How have you been?"

He mouthed wordlessly for a few seconds. "Fine," he finally managed. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm going to college here," she said, looking both flustered and incredibly happy. "What about you?"

"Work," he said falteringly, startled by how dismally wrong he'd been. She was exactly as he remembered her.

"Work?" Her eyes widened. "What? Here?"

"Yeah," he said, realizing they'd never gotten that far in their previous conversation. "I'm an artist."

"Oh, right!" She snapped her fingers and pointed at him. "I should've figured that after you said something along the lines of true art being fleeting."

He couldn't help being pleased at that. "That was a year ago, un. I'm surprised you remember."

She beamed and he cocked his head at her.

"It's...Ino, right?"

An odd look crept over her face.

"…you remember my name?"

He raised an eyebrow at her reaction. "Yeah."

Her smile widened and he couldn't get over the overwhelming amount of gratitude that washed over her features. Before he could say anything else, a flash of movement in the next hall caught his eye and he looked over her shoulder to see Jei walk in, very obviously in search of someone.

Ino blinked at the strained look that passed over Deidara's face.

"Is something wrong?"

"Nothing. My boss is looking for me, wants me to fill out some paperwork..."

"Oh." She bit her lip. "You're busy, then?"

He hesitated and regretted the words as soon as he said them. "It's better if I just take care of it now, un. He won't leave me alone until I do."

Disappointment flickered briefly over her face, but she forced a smile and twirled the end of her ponytail around her finger. "I understand, I've got a hair appointment in an hour, anyway."

There was an awkward moment of silence.

"Well, now that I've moved to the city, will I see you around?" she asked at last.

"Probably," he said automatically, berating himself at the same time. "I'm at the gallery most of the time, un."

_You idiot. You goddamn idiot. _

She smiled slightly and shouldered her bag, taking a step backwards. "I'll see you around, then."

He nodded, feeling decidedly stupid as he just stood there, watching her leave.

_What are you doing? You don't want to be here. You don't want to talk to Jei about the contract. Why are you still here?_

He listened and did nothing, his inhibitions and a wave of doubt rooting him to the spot.

Why he'd cut the conversation short and now felt compelled to go after her, he wasn't certain. A part of him conceded to the fact that it was absolutely pathetic that their second meeting—which had defied all reasonable probability in happening—would be over in less than sixty seconds. All he knew was that she'd provided a blissful escape when he'd been in a similar predicament a year before, and Jei was getting closer while she was getting farther away.

As she stepped around the corner and disappeared from sight, his legs suddenly moved on their own.

"Deidara, I wanted to talk to you about—"

Jei stopped short when Deidara suddenly took off down the hall, almost running. Confounded, he stood there a moment before going after him, assuming he hadn't heard him call out.

"Deidara, wait!"

Ignoring the voice behind him, Deidara slowed to a stop between the junction dividing the hall for the performance art exhibit and the gift shop. Hearing Jei call his name again, he uttered a curse and turned his head left and right for a viable exit, eventually choosing to take a shortcut through the gift shop to the back door that would lead out into the parking lot.

Hoping he would lose Jei in the convoluted and crowded annals of the shop, he weaved his way through the stands of art prints and miniature sculptures, almost knocking over an old woman as Jei appeared at the front of the shop.

Cursing his boss's stubbornness, he aimed an apologetic and helpless look towards the nearest shop employee, who knew him well enough to recognize what he was running from. Sighing and shaking her head, she gestured for him to go ahead.

Deidara didn't hesitate and vaulted over the table of baseball caps and t-shirts, knocking over a fair portion of the merchandise before bursting through the exit.

He jumped the short flight of steps leading down from the door and emerged into the parking lot, half-considering running out into the street and hailing a cab when a hand suddenly seized his and pulled him aside.

He staggered sideways into the bushes. Before he could react, Ino had his back to the wall of the building and one manicured finger pressed up against his lips. He stared at her, speechless, as she winked and gestured for him to be quiet.

A moment later, the door opened, just a few feet above his head and next to the bushes they were hiding in. From the corner of his eye, Deidara could see Jei's Italian leather shoes through the foliage on the top step.

"Where on earth...?" he heard him mutter. "I could've sworn..."

A smile spread slowly across Ino's face and she lowered her finger from his lips.

"I decided I could always reschedule," she whispered, eyes twinkling mischievously. "And I can tell you're not keen about staying here. How about it? Wanna ditch work with me?"

Deidara merely stared at her.

I am going to get into so much shit for this, he thought blankly.

Even Jei wasn't dense enough to miss the fact that Deidara had very obviously been running away from him, and he knew he'd get an earful the next time he saw him, but...

He lowered his eyes. She was still holding his hand.

_But I don't care._

He raised his gaze and didn't answer her, but the way he looked at her and his fingers unconsciously gripped back was all the confirmation she needed. Without a moment's pause, she yanked him out into the parking lot and didn't let go of his hand as she broke into a sprint towards a purple convertible.

He ceased all thinking, striving to keep up lest Jei happen to look across the parking lot and see him running away like a crazy person. The last thing he needed was a referral to see a psychiatrist, so when she took aim with her car starter and unlocked the doors, he flung open the passenger door and jumped in without reservation.

Ino jammed the key in the ignition, gunned the engine, and Deidara was grateful he'd managed to get the seatbelt on before she floored the gas and tore out of the parking lot with a screech of tires. Plastered to his seat beneath the g-force, he looked over at her in shock as she swung out onto the road and burst into triumphant laughter, tossing her whipping hair behind her shoulder.

"I haven't done anything like that since high school," she exclaimed. "Hope you don't get into too much trouble. But whatever, it was worth it."

Once the shock wore off and she merged into the flow of traffic, Deidara couldn't help but agree. The sun was bright and warm after the initial sting subsided and the gust of wind was invigorating. Gradually, the weight of the deadlines slipped away into the back of his mind and for the first time in a long time, he felt a profound sense of peace.

"So," she said after a moment, slowing to cruising speed. "Where to?"

He considered the question but eventually closed his eyes. "It doesn't matter. Anywhere."

She was quiet for a few seconds and he felt the car slow as she stopped at a red light.

"I heard this place has nice beaches. We can go for a walk."

He made a noise of assent, idly wondering how long it had been since he'd walked along the coast and had seen the sea.

"I'm so glad you found me."

He opened his eyes at that, struck by her choice of words. She met his gaze but didn't elaborate, offering him an enigmatic smile instead. Before he could ask, her eyes widened and she snapped her fingers again.

"Oh! And before I forget to ask…"

She turned in her seat to face him, sounding sheepish. "What's your name?"

He blinked.

Then the absurd reality of the question sank in and he dropped his head back against the seat, his disbelief giving away to laughter. She watched him in that familiarly polite, puzzled way as he shook his head and covered his face with one hand.

_We met a year ago. You told me your life story. You kissed me goodbye. You told me you loved me. And now we're going to the freaking beach._

Eventually the chuckles faded into a small, tired grin and he dropped his hand from over his eyes to look at her.

"It's Deidara, un."


	3. What Is Hidden, What Is Real

Caught You on the Flip Side

By: firefly

Note: First and foremost, a _big_ thank you to everyone who reviewed chapter 2. I really, really appreciate the feedback. Secondly, did I say that this fic would be three or so chapters when I first posted it? Because if I did, I don't know what the hell I'm talking about. It'll probably be around six chapters? I'm not sure. But no worries, I have all the major plot points and the ending thought out. :D

The only warning for this chapter is that it's VERY LONG. The reason it took forever to write was because I was fretting over the length and wondering how to shorten it, but I eventually realized I couldn't at the risk of screwing up the continuity and whatnot, so this is the result.

Anyway, please enjoy, and reviews are always love!

Caught You on the Flip Side ch.3

Lights hummed.

Grout cracked.

And even the walls groaned if the silence was dense enough. Funny, how in his younger, more carefree days there had never been a moment's inactivity long enough to enable such stillness.

The noises seemed all the more pronounced now that the angry screams, heavy footsteps and violent shattering of clay had faded. Opening his eyes, Deidara looked dispassionately at the broken shards littering the floor around him.

Dents and scuffs marred the walls and dismembered clay figures littered the floor. He surveyed the damage, noting the clay shards had reached as far as the spare bedroom he slept in when his work left him too exhausted to make the trip upstairs.

Venting his rage and frustration on the walls of his workshop was nothing new, nor did it make him feel better. And in a way he supposed he should stop because he honestly preferred the rush of burning fury at his own incompetence to the listlessness that followed the outbursts.

Now, sitting slumped against his drawing board, he turned his head in the crook of his arm. The small clock on the wall read 10:15 PM. His gaze trailed up to the calendar propped at the top of his desk.

September 23.

Even the whiteness of the page sent a stabbing pain radiating through his sore eyes and he closed them again to the bright lights and grey walls. The sounds of humming and creaking crept back into consciousness. Too weary to entertain his usual anxieties over his lack of progress and the impending deadlines, Deidara buried his head deeper into his arms to tune out the noise and listen to his detached subconscious.

_Be honest_, it said. _Don't lie._

_When was the last time, really and truly, that you stopped worrying about everything and just _lived_?_

The most obvious examples were the euphoric days of being discovered, but that had been five years ago. The most recent memory, as short as it had been, was from a month earlier.

The sun had been at its apex and hung in the centre of the sky, radiating summer heat over his neck and shoulders. From the boulder he was sitting on, he watched Ino roll her pants up to her knees and toss her black flats onto the sand before she ventured towards the tumbling surf. The tide had receded and left the sandbank dotted with rocks, seaweed, and clam shells, and her feet left imprints in the damp sand as she stopped at the water's edge. The next wave brought the ocean cascading over her feet and she emitted a gasp at the frigid water pooling around her ankles.

He watched her a little longer before moving his gaze out to the ocean and the smattering of sailboats silhouetted against the horizon. She called out to him to join her and he shook his head, mind still buzzing with the way he'd run out on Jei at the gallery. He'd been ready to continue brooding over the consequences of what he'd done until a shockingly cold, wet hand seized his wrist and pulled.

"Come _on_," she said, looking at him as if he was insane. "You can't come to the beach and not go in the water. Take off your shoes."

He refused and made to pull his arm back, but she only tightened her grip and dragged him over to the water's edge. Relenting, he kicked off his sneakers and rolled up his jeans, walking out with her into the water. He stepped into it and cursed at the temperature, earning a laugh as she moved beside him, seemingly content with just standing there and looking out at the horizon.

Then at some point she'd crouched in the surf to comb the sand for pebbles and he'd knelt beside her, balancing on his toes and remaining oblivious to the fact that the ensuing waves had washed his mind clean of everything except for what was there in that moment.

The sun burned against the crown of his head and he submerged his hands in the cold current, watching them ripple beneath the surface. He discovered an abandoned snail shell amongst the rocks and lifted it out of the water, examining its battered edges when Ino reached out and dropped a smooth, bottle green stone in the centre of his palm. It glistened wetly next to the shell and his expression slowly turned pensive as she spoke.

"Even the rocks," she said, running her hands through the shallow pool around her, "even they get beaten into a different shape after a while."

His mind instantly reverted back to his artwork, cracking and wearing in the gallery basement, and the moment of reprieve was instantly over. It had been thirty days since then.

Progress was excruciatingly slow on his next piece and whatever he did manage to produce was met with self-disparagement. It either wound up forgotten in a corner somewhere or destroyed once it had dried. The sheer frustration welling up inside him was enough to bring a man to tears.

The visions and inspiration were clear in his mind's eye, every slope and every angle conceived before he even drew it down. But the instant the cold, damp clay touched his fingers, some insurmountable barricade slammed up between thought and formation. All he could see were his old sculptures, devolving from art into clay husks once their novelty was gone.

His mode of operation had always been to dispose of anything he made once the next idea came into fruition. Art was fleeting and his skill was limitless. There was no cap on the opportunity for betterment and each piece following the previous was always better, always showcasing the very best of his talent as it was in that moment.

He didn't think he knew a love deeper than what he felt looking upon a newly finished sculpture, its perfection and his subsequent satisfaction offering a high no drug could match. He'd revel in it, bask in the praise of others and the accolades in the newspapers, and then the next idea would come along and he'd throw his old work aside because this new one would be better, more sophisticated, more refined.

His older pieces would then only become a burdensome reminder of how subpar they'd been and that nothing in the past could measure up to what his talent was in the here and now.

That had been his unwavering philosophy until the praises got louder and the magazines and the art shows and the collectors were all clamouring up around him. And somewhere caught up in the noise and euphoria, he'd gotten the idiotic idea in his head that he'd reached his peak and that perfection could go no further.

The pay cheques were greater than everything he'd ever earned combined, but it was the guarantee of fame and the vision of his works in famous galleries that made signing a five-year contract as effortless as breathing. What could be better, he'd reasoned, then spending the next five years doing what he loved while it made him rich and famous?

Even if it meant spontaneous moments of inspiration would no longer cut it and art would have to stem from production on demand. Even when the fervour mounted and his workload increased to match. Even when eight hours sleep became six, then five, then four, and then whatever he was lucky to scrounge up in a day.

The pain in his shoulders and back from sitting hunched over his work became chronic, and having no patience for it, he sought the quick fix and drowned it out with analgesics. Sleep began eluding him and his appetite went with it. He lost weight. He constantly felt tired. But the accolades kept coming and he thrived on it, increasing the dose of his medications to match the worsening insomnia and pain. He knew his behaviour was self-destructive, but by then he'd already resolved to sacrifice everything in the pursuit of art, including health.

The drugs and fame sustained him for the first two years. Then, as the first gallery exhibition of that year ended and work began on the second, his mind continuously drifted to his older sculptures. Some were put into random parts of the gallery to take up space. Some were shifted to storage. Some just disappeared. But every single one of them lingered in his mind's eye, weighing on him each time he sat down to make something new.

The phrenic shackles only grew heavier as the pain and sleeping meds lost their effectiveness and the process of artistic creation declined into exhaustive, menial work. The third year of his contract had been nothing less than excruciating and he'd barely fulfilled his quota, the experience leaving him shaken and apprehensive over how he could possibly survive the next two years in the same fashion.

This was year four. The past thirty days had comprised the longest streak of his creative stagnation and he supposed the only reason he hadn't gone insane yet was because of Ino.

His fists loosened at the thought of her.

She'd taken to dropping by his house occasionally, strangely always when he seemed to most need it, bringing conversation and fresh flowers for his kitchen table. Sometimes she forced him to accompany her on errands, on the premise that he needed his fresh air and sunshine.

He welcomed the distractions, stowing his worries into the back of his mind when he was with her—not quite forgetting, but creating enough distance to take a breather so he could return to work with a fresh perspective. Immersing himself in somebody else's life to forget about his own was becoming as much of a habit as his drug dependency.

As if on cue, his shoulders gave a sharp pang that radiated down his spine when he lifted his head from his arms. Ignoring the pain, he listened for the odd, muffled noise he'd heard. After a few seconds, he heard it again and realized it was the doorbell from the first floor. He glanced at the clock. It was 10:30.

He considered ignoring it at first, but then it rang again and he looked wearily around at his workshop and the mess on the tiles. Deciding he needed a break, he pushed himself off his stool and made his way upstairs.

The doorbell rang once more when he reached the door. Feeling his temples throb at the annoying tune, he unlocked the door and flung it open, preparing to chew out whoever the hell it was.

The sight of the visitor, though, made the words fall short of his lips.

"Hey Deidara-chan," Hidan said, grinning at his surprised face. "Thank Jashin, I thought you were dead or something."

Deidara's expression flattened at the nickname. "What are you doing here?"

Hidan shifted on the spot and looked around the veranda.

"Aren't you gonna invite me in?"

"Don't you have to be up early for a sermon tomorrow?" Deidara deadpanned, looking pointedly at the other man's black cassock.

Hidan gave him a reproachful look. "Just invite me in, you douche."

Deidara fought off a retort, deciding the headache wouldn't be worth it, and wordlessly stepped aside to let Hidan into the house. The other man immediately walked into one of the surrounding boxes and let out a curse, hopping on one foot as Deidara manoeuvred around him and smirked.

"Watch your step, un."

"What is all this shit?" Hidan said once he recovered. "I thought you moved in a long time ago."

"I did. I just haven't gotten around to unpacking."

"Tch. If you needed help, you could've just asked, seriously."

"I've been busy," Deidara retorted. "Just say whatever the hell you're here to say. It's late, un."

Hidan pressed his lips into a thin line, hesitating momentarily and pulling his hands out of his pockets. He looked strangely out of place when he wasn't standing against the backdrop of his church, his cassock a vivid contrast to the pale yellow walls and maple staircase. Deidara hadn't seen him in months but had since heard Hidan had gotten the lease on a quaint little building for his church, spending every waking moment renovating it to start his career as a Jashinist minister.

At the moment, however, he looked troubled and was running his fingers agitatedly through his hair. "Okay. I'm just gonna be up front with this. You know how Kakuzu does our taxes every year?"

Deidara raised an eyebrow. "Yeah."

"Yeah, well, that fuckhead just up and left me with a shitload of receipts. Everything's all over the place and I don't know where to start. I swear it's—"

"Did you pay him?" Deidara interrupted.

Hidan looked mildly contrite. "That's the thing. I told him I'd pay him at the end of the month."

"You should know by now he doesn't do anything for free."

"Come on, it's not like I'm gonna cheat him out of a payment. I just needed a little time is all. But anyway, he just left me and you know I don't know shit about that stuff, and I'm fucked unless I get them filed because they'll seize my property."

Deidara's visible eye moved towards the window and settled on his driveway. "Your car?"

"My church!" Hidan all but wailed, looking as though he was on the verge of tears. "I'm in bad shape as it is and I've got to get my taxes in by the end of this month or they're gonna take my church away. My _church_, for fuck's sake. That's sick _and_ sacrilegious."

Deidara merely stared at him. "So why'd you come to me?"

Hidan scratched his head. "Look, I just need to wait for my funding from the head church to come in and then I'm set. Until then, I sorta—"

"Need to borrow money?" Deidara finished, unimpressed.

"Er, yeah," Hidan said sheepishly. "Just to pay Kakuzu. But I'll owe you back as soon as I get the funding."

Deidara reached up to rub his right temple where his headache was starting to get progressively worse. "Why don't you just borrow money from the bank, you moron?"

"The situation's kinda complicated, okay?" Hidan said impatiently. "I've got shitty credit. Trust me, I've tried everything. I wouldn't have come to you if I didn't have a choice."

"Why didn't you ask Itachi? Or Sasori?"

"Come on, Deidara-chan, you know I don't know those guys as well as I know you."

"Oh, really? I had no idea we were such good friends," Deidara sniped, growing more irritable by the second. "I'm in no mood for your crap. Go bug someone else."

"Don't make me beg, Deidara-chan. Because I will."

"Go ahead. Just do it outside."

Hidan frowned at him. "You're kind of an asshole, you know that?"

Deidara scowled back. "You're not exactly helping your case, un."

At those words, Hidan blinked and seemed to consider something. Then his expression cleared and he grinned triumphantly.

"Hey, remember the time you blew up the chemistry lab in third year? Who took the rap for that?"

Surprised, Deidara looked at him a moment before his expression soured at the reminder. Despite his aversion to the memory, he couldn't deny it to be true.

"You did," he muttered, remembering how Hidan had spent that night in a holding cell as Pain and the others had scrambled to get enough money to post his bail.

"Right, and did I ever ask you to pay me back?"

_Shit._

"No," he sighed.

Hidan needn't say anymore. He grinned expectantly as Deidara's shoulders slackened in resignation and he reached into his back pocket.

"Only because of that one time," he grumbled as he withdrew his wallet. "Don't ever bring that up again, un."

"Sure thing, Deidara-chan."

"How much do you need?"

"Two-fifty."

Deidara blinked. "That's it?"

"Yeah," Hidan said, sounding sheepish again. "I'm broke, but that's all I need to pay that bastard Kakuzu with. And I'll pay you back like I said."

"Don't bother." Deidara fished three hundred dollars cash out of the wallet and held it out. "Consider this me owing you back for the chemistry lab."

Hidan took the money slowly, eyes widening. "What? Seriously?"

When he didn't deign him with a reply, a wry smile crossed the Jashinist's face and he cuffed the blonde's shoulder.

"I take the asshole thing back. You're a fucking saint."

"Yeah, right," Deidara mumbled, vaguely envious as relief washed over Hidan's features. "Just go. I need to get back to work."

Hidan paused and stared at him a moment, not missing the wince that had flickered briefly on his face. "Hey, what's with you, anyway? You look like shit."

"Thank you," Deidara seethed. "But I'm fine. Now get out, un."

Unfazed, Hidan observed him a moment longer before gripping the pendant of his rosary.

"I'll pray for your soul, anyway. Looks like you need it."

Deidara moved to the door as Hidan stepped out onto the veranda and made his way towards the driveway. As he watched Hidan walk to his car, he bit his lower lip. He was never one to ask for favours if he could help it, so it was a testament to how desperate he was when he found himself reluctantly calling out.

"If you're going to do that," he said, gesturing to Hidan's rosary when he looked up, "you might as well make it useful and pray that I get my quota filled before February."

Hidan looked at him a moment before snorting and opening the door to his car. "Like that'll do you any good when you're dead."

He started the car and put it in reverse, leaning his head out the window as it backed down the driveway.

"Seriously, just watch," he called back. "You'll need me for a huge favour one day and I swear I'll come through for you. And I'll do it for _free_, goddamn it."

Deidara merely shook his head and waved him away, only for Hidan to stop the car at the foot of the driveway and lean his head out the window again.

"Hey, you check your mail recently?"

Deidara thought back to the pile he'd let build up on his kitchen counter. At his silence, Hidan only grinned and waved goodbye.

"See you in three months, Deidara-chan."

Without further elaboration, he drove away. Deidara looked after the car till the headlights disappeared down the dark street before pulling back into the house and closing the door. He went into the kitchen, making it a point to avoid looking at his dry-erase board as he filled a glass with water and sat at the table with the stack of unread mail.

The majority of it was bills and the rest was comprised of charity letters, coupon packages, and bank statements. Most of it wound up in the trashcan behind him. After he'd gotten rid of the bulk, his gaze fell on a powder-blue envelope in the centre of the pile.

The return address was unfamiliar but it was the fancy calligraphy denoting his name and address that piqued his attention. He slit it open from the side and reached inside, finding a card. It only took him one look at the cover to realize what it was.

Pain and Konan's wedding invitation.

Unsurprised, he opened the card and read through it. Keeping true to their status, they were holding the reception in the banquet hall of the Metropolitan Hotel at the end of December, three months from now. He'd hardly finished reading it when the doorbell rang again.

Muttering a curse, he looked at the time—nearly 11:00—before pushing himself out of his chair. Wondering what the hell Hidan wanted this time, he prepared to greet his friend with some choice words as he strode over to the door and yanked it open.

For the second time that night, he found himself at a loss for words when he saw who it was.

"Hey," Ino greeted, stepping inside and shoving a box into his arms. "Be a peach and put this on the table? I need to use the bathroom."

Without giving him a chance to respond, she sidestepped him and jogged up the staircase to the second floor. Confused, Deidara simply stood in front of the door with the box in his arms for a few seconds before he slowly kicked the door shut and moved into the kitchen to set the box on the table. It was enclosed on all sides by flimsy cardboard and taped at the edges. He guessed cake, then wondered why she'd brought cake to his house in the middle of the night until she came down a few minutes later and sank heavily into a chair across from him.

"Hope I didn't interrupt anything," she said, taking in his clay-caked clothes.

He thought of the mess he'd left downstairs and bit the inside of his mouth. "Not really. What are you doing out so late?"

He looked pointedly at her work wear from the advertising agency she worked at part-time. Ino groaned in response and kicked off her heels, hauling herself forward to open the box.

"It's my birthday," she said, unveiling a strawberry sponge cake.

"Today?" he said blankly.

"Yeah." She glanced at the clock before digging through her purse. "Only one more hour left, though. I was late because I had a hard time finding a bakery that was open this late and then I realized I forgot the candles—"

She tossed a pack onto the table.

"—and you know how those are the most important part."

At his nonplussed expression, she smiled a little and opened the package, spilling the little candles onto the tabletop. "This is only going to sound lame to you, but it's my first birthday away from home. Usually we celebrate with a cake every year, and it felt wrong not to keep up the tradition. And since I don't really know anybody else here..."

She trailed off, hoping he understood.

His face remained unreadable, but eventually a faint smirk crossed his lips. "You're right. That is lame."

"Shut up," Ino retorted playfully, placing the candles around the top of the cake. "Get a knife and some plates."

He gathered what she asked for, leaving them on the table and leaning against the counter to watch as she proceeded to light each of the twenty-two candles. She was humming the song under her breath and had a wistful look in her eyes as she finished and took a moment to gaze at the tiny flickering lights.

"I guess it's too much to ask you to sing to me," she said suddenly.

"It is," he affirmed. "Just blow them out before you burn down my house."

She grinned at that and took a deep breath, closing her eyes as she blew all twenty-two candles out at once. The sweet, acrid smell of smoke filled the air and she was gleeful to see that she'd gotten them all in one go.

"That's good luck," she remarked, watching the wisps of smoke float up to the ceiling and dissipate. She took another deep breath as if relishing the smell, then took the knife and cut a slice into the cake before looking up at him expectantly.

"Feed me the first bite."

He blinked in bewilderment. "Why?"

"Duh, because it's tradition. In my family, everyone takes a turn feeding the birthday girl."

"I'm not a part of your family, though."

"So what? Just do it."

Shaking his head at her persistence, he straightened from his position against the counter and took the fork from her as she grinned and swept her hair back from her face. He purposely jabbed the fork deep into the cake and unearthed a big piece, holding it out.

Ino gave him a look but opened her mouth anyway, leaning forward to take a nibble. He let her take a small bite, then took the rest and smeared it across her cheek.

The expression on her face and her shocked cry made getting frosting all over his hand worth it.

"I'm going to kill you," she gasped, scrambling for tissues in her purse as he snickered and rinsed his fingers off in the sink. "What was that for?"

"Tradition," he drawled, returning to his seat and offering her a paper towel.

Once she wiped her face clean and gave him a half-hearted shove, she cut two slices of the cake and they settled into a comfortable silence. Ino scraped all the frosting off her piece, deeming it too sweet as he picked at his and tried to eat a little despite his lack of appetite.

He didn't realize she was watching him until she pushed her plate away a few minutes later and tried to catch his gaze.

"Are you okay?"

He lifted his eyes from the tabletop, pausing at the sight of her concerned face.

"Fine," he said. "Just tired."

She nodded. "You look it. How's your next sculpture coming along?"

"It's getting there."

"How have you been sleeping?"

He shrugged, giving into a humourless smile. "Sleep is for the weak, un."

Like he anticipated, she narrowed her eyes at that and straightened in her seat. "Look, how many times do I have to tell you? Your immune system runs recovery mode between ten and two at night. If you're not getting the proper hours, you're going to—"

"Get sick and die," he finished, amused by her indignant expression. "Yeah, I know. You told me a hundred times. But like I said..."

His eyes flitted to his dry-erase board. "Until I've filled my quota, anything goes. Including sleep."

She pursed her lips and looked ready to argue, but gave up midway and slumped back in her seat. "Fine. Be that way."

Deidara almost pitied her. It had only taken her a few days to realize he seemed hell-bent on his own destruction and he supposed it was only fortunate she hadn't yet discovered his dependency on prescription drugs. Her current attendance at the University of Naturopathic Medicine and her future career goal of becoming a licensed ND gave Deidara the impression that the contents of his medicine cabinet would give her a conniption fit.

He could tell she was still annoyed with him a minute later when she turned her attention to the boxes littering the kitchen and made a face.

"And this place is still a mess. How can you stand it? It's like living in a warehouse."

Laughing at her at this point would only rile her up more so he wisely kept quiet, glad she'd moved on from the topic of his health.

"I mean, honestly..." she sighed and swept the decaying flowers out of the vase on the tabletop, getting out of her seat to go dump them in the waste bin. "Deidara, when the flowers die, you throw them out. And this," she gestured to the boxes in front of the stove. "How do you even cook?"

"Easy," he shrugged. "I don't."

Groaning in exasperation, she kicked one of the boxes aside and strode back to him.

"You need a maid. And a cook."

"If you feel like finding me some, go ahead. I don't have the time, un."

She pursed her lips again but sat down anyway. "You're lucky I'm too tired to argue. And it's getting late. I should go..."

Before he could say anything, she levelled him with an accusatory look.

"You didn't even ask me what I want for my birthday."

"I'll get you a gift card," he said dismissively, preoccupied with the thought of finding his vacuum cleaner to deal with the mess downstairs. When she shook her head, he pulled himself out of his reverie and looked at her.

"Then what do you want?"

She leaned across the table and gestured for him to come forward.

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, he humoured her and bent his head closer. When she spoke, her voice was quiet but firm.

"I want you to promise me you'll take care of yourself."

He remained silent.

"Promise," she repeated.

Deidara lifted his head to look at her and lied without guilt. "Okay."

She leaned in and kissed his cheek and his eyes widened when he felt something cold and creamy smear the side of his face. By the time he realized it was cake frosting, Ino was already giggling goodbye and rushing out the door.

After the front door clicked shut, he sat at the kitchen table for several minutes with frosting on his face, staring at the dark-tipped candles piled in the paper plate. They'd barely put a dent in the cake and he decided he'd take it into work the next day to let the front desk have it.

The matchbook rested next to her plate. He reached out and took it, striking a stick ablaze and lighting one of the tiny candles. It lit instantly and wax pooled around the wick before streaking down the sides and onto his fingers. The sensation was hot but not unpleasant, and he watched the hypnotic sway of the flame until the candle melted and the flame extinguished.

* * *

Ino's impromptu visit the night before served its purpose when he brought the cake into reception the next day and had the secretary arrange a meeting with Jei that very same morning. The man was nearly impossible to get a hold of in a formal sit-down meeting, at least when the topic didn't revolve around extremely important people or extremely large amounts of money.

Suffice it to say, the president of the art gallery was surprised when he buzzed in his next appointee and Deidara walked in.

He stared at him for a full five seconds in blank silence before standing up from behind his desk to shake his hand. "Deidara, what a pleasant surprise. Have a seat. How have you been?"

"Fine," Deidara said, eager to get to the point. "I need to talk to you about something."

"Well that's what I'm here for," he replied, smiling. "What's on your mind?"

Deidara didn't return his smile and instead tightened his grip on the chair's arm rests. "It's my old sculptures."

Some unidentifiable emotion flickered briefly over Jei's face but it was gone in an instant. "Go on."

"I want them destroyed."

Silence.

Jei stared at him, expressionless. Deidara returned the gaze unwaveringly, waiting until the other man blinked and leaned forward in his seat.

"Why on _earth_...would you want to do such a thing?"

"That's not your concern," Deidara said shortly, knowing it would be pointless to try explaining his artistic philosophy to Jei. "You have them in storage and I want them destroyed. That's it."

Jei smiled in an incredulous sort of way. "Deidara, if keeping your art in storage is bothering you, we can export it to other galleries. We can—"

"This isn't about my ego," Deidara interrupted, growing impatient. He knew Jei well enough to recognize when the man wanted to avoid the real issue, something he did by veering off-topic or spinning off roundabout rhetoric. This time, however, he wouldn't give him the chance.

"I don't want them in storage and I don't want them in the gallery, here or anywhere else. I want them _destroyed_. Do you understand?"

Vexed, Jei mouthed wordlessly for a few seconds. "Deidara, are you having some sort of personal crisis? This is so sudden—"

Deidara finally lost his patience and slammed his palms down on the desk. "Listen to me. Even if I came in here raving like a goddamn lunatic, it wouldn't matter because it's _my_ art. What happens to it rests with me because _I_ created it. And I want my sculptures destroyed, you got that? And if you want to keep me sound of mind while working to get my next quota done on time, you'll do what I say, un."

Jei fell silent, regarding him with a resigned expression. "You're certain?"

"_Yes_."

The older man released a long sigh and tapped his pen against his notepad. "If that's what you want."

Deidara narrowed his eyes. "Then you'll get rid of them?"

He looked regretful. "It's a pity. The public will never see them again."

Satisfied, Deidara leaned back in his seat. "When will it be done?"

Jei hesitated a moment before reaching out to take his agenda. "By mid-November, most likely."

"Why so late?"

"I'm assuming you want me there in person to oversee this," he muttered, still flipping through the pages. "Just to be certain it's done properly and that nothing goes missing. Unless you want to be there?"

"No," Deidara said quickly. "I don't want to see them."

He expected the other man to give him an odd look but instead received a relieved smile. "Very well. I would do it sooner, but with the current exhibition and my trip to Italy in October..."

"Whatever, so long as it's done," Deidara said, the tension slowly leaving his shoulders. "Let me know when it happens."

Jei nodded, a touch of anxiety in his face as he surveyed him. "Is there anything else?"

"No. And before you ask, I'm keeping up with my quota."

Nettled, Jei nodded again. "Fine. I'll call you."

Without another word, Deidara rose from his chair and strode out of the office. His steps came fluid and unfettered and a tired sort of relief bled into his features as he emerged into the cool, bright day.

He wouldn't kid himself, he thought as he waited by the crosswalk. His schedule would remain daunting and the quota exceedingly difficult to fill. But for the first time in a long time, he felt as though he was actually capable of pulling it off.

Deidara lifted his right hand and looked down at the faded outline of his tattoo. The barest hints of a grin beamed out at him from the skin of his palm. Feeling the shackles loosen and fall away, he couldn't help but grin back.

And true to his expectations, the following week started off slow, but gradually he began making progress.

Ino seemed more interested in his impersonations of Jei than why he'd suddenly decided to have his sculptures destroyed, only shrugging and saying "makes sense with your art philosophy" before asking him to continue with the story. He didn't mind retelling it, enjoying the sound of her laughter because it was Jei and Jei deserved the ridicule.

It was becoming easier to focus, he noted, no longer finding the sight of his unfinished sculptures as frustrating as they once were. His old pieces still floated up in his mind's eye when he sat down to work, but would fade as soon as he reassured himself they'd be gone in two months' time.

Ino visited whenever she had the chance between work and school, bringing her usual fresh flowers and keeping him company in the basement while he drew his sketches and she studied her notes. The first week into October, she dropped by Saturday morning with a bouquet of ranunculus and store-bought coffee, dragging him out of the workshop long enough to eat breakfast.

Even on her off days, she was still dressed to the nines. Sophisticated and prim in her plum cashmere sweater and pressed grey trousers, she absentmindedly smoothed back her already immaculate hair and sipped her coffee. Next to her, Deidara looked as though he'd rolled out of bed, clad in his ever-present jeans and wrinkled shirt.

He chewed on slices of the fresh nectarines she'd brought while she read the newspaper.

"Your horoscope says you're likely to get food poisoning if you eat out this week," she read. "So you'd better stay home and cook."

"Right," he said dryly, looking at the boxes stacked on top of his stove. "I'll do that."

"Hmm, mine says I'm going to experience a profound change in how I view an existing relationship. Doesn't say if that's a good thing, though."

She flipped through the pages and continued talking without lowering the newspaper.

"Work's going well for you, isn't it?"

"How can you tell?"

"Well, for one, I had to drag you upstairs to get you to eat something. And two, you're _actually_ _eating_ something."

He smirked through a mouthful of fruit. "You don't really give me much of a choice, un."

"Yeah, well, somebody has to take care of your neglectful butt."

She flipped another page.

"What are you doing today, anyway?"

"Finishing off the albatross," he replied, taking a sip of orange juice. "It's huge and taking up too much room, so I need it done and out of the way so I can start the next one."

She made a murmuring noise of assent. "Hmm, that's good...oh, that media tycoon Tetsuo died yesterday...apparently all the museums are fighting to get at his art collection. There's even a—"

He glanced up, curious to see what had cut her off so abruptly. Her eyes were wide and she brought the paper closer to her face.

"Oh shit," she said in a blank voice.

"What?"

She mouthed wordlessly for a few seconds, looking between him and the newspaper. The way her fingers tightened around the pages made it obvious she was hesitating at the thought of showing him.

His tone grew suspicious. "_What_?"

With a chagrined sort of helplessness, Ino laid the paper flat on the table for him to see. He leaned forward and she pointed at a small square of text and the accompanying picture in the top right corner.

Deidara bent his head closer in disbelief.

There, dead centre in the collection of artwork, was his condor sculpture, the very first he'd ever made for the gallery.

His lips parted in shock. The picture held him transfixed for a full ten seconds before he managed to tear his eyes away from it and focus on the short blurb underneath.

_Tetsuo was an avid art collector and spent upwards of ten million dollars on rare pieces. Showcased here are some of his most prized possessions, each valued above six-figures and acquired through private auction... _

He didn't need to read the rest. The words 'private auction' had caused the blood to still in his veins.

Ino gazed at him nervously and attempted to say something, but thought better of it when a tendon stood out in his neck beneath his clenched jaw. He stood up so abruptly she almost yelped, and before she could say anything, he tore the page out of the newspaper and stormed out of the house. Dismayed, she looked after him, wondering what to do until she decided to jump up and follow.

"Deidara, wait!"

He stopped halfway down the driveway as she called out and turned his frozen glare on her. Alarmed, she held up her hands and dangled her keys from her fingers.

"I'll drive you," she offered.

He didn't say anything and wordlessly got into the passenger seat, staring directly ahead as she started the engine and quickly put the car in reverse.

The ride to the gallery was silent and uncomfortable and she glanced at him repeatedly to gauge what he was feeling. The words 'pissed beyond all reason' came to mind each time she did so she decided to focus on the road instead and not speak to him. It looked as though he'd take off the head of anyone who dared try.

It was only when she'd pulled into the gallery parking lot and saw him reach for the door handle that she touched his arm.

"I'll wait here," she said gingerly. "Just...don't kill him."

He paused momentarily to show he'd heard before stepping out of the car and slamming the door shut behind him. Ino slowly released a breath as she watched him take brisk strides to the double doors, cutting the engine and grimly hoping Deidara's boss didn't keep anything sharp in his office.

Once he made it inside, Deidara didn't bother with pleasantries or the ticket line-up, cutting through it and stopping at reception. The secretary looked up and the cheerful greeting died on her lips when she saw the look on his face.

"Where is Jei?" he practically bit out.

"In his office," she said falteringly. "But he's on the phone with—"

Deidara didn't wait for her to finish and stormed off towards the employee hall. Jei's office was on the very end, set apart by its mahogany door and gleaming name plate. Just the sight of his boss's name made the fury boil over and he forwent knocking, throwing the door open.

Jei was seated at his desk, phone cradled against his ear, and his eyes widened in shock as Deidara barged into the room. Whatever he meant to say to the person on the other line was cut short when Deidara jabbed two fingers down on the switch hook and disconnected the call.

Before the other man could speak, he slammed the torn newspaper article down on the desk.

Stunned, Jei stared at it blankly, wondering what he was looking at as Deidara stood there and fought to catch his breath, hands clenched by his sides. But as Jei looked closer and took in the single photograph printed on the page, understanding slowly dawned in his eyes, followed instantly by disconcertment.

"Deidara, that..."

"What the fuck is this?"

"Please, calm down. Just take a seat."

"Why is my condor in someone's private collection?"

Jei attempted to speak, only to flinch back in his seat when Deidara's voice escalated into a shout.

"Who the_ hell_ said it was okay to put my art in private auctions?"

He grimaced and raised a hand in a gesture of appeasement. "Please, stop shouting. Just sit. I'll explain everything."

When he saw the furious blonde wasn't going to take him up on the invitation, Jei sighed and rubbed his temples. "This is a fairly complicated situation, Deidara. Sit down."

He avoided the venomous look the younger man aimed his way before he stiffly took his seat, hands fisted on his lap.

"I'll be frank," Jei began. "The decision to put your art in private auctions was my idea."

Deidara gave him an incredulous look. "You? But I told you to—"

He held up his hand again, exasperated. "That's precisely the problem, Deidara. There are some misconceptions on your part over what exactly can and can't be done with your work."

Upon seeing the other's blank stare, Jei reached into his file drawer and rifled through its contents until he found what he was looking for. Deidara lowered his eyes to a photocopy of a familiar, four-year old document.

"Your submitted work," Jei explained, tapping the contract, "is no longer your legal property."

A heavy silence blanketed the room.

Deidara stared at the smudged photocopier ink, mind buzzing as he tried to process what he'd just heard. Taking advantage of the other's silence, Jei continued.

"When you signed this, you agreed to relinquish all ownership of your works to the gallery. What happens to your art after that—whether it's put in storage or exported or sold—is no longer your concern."

Deidara mouthed wordlessly for a few seconds before finding his voice. "You...never told me any of this when I signed..."

"Fine print," Jei shrugged, slapping the file closed and returning it to his desk drawer. "It's not my responsibility to inform you of every last detail. And it never occurred to me that you, or anyone else, would have a problem with it considering the payoff." He shook his head. "You really threw me for a loop when you said you wanted your art destroyed."

At that, Deidara's eyes narrowed into a glare. "If I had no say, why the hell did you lie to me? Why didn't you just tell me this before?"

Jei regarded him meditatively. "Try to think of this from my perspective, Deidara. I can tell you've been struggling with your workload and that the stress is taking its toll. I'm constantly concerned over whether you'll be able to deliver in February and I don't think it's wrong of me to want to spare you any further stress."

"What the hell does that even mean?" Deidara exploded, rising in his seat. "You lied to me because you thought it'd make me feel better?"

"You said it yourself. To keep you sound of mind, I should do as you say. Well, I couldn't very well destroy your work considering it belongs to the gallery, but then I couldn't jeopardize your mental well-being by telling you that. I need you happy and healthy so you can keep up with the contract and I can protect my investment. You have no idea how much your work sells for in private auction." His eyes brightened and his voice grew eager. "And that way we both benefit. Your work comes out of storage and is forever hidden from public view, and the monetary profit is immense on both our parts."

Deidara gazed at him and was suddenly consumed with the urge to grab the paperweight off the desk and smash it upside his head.

"I mean honestly," Jei exclaimed, swiping the article off his desk. "I have your work insured for millions it's that valuable. I was serious when I said I was getting calls from Italy. Everyone wants a piece of you, and I'll do whatever it takes to keep it that way."

An odd stillness descended upon Deidara and he looked at the older man for several seconds.

"So what you said about getting rid of everything," he said slowly. "You were planning on selling it all?"

"That is the plan," Jei affirmed, relaxing. "Everything will be shipped to Italy by November while I'm over there. Please try to look at this logically, Deidara. No one would benefit from the destruction of your art. But this way, everyone wins."

Deidara was quiet for a while.

"How many have you sold?"

"Just two so far."

"And the rest?"

"They're in a warehouse," Jei admitted. "There are too many to keep here. But like I said, they're all coming with me to Italy, and when I get back, you'll have more than double your bank budget."

The room fell silent. Jei looked self-congratulatory now that all the verve had slipped out of Deidara and he stood gazing sightlessly at the floor. After a few seconds, he spoke.

"So that's it?"

"That's it."

Deidara nodded and turned away from the desk. He paused.

"Jei?"

"Yes?"

"You said you have insurance?"

Jei looked at him, puzzled. "Yes."

"Good."

And before the other man could react, Deidara seized his chair off the floor and hurled it through the window. The glass shattered on impact and Jei reeled back in shock as the shards showered the floor of his office. The chair clattered distantly over the pavement outside.

He stood up, gaping. "Deidara, what the _hell_—? Why did you—"

The rest of the words fell short of his lips when Deidara glanced over his shoulder with a venomous glare.

"It was an _accident_, un."

Not giving his boss a chance to respond, he strode out of the office without a backwards glance.

* * *

Ino sat watching Deidara with her chin in her hands, eyes following him back and forth as he paced. He was clenching and unclenching his fists, muttering curses and occasionally lashing out at one of the surrounding sculptures. She idly watched a bird head go sailing through the air before she deemed it safe to speak.

"What are you going to do?"

Deidara clenched his jaw at the question, slowing to a stop next to his drawing board. Ino sat perched on a box of clay, observing him and waiting for a response.

He wanted to answer with something along the lines of 'eviscerate Jei and blow up the art gallery,' but the fear that was slowly starting to burgeon up over the anger took control of his mouth.

"I can't..." he shook his head slowly, knees weakening at the thought of resuming his work with his old mindset. "I can't go back to that, un."

Ino remained silent, watching him as he sank onto his stool. He reached up to rub his forehead and covered his face instead, cursing Jei with every fibre of his being and himself for being so stupidly impulsive in the past.

After a minute, Ino stood from her seat and took up his pacing. "Okay, let's run through this one more time. Just try to keep calm and answer yes or no."

She took a breath. "You can't work unless you know your old artwork is destroyed."

"Yes," he muttered in response.

"And all your artwork is going to Italy in November. To be sold."

"Yes."

Her pacing grew more agitated. "And in the mean time, all the pieces are being kept in storage."

"Yes."

She stopped suddenly and turned to face him. "In a warehouse? Like, in a storage unit?"

Deidara finally raised his head, wondering where she was going with this. "Yeah."

To his immense surprise, relaxation swept over her features and she spoke as though the solution was obvious. "So why don't you just blow it up?"

Deidara looked at her as if she was insane. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Think," she said urgently. "How many warehouses are there in the city? He said he's having them 'shipped out,' so it'd only make sense for them to be in that big warehouse by the docks."

The huge, fenced compound came to mind immediately, well-recognizable for how many times he'd seen it throughout the years. He met her gaze and understanding slowly clicked in, her smile widening when she saw the possibilities unfolding in his features.

"Of course," she backtracked, smile fading slightly. "Getting our hands on explosives would be kinda difficult, not to mention dangerous."

He shook his head much to her surprise. "That would be the easy part, un. I know some people."

Ino raised an eyebrow. "Should I be worried?"

"No. I've known him a long time. If I ask, he'll come through for me."

"Then what's the hard part?"

Deidara grimaced. "How obvious will it be when only my storage box gets blown up?"

Ino deflated at that. "Ugh, right. After that meltdown you just had in his office, he'd know it was you for sure." She scrunched up her face and thought a moment. "Unless...you have an alibi or something. Or you do it in a way that makes it look like someone else did it. Like a prank..."

She stopped, then, and they both glanced at each other. Simultaneously, they looked at his calendar and the page of October.

"Halloween," they chorused.

"That's it," Ino said, eyes widening. "That's perfect! Those little punks from the suburbs always do some property damage on Halloween. In my old city, they even burned down a school. You can use that as a cover."

They fell into a tense, thoughtful silence, the kind that usually followed the proposal of an insane idea. The only difference was that Deidara had gone past consideration and straight into planning. There really was no reason why he couldn't do it, and with the contacts and resources he had at his disposal, it was completely possible.

"You've got three weeks," Ino said after a while, realizing he fully meant to go through with it. "Better get in touch with your people and get it all sorted out."

Feeling his anger fizzle away beneath a wave of cool determination, Deidara raised an eyebrow at her and put his cell to his ear. "I'm way ahead of you, un."

* * *

Much like Jei, getting a hold of Pain was as difficult as dodging raindrops. The man was so elusive he seemed to do it on purpose, leading people through strings of directionless calls and wrong addresses until they gave up out of sheer frustration.

Fortunately for Deidara, he was one of only nine other people who knew his personal cell phone number. Unfortunately, however, Pain was out of the city on business, estimating his return date somewhere around the twenty-ninth. It was only his confident assurance that one day was all he needed to fulfill whatever requests were awaiting him to convince Deidara to push the meeting to the last minute.

True to his word, Pain returned on the twenty-ninth and they arranged to meet the very same day. He chose a small, non-descript coffee shop and was waiting there with a newspaper and a cappuccino, dressed in a three-piece suit that was completely at odds with the myriad of piercings decorating his face. He stood up to greet Deidara when he arrived.

"It's been a while. I hope you've been well."

Deidara nodded and sat down, declining the offer when Pain gestured invitingly towards the menu.

The other customers in the shop gave them a wide berth, not exactly surprising with the intimidating aura Pain seemed to radiate. Despite that, Deidara felt at ease, having had the privilege of meeting and working for him when he'd just been a university student.

It wasn't something he'd done deliberately. While the rest of his peers had spent most of their college days partying and drinking themselves into a stupor, Deidara had elected to spend his free time pursuing his interests in explosives in the school lab. Unbeknownst to him at the time, his exemplary performance in chemistry had caught Pain's attention while the older man was taking courses in business management, and the clincher came when Deidara had succeeded in nitrating glycerol and creating an explosive so unstable the slightest impact would detonate it.

Oblivious to his success, he'd left the beaker full of the oily, colourless liquid on the windowsill and went to lunch. Fifteen minutes later, a fly landed in it and the shockwave of the nitroglycerin exploding blew every window out of the upper east side of the chemical engineering building, showering glass over the street below.

Deidara had flinched at the resulting boom from the cafe across the street and looked up to see smoke spiralling up from the room he'd just left. The piece of sandwich he'd been chewing had fallen out of his mouth.

It wasn't an experience he liked remembering, even if no one had gotten hurt. Hidan had taken the fall for it and it was more embarrassing than anything else, though it scored him a private job under Pain designing explosives. The salary had taken care of his tuition and then some.

It had been three years since then, and it was obvious to see Pain had made a lucrative career out of his business management skills. The older man seemed unconcerned with his reputation, though, appearing at ease in the fraying chair of the tiny coffee shop.

"So tell me, what did you want to discuss?"

Deidara decided to cut straight to the point. "I need you to get me some explosives."

There wasn't the slightest change in Pain's relaxed expression. "RDX?"

Deidara's eyes widened. "Nothing that strong, un. Just enough to destroy a storage unit in a warehouse."

Pain looked mildly intrigued. "Which warehouse?"

"The one by the docks. You know it?"

He nodded vaguely. "Some of my...wares are kept there."

Deidara decided it was better not to ask and continued. "I need to do it on October thirty-first, un. The only issue is security and finding the storage unit that has my stuff. And the lock—"

Pain waved a hand dismissively. "That's easily taken care of. One of my associates runs inventory there. He can find what you're looking for and get the key. Your only concern is not getting caught."

Deidara paused. "And the explosives?"

"What did you have in mind?"

"If I'm going to get away with this, I'll need something a little more rudimentary."

"Then a few barrels of gasoline should do it. I can have them put into the storage unit next to yours." Pain took a sip of his drink and shrugged. "For convenience's sake."

"Then we're set?"

"Certainly. After all you've done for me, it's only fair I do you a favour now and then." Pain raised his gaze and fixed him with his penetrating stare. "Of course, there is something I require in return..."

Deidara blinked, taken aback when Pain reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a familiar, powder blue envelope.

"Did you receive one in the mail?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice when Deidara sagged back in realization.

"Yeah," he breathed in relief. "I got it in September. Congratulations, un."

Pain nodded and put the envelope back in his pocket. "If I'm to do you this favour, then I have your guarantee that you'll be at my wedding. Understood?"

Deidara nodded gratefully and moved to stand when Pain rose to his feet. "Two A.M., October thirty-first, I will send transportation outside your house with everything you'll need. The rest is on you."

He watched the older man pull on his coat and toss a crisp twenty on the table before striding to the door.

"Oh, and..." Pain paused in the doorway to the coffee shop, glancing back at him and patting the pocket of his jacket meaningfully. "Feel free to bring a guest."

With that, he departed through the door and disappeared into the limo parked at the curb. Deidara watched it drive away before glancing down at his watch.

32 hours to go.

* * *

The house was still and quiet the following night, marked by an anticipatory tenseness that was palpable despite the silence. The only sounds audible besides the whirring refrigerator were a sawing noise and soft humming. Muffled thumps against the kitchen counter followed, interspersed with the wet plops of congealed pumpkin falling into the waste bin.

Five minutes later, Ino lit the candle inside the jack-o-lantern and eyed the classic triangle eyes and crooked square-toothed grin. Smiling in self-satisfaction, she looked up from her carving to see Deidara enter the kitchen.

He proceeded to pull on his gloves and Ino eyed his black attire in wry amusement.

"You're pretty calm about this whole thing."

"Wouldn't be the first time I did something like this," he responded, flexing his fingers to check the fit. "And I have to be calm. Can't afford to screw this up, un."

When she didn't reply, he looked up to see her staring at him.

"What?"

"Nothing," she said, a playful grin crossing her lips. "You're just so _riveting_ when you're focused."

He rolled his eyes and turned away to glance at the clock again. "My ride will be here in twelve minutes." He glanced askance at her. "You sure it's okay for you to stay out this late?"

"I can compromise my sleeping schedule for one night," she said, hopping off the kitchen stool and walking into the living room. "Besides, it's Saturday."

He subconsciously followed and moved into the foyer, peering through the window adjacent to the front door. The street was dark and deserted at the end of his driveway. From the corner of his eye, he could see Ino grabbing her bag and heading for the staircase.

"I'll be right back," she called over her shoulder, leaving him to wonder who his driver would be as he glanced at his wristwatch for the umpteenth time.

1:52 AM.

Ino returned two minutes later, seating herself at the foot of the stairs as he continued gazing out the window.

"So, once everything's done and over with, we're on our own, right? Like, we're gonna have to bust out of there and make a run for it?"

He nodded distractedly, only realizing the significance of what she'd said when he moved his gaze from the window and looked at her. The instant he did, he blinked incredulously.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Clad in black tights and a turtleneck, Ino glanced up from where she was lacing up her runners. "Getting ready."

"For what?"

She stared at him like he was dense. "It doesn't make sense for only one of us to go incognito."

When his face remained a blank mask of confusion, Ino realized what he was getting at and rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on. Like you honestly thought I'd let you do this by yourself." She stood up and pulled on her gloves. "You know how the saying goes—two is better than one and all that jazz."

Before he could say anything, she pulled a plain black winter hat over her hair and offered him one from her bag.

He gave her a sceptical look.

"Please," she scoffed. "Two blondes with awesomely sexy hair running from the scene of the crime? We'd get caught in a heartbeat."

Deidara snorted but realized she had a point, taking it from her and deciding it was safer to bundle his hair up under the hat just in case. They weren't given an opportunity for further discussion. A car honked from outside and Deidara checked his watch in time to see it hit 2:00 AM.

With a quick check in his pockets to ensure he had his lighter, they stepped out into the chill night air and locked the front door behind them. A sleek, black car with tinted windows was parked at the foot of the driveway, its headlights casting hazy beams across the dark street. The rest of the street was dead silent.

They hurried to the passenger doors, finding them unlocked, and Deidara slid into the back seat first. He blinked in surprise when he saw who the driver was.

"Zetsu?"

"Hello, Deidara," the man murmured, eyes flitting up to meet his in the rear view mirror. "Long time no see."

Ino slid onto the seats next and Zetsu's amber eyes shifted to her next, registering mild surprise. "Good evening."

"Hi," she greeted sheepishly.

Without further preamble, Zetsu changed gears and the vehicle started forward down the dark street. Without taking his eyes off the road, Zetsu reached into the glove compartment and retrieved an envelope, holding it back between the front seats for Deidara to take.

"Inside are the numbers for your and Pain's storage units, as well as the keys," he said as Deidara emptied the contents into his lap. "621 and 622. They will be located at the east end of the compound. Our inside man has relegated security to the west side to make things easier for you. However, should you get their attention, they will release the guard dogs."

Their eyes met in the rear view mirror again, Zetsu's gleaming in amusement. "I hope you're still capable of jumping fences." He looked at Ino, eyes crinkling at the corners. "And the same goes for your lady friend."

Ino flashed him a confident grin. "Piece of cake. I was on my high school track team, you know."

"Ah," Zetsu nodded slowly, running the tip of his tongue over his upper lip. "It pays to be nimble."

Deidara shot him a look that was both parts annoyed and disturbed. "You just worry about getting us there, un."

They drove the rest of the way in silence, the journey taking only a few minutes. When the dark shapes of stacked storage units loomed on the horizon, Zetsu turned the car to circle around the back end of the compound, tires crunching quietly over gravel as he pulled to a stop outside the barbed-wire fences.

They jumped when the trunk opened with a loud click.

"Some mats," Zetsu informed them, glancing at the barb-wired fences meaningfully. "The rest is up to you. Good luck."

Deidara nodded his thanks and quickly got out of the car, circling around it to retrieve a few of the thick, black mats. As soon as they closed the lid on the trunk, the back lights flashed red and the car took off down the road with a faint screech of tires, leaving them alone.

"He was nice," Ino decided after a moment's silence. "If not a little creepy."

"That's Zetsu," Deidara muttered in agreement, turning towards the fence. The spikes of the barbed wire were visible even against the dark, mottled grey of the night sky and he quickly tossed the mats over to cover them.

They scaled the fences easily, dropping lightly to the concrete on the other side. Deidara scoped the dark annals between storage units to ensure the coast was clear before gesturing for Ino to follow. Faint barking could be heard in the distance and they kept to the shadows of the towering stacks of crates, reading the painted white numbers as they ventured towards the east side.

578...589...594...

A sudden wind jarred the metal frame holding the flood lights overhead, making it difficult to discern the numbers on the units as the lights swayed over the warehouse. They'd walked clear past their targets until Ino glanced back over her shoulder in time to see the swinging lights illuminate unit 621 several metres behind them.

Grabbing Deidara's arm, she silently beckoned for the key. He dropped it into her outstretched hands, moving over to his unit to unlock it as she jogged over to the one containing the tanks of gasoline. The barking grew louder and more frequent, urging him to move faster as he unlocked the dead bolt and swung the door open with a low creak of hinges.

It was pitch black inside, the closed interior only magnifying the agitated barks resonating in the distance. In the back of his mind, he knew without a doubt that the surrounding wooden crates housed his sculptures. Pain never made mistakes.

But he still couldn't take any chances, not after how far they'd come. He heard Ino wheeling the first barrel of gasoline in behind him as he withdrew the lighter from his pocket. He clicked the thumbwheel twice before it produced a flame and illuminated the box he was crouching by. The surface was nondescript save for an ink stamp denoting a serial number. Realizing he was compromising the chances of a successful escape, Deidara stood and looked around the unit for something to pry the box open with.

A crowbar hung from a hook near the door and he grabbed it, ignoring Ino's anxious expression as he jammed the blunt end between the box and lid and pried the top off.

"Hurry up," he heard her hiss from behind as he dug through the insulation.

He continued flinging the insulation out behind him until the white, smooth arch of a bird's wing emerged from within, gleaming faintly in the darkness. Ino fell silent at the sight of it, watching him as he traced the edge of the wing with an unreadable look on his face.

"Are you sure about this?" she whispered.

He remained motionless for several seconds. Then without a word, grabbed one of the gasoline containers and doused the liquid all over the crate. Leaving him to deal with the rest of the boxes, Ino slipped back to the other unit to retrieve the last barrel, wheeling it to the centre as Deidara flung the empty container aside.

"Should we...?" Ino gestured to the metal lids on the barrels.

He shook his head, backing out of the unit and pulling her along. "We light it and leave. If we're lucky, the fire will get hot enough to ignite the vapour inside and make them explode, un."

The fresh air was a boon after inhaling the pungent fumes of gasoline, and knowing the wooden crates were saturated enough to ignite and cause an explosion within minutes if not right away, he directed Ino to stand a fair distance from the box before starting his lighter. Tensing his legs in preparation to flee, he gave her a meaningful look over his shoulder as he stopped by the side of the unit, intending to toss the entire lighter into the box through the open door.

She nodded in return, bracing herself to run. Deidara took a deep breath, held it, then flung the lighter soundlessly into the box.

He almost fell backwards at the resulting whoosh of flame and heated air that burst through the opening, the burst accompanied by the muffled _whoomph_ of gas igniting. As if on cue, the smell of smoke instantly triggered a wild increase in barking and Deidara did not waste a second in finding his footing and start running for his life.

Ino was several meters ahead of him, throwing a quasi-apprehensive look over her shoulder that relayed the realization that they had guard dogs on their tails. Deidara realized it, too, and tried to drown out the loud barks with the noise of thudding footfalls and crunching gravel as they zigzagged through the maze of storage units.

There was a brief moment of panic when, after what felt like several minutes, they'd seemed to have gone the wrong way and only ran themselves into a dead end. But after looking at the towering stack of storage units in dismay, Ino spotted the fence through a gap in the boxes nearly at the same moment Deidara spotted the four Doberman Pinschers rounding the corner in pursuit.

Ino disappeared through the gap and he followed soon after, sprinting through the dark channel before bursting out under the floodlights of the compound entrance.

They collided into the fence at the same time, the impact sending a violent ripple through the frame before they frantically jammed their feet into the links and scrambled to the top. The Dobermans skidded just short of hitting the fence, snapping at their feet and tearing one of Deidara's shoe laces loose before they both managed to topple over the barbed wire and hit the ground running.

The dark road and lamp posts whipped past them in a blur as they ran down the street. Within seconds, the wail of police sirens sounded in the distance.

"Shit," Deidara said breathlessly as he increased his speed to match Ino's sprint. "Shit, shit, shit, _shit_…"

"This way," she called over her shoulder, taking a sharp right onto the main road. Deidara stared incredulously after her.

The plan had been to take the smaller, residential streets in case he had to elude the police. Taking the main road was justifiable suicide.

But before he could ask what the hell she was thinking, he saw it.

"We can make it!" she cried over the echoes of footfalls against the pavement. "Hurry!"

Just beyond the intersection, the lights of the railroad crossing were flashing yellow and red. A hollow clanging filled the air, interspersing with the nearing cry of police sirens. Thirty feet from the rails, Deidara saw the bars quiver and start their descent.

I'm going to get hit by a fucking train, he realized blankly. His heart thundered in his chest and felt as though it would burst, but she didn't stop so neither did he, feet pounding the pavement in tandem with hers.

The poles hit their marks. Undeterred, Ino vaulted over them, legs barely skinning the surface of the second bar before she cleared it and landed nimbly on the other side.

Unlike her, he'd never been an avid participant in track, so the possibility of crossing the hurdles with success was an extremely remote one. But when she instantly whipped around and held out her arms, her eyes were bright with assurance so absolute it instantly dissolved the uncertainty. Burying all common sense beneath a surge of adrenaline, he ducked the first bar and smacked a hand down on the second, propelling himself over it in a haphazard barrel roll he fully thought himself incapable of until his feet hit the asphalt.

Ino instantly seized his arms, pulling him away from the tracks, and though he couldn't see it, the sheer force of the train screaming past behind him became apparent in the way his shirt rippled up beneath the gust of rent wind, pressing against his skin as he stood there frozen in disbelief that he wasn't dead. Ino's shrill, triumphant laughter only emphasized how brazenly he'd cheated death and he only came to his senses when she began yanking him down the road again.

They ran the rest of the way, losing the sirens and eventually whatever traffic remained on the road, darting through the near-blackness of his street like a pair of spectres and not stopping until they ran into his house and slammed the door shut behind them.

Ino staggered into the den and immediately fell sideways onto the couch, trying to catch her breath and laugh hysterically at the same time. Deidara didn't make it to his furniture; he collapsed on the rug, trying to support himself on his hands and knees before giving up and falling flat on his front.

Eventually he rolled onto his back and stared up in disbelief at the ceiling.

His heart was pounding and his limbs felt completely shattered, unused to such exertion. But an inexplicable high was permeating every cell in his body and he forced himself to his feet a minute later. Ino sat up and watched him as he moved over to the TV stand and blew dust off the monitor.

"How long did it take us to get back here?" he questioned, still trying to catch his breath.

"Maybe twenty minutes?" she guessed, pulling her hat off and shaking her hair loose. "Do you think those barrels exploded?"

"Only one way to find out, un."

With that, he turned the television on and switched to the nearest 24-hour local news channel. She slowly stood up and moved to stand next to him as they scanned the scrolling headlines and the rerun segment on the mayoral election.

The high of success was tempered by uncertainty, then, and he was struck with the possibility of the fire being put out before it could do its job. The thought left him on edge and he watched the television with grim expectation until the segment was abruptly replaced by grainy security footage of a fire and its accompanying headlines.

Ino took a sharp breath when she recognized it as the storage unit. Deidara watched intently, glued to the sight of bright flames and dimly realizing there was still a chance of the barrels igniting. The headlines declared the compound evacuated and closed to all firefighting personnel on the basis of it being a chemical fire, and undeterred, the flames slowly grew higher and brighter.

They watched for what felt like an hour, seemingly hypnotized, until an unseen shockwave jarred the camera and scrambled the footage, knocking it out for a few seconds before it refocused on the completely obliterated unit and the bits of burning debris surrounding it.

Ino emitted a piercing shriek and Deidara felt a sudden slack in his shoulders, along with a strange tenseness in his face he belatedly realized was a grin when Ino tackled him in a hug.

"We did it!" she cried. "I can't believe we did it!"

She was jumping up and down with her arms around his neck and nearly choking him, but her euphoria was infectious and his grin widened as he gazed at the television over her shoulder.

She pulled back and held him by the shoulders, face flushed and eyes bright. "This is _amazing_. Thank God for that train, huh? I still can't believe it. And those dogs—holy crap, I thought we were done for. And I nearly had a heart attack when I thought we went the wrong way! How did we end up that way anyway? I swear we escaped by complete fluke. But seriously, I can't believe we did it!"

She cut herself off to take a breath, and when he didn't reply like she expected him to, she shook him by the shoulders. "Deidara, say something!"

Deidara tried to and found himself incapable. The sight of her ecstatic smile encapsulated everything he felt in that moment and the words he wanted to say were buried by a sudden flood of gratitude.

The proof of their success put everything she'd risked in clear perspective, and his euphoria was tempered by both awe and confusion over her willingness to sacrifice so much for someone she'd known only two months.

The slightest flicker of concern crossed her features when he remained silent. But before she could ask, he spoke.

"Why did you help me so much?"

Ino blinked up at him, caught off guard by the question.

There was nothing accusing in his tone, but he still looked for any sign of uncertainty that could possibly prove some ulterior motive, anything that would suggest a plausible reason for all she'd done. When he saw none of those things and her brow furrowed instead, he half-expected her to say something like 'because you were legitimately upset and it bothered me to see you like that.'

Instead, she frowned and pushed him.

"You moron. Isn't it obvious?" When he didn't answer, her lips eased into a smile. "It's because I love you."

Deidara stared at her.

Part of him realized the answer shouldn't have surprised him as much as it did, especially when he'd grown to expect these sorts of things from her. But the statement was actually warranted if all her help tonight was any indication, and he was confounded by the disparity between the magnitude of what she'd done and the carefree way she'd just justified it.

Without further elaboration, Ino glanced at the time and raised her eyebrows. "Yeesh, it's almost three. I better get out of here and let you go to bed."

With that, she moved over to where she'd left her backpack, taking a minute to fold her regular clothes and put them in while he watched her with something akin to wonderment. She didn't give him an opportunity to speak, moving over and dropping a quick peck on his cheek. "I'll probably drop by tomorrow afternoon. See you later."

She stepped past him, slinging her bag over her shoulder, and without thinking, he reached out to hold her wrist before she could walk away.

"Stay."

She looked up at him in the stretch of silence that followed, the implications of what he'd just said relayed in the way her eyes widened.

"It's too risky," he continued, hardly aware of what he was saying. "The cops will be looking for us."

She glanced over her appearance and hesitated, her grip tightening on her bag. In the back of his mind, Deidara vaguely realized this was the first time he'd seen her look so flustered.

"But," she said eventually, "where will I—?"

"Upstairs," he interrupted. "There's another bed, un."

She looked at him expressionlessly for a few seconds before giving into a small, helpless smile. "I don't have my toothbrush."

He kept a completely straight face. "I have six of those shitty toothbrushes the dentist gave me. You can have one."

"I'll be imposing—"

"You won't."

"We didn't plan for this—"

"We'll improvise."

She fell silent before laughing weakly. "My parents would kill me."

The slight apprehension visible in her eyes immediately brought to mind the doubt that had embroiled him mere moments before, when he'd literally faced a hurdle between life and death and had been ready to step back into his usual snare of pessimism. But then she'd turned around and held out her arms, and for reasons beyond his understanding he'd trusted the gesture implicitly. It was only now the significance of it sunk in, and he wondered, had she been in his place, would she had done the same.

"Do you trust me?" he asked.

She looked at him and didn't speak, a range of emotions flickering over her features. The most prominent and the only one he recognized seemed to be the surprise at her own eventual answer.

"Completely."

He released her wrist and she drew it back to her side, appearing uncharacteristically subdued by the exchange until that familiar smile slowly returned to her lips and she gave him a light shove.

"Hmph, fine, but you're making this up to me." She thought a moment. "I want a hot drink."

"Wow," he said flatly. "You're making this really difficult, un."

She followed as he moved past her and into the kitchen, glaring half-heartedly, and despite the horrendous hour and the fact that he had to move all the boxes off the stove, he was surprised to see he didn't feel tired at all.

Ino slid into a chair at the table and the sight of her here with him, during the time of night he would usually spend agonizing over a failed sculpture, filled him with a sense of ease that was practically foreign.

Quick thinking had imparted him with a legitimate excuse for why she should spend the night, but he knew the truth was more selfish. In that moment, he simply didn't want her to leave.

The kitchen didn't offer much besides a carton of milk and a jar of chocolate malt powder, but she didn't complain when he gave her a steaming cup of the sweet drink and sat down across from her.

The obvious thing, he realized with a sidelong glance at her, would be to thank her at this point. But then he'd never been good at the gratitude thing and the egotistical part of him grudgingly insisted he could have managed the entire operation without her, even though he inwardly knew he couldn't. He was spared the need, though, when she looked up and caught him staring.

"You don't have to say it," she said innocently. "I know what you're thinking—you're thanking your lucky stars to have someone as awesome as me for a friend. And you're probably wondering if a nice gift is in order or if it would seem schmaltzy. But this friend is letting you know she'd appreciate the gesture very much."

"Really?" he said, tone wry. "What did you have in mind?"

"Ohh, I don't know. A fancy dinner, perhaps? Or maybe bail if I get arrested. And reimbursement for lawyer fees if that second thing happens..."

As she continued on her whimsical tangent, he no longer felt a thank you was necessary. The favour she'd done him—as unbelievably generous as it was—was still capable of being repaid. It was possible to get even. It was possible, even if it didn't seem so, to get out of this disconcerting and unfamiliar feeling of being indebted to someone else.

But what he'd never be able to repay, he realized, was the favour she'd done him in not walking away in the first place. Not when they'd met and he'd tried to be distant. Not when he deemed himself too busy in the gallery. Not when he'd been furious with Jei and subsequently everyone else.

He had to thank her for that, if only because he knew he wasn't capable of doing the same things in return. But because he was who he was, the words died just short of his lips and he fervently hoped she could read them in his features when she paused to take a breath and looked up.

"So," she said. "Any ideas on how you're gonna pay me back?"

As if looking for the answer, he lowered his gaze to the pile of letters sitting on the table. The powder blue corner of a familiar envelope peeked out at him from between the stack of white letters and the solution immediately dawned on him.

Smirking, he pulled it loose and handed it to her.

With a curious look, she accepted it and removed the invitation, raising it to read. "What is this?"

"A fancy dinner and then some," he said, his smirk widening into a grin.

After a minute, Ino slowly lowered the card, her surprised expression fading into a radiant smile.

"You, sir, have a date."


	4. Why They Call It Falling

Caught You on the Flip Side

By: firefly

Note: Sorry for the long wait, guys. A lot of you messaged me regarding the fic, and I thank you for your patience and support. :) Thank you also for your reviews. I say this every time but I really can't explain just how much they mean to me. You guys are awesome.

So, here's chapter four, obscenely long and overdue as usual. It was both parts extremely fun and extremely challenging to write, so I hope you enjoy it. :) And remember, reviews are always love!

* * *

_Two billion years ago, we're bare soul matter, resonating in tune with starbursts and supernovas._

_We've had a good run, and we're making time for one final cycle around our dying sun._

_We aren't afraid. We know our reunion will be another three billion years in the making, and that when and if we meet again, we probably won't remember each other. _

_But we're okay with it, because no matter how we manifest—with set convictions or souls warped by time and circumstance—we make a promise that we'll somehow meet. And somehow know._

_Because every bit of you resonates in me. And I resonate in you._

_And as we burst apart and hurtle into oblivion, the humour in what you say, and the profound sense of peace that fills me afterwards stay with me every step of the million light-years that spread between us._

_Until then,_

_Catch you on the flip side._

* * *

Caught You on the Flip Side ch.4

Lead scratched aimlessly over paper, the lines dipping and curving in the hope of spontaneously taking shape. When the page ran out of room and he found himself gazing down at yet another scribble, he scrunched it into a ball and tossed it over his shoulder.

It was with droll sentiment he pictured a cliché trashcan overflowing with discarded drawings.

Grabbing yet another piece of paper, he leaned over his drawing board and started in the centre, well aware it would lead him nowhere. He wasn't alone in his frustration, though, as another ball of paper sailed over his head and the silence was broken by a gusty sigh.

Deidara raised his head.

Ino sat at another table a few feet in front of him. She was bent over her textbook, her left hand fisted into her hair.

She was here most Tuesday afternoons, having no classes or part-time work, and he'd grown used to her company during his brainstorming sessions. If there was one thing he respected about her, it was that she took her work just as seriously as he did and knew when it was time to sit down and focus.

Although now she seemed to be having a little trouble with that.

Rising, he grabbed his stool and carried it over to her table, taking a seat next to her and sliding the textbook over to his side. A molecular model kit lay scattered over the surface.

Deidara glanced over the problem in the book, taking a moment to refresh his memory before he started connecting the pieces. Ino watched in silence, visibly impressed when he finished the model representation of 4-hydroxynonenal and handed it to her.

"Wow." She turned the structure in her hands. "Remind me again why you didn't become a chemist?"

"Too many rules," he replied, flipping through the textbook. "No freedom of expression, un."

She raised an eyebrow. "Freedom of expression?"

He smirked. "Can't experiment with explosives unless you're working for the military, and you know how anal they are. Not enough exposure in that line of work."

He flipped one more page and pointed at another problem in the book. "Try that one."

Ino bit her lip and took the pencil, attempting the solution in her notebook. When she finished, he looked it over and pushed the molecular model kit over to her.

"Ugh," she groaned, picking up the plastic pieces. "This sucks. I thought I'd be done with organic chemistry in my undergrad."

"It's not that hard," he said with an air of superiority. Grinning at her disgruntled look, he indicated the placement of a double bond, "That doesn't go there, un."

Before she could throw it at him, he reached out and took it from her, moving to put it in the right place. Her fingers suddenly encircled his wrist, turning his hand so the palm faced outward.

Deidara looked at her questioningly when she canted her head and squinted at the faint outline of his tattoo. "I always meant to ask about this. Why mouths?"

He didn't reply right away, instead glancing down at his other hand and taking note of how faded the tattoo had become. It had been a long time since he'd given them any consideration and felt like a hypocrite at the thought of telling her what they meant.

But she was waiting for an answer, so he spoke.

"I had to take a philosophy class in university. I hated it, thought it was total bullshit, so I was failing." He paused. "But then we started learning about empiricism...and the theory that sensory perception is imperative to the formation of an idea."

He gestured to the incomplete clay figures nearby.

"Your eyes can trick you. You could make a pile of crap, look at it, and fool yourself into thinking people will like it. But if you conceive it with more than your eyes...use all your senses...put all of you into creating it and perceiving it..." he trailed off, looking down at the tattoo before closing his fist. "They were just reminders not to do anything half-assed."

Ino peered at him thoughtfully. "...they've almost disappeared."

"Yeah." He returned his attention to her textbook. "I know."

They were silent for a moment. Then Ino suddenly slammed her textbook shut and stood up, stretching her arms over her head. "I need a break. Let's go for a walk."

"You go ahead," he said, getting up to head back to his drawing board. "I need to—"

She blocked his way. "No, what you need is some fresh air and time to clear your head. Come with me."

He opened his mouth to argue, then realized it was pointless. Part of the reason he'd stopped to help her out with her chemistry homework in the first place was because he knew he was going nowhere with his own work. Granted, things had been a lot easier since he no longer had the burden of his old art weighing on his mind, but he'd been on a working streak for two months straight since then and knew he was close to burning himself out.

"Fine," he relented. "Where are we going?"

"How about the park?" she suggested, leading him out of the basement. He followed in silence, digging his coat and boots out of the closet and casting a glance back at the calendar on the kitchen wall.

December 21st.

Taking a deep breath, he turned away from it and followed her out into the blustery afternoon. The sky was pale gray and a cold wind rattled the surrounding power lines and tree branches. Leaves left over from fall crunched underfoot, the sidewalks stained white from winter salt. The last snow had long since melted, leaving the roads looking parched and cracked. He shivered, burying his face into the collar of his coat as Ino chatted animatedly along the way.

"Did you get a suit yet?"

"For what?"

"The _wedding_, Dei. It's in ten days, you know."

He grimaced. "I'll get around to it."

The wedding was another thing. The last two months had been his most productive out of the entire year, and he was loathe to waste even one night while he still had the capability to sit down and produce decent work. Ino, on the other hand, had been practically giddy with excitement over the whole thing. His lack of enthusiasm must have been killing her, he thought with faint amusement.

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye as she continued chattering, a faint smile spreading beneath his collar.

Jei had called him the night after Halloween to give him the bad news, sounding utterly lifeless. If the man harboured any suspicions regarding Deidara's involvement in the fire, he didn't show it. He was plenty consoled by the thought of the insurance money he'd receive in the auction's stead. That, and he seemed wary of setting Deidara off again and jeopardizing his investment in the artist's future works.

Ino had become a regular constant in his life since then, spending more time at his house than she did her own. Staying the night wasn't a big deal anymore, mainly for the regrettable reason that she'd assured her parents—a tad too convincingly—that he was a close, trustworthy, _gay_ friend. He hadn't taken too kindly to that, but he'd gotten over it once he saw the changes her presence was inspiring in his life.

A portion of the weekends became dedicated to making his house a home, since she'd finally put her foot down and demanded that he unpack the boxes crowding his house. His living room actually resembled one now and he was surprised at the amount of sunlight flooding his house once they'd scoured the dust from the window panes. The kitchen was capable of cooking in again, the hallways free to walk in without the risk of being crushed by boxes.

His fridge actually had food in it—of the organic and unprocessed variety, of course, and he no longer felt surprised by the row of vitamins that awaited him on the kitchen counter every morning.

It perplexed him, still, why she dedicated so much time to ensuring his well-being, when he'd made it clear he didn't care what happened to him so long as he finished his artwork on time. He had the decency to feel a twinge of guilt when he lied about getting the right hours of sleep, or when he disappeared into the basement washroom to take his painkillers when she wasn't looking. The feeling didn't last long, though, when he saw the fruits of his labour.

He'd pretty much completed five of the six pieces due in February. The only thing remaining was the centerpiece for the collection. He'd amassed a pile of sketches speculating what it would be, but nothing had stood out to him as of yet.

Ino turned left in front of him suddenly, circling around the black gate leading into the park. Started from his reverie, he moved to follow, finding the place mostly deserted. She took a seat on one of the swings, gesturing invitingly to the empty one next to her.

He shook his head, finding a nearby bench instead. The atmosphere was quiet and serene, both settling into a comfortable silence. The squeak of swing chains was the only sound echoing in the vicinity, and it, too, faded into the background as he leaned back and let his mind drift.

It was with both trepidation and amusement he imagined the reception and the reactions of Sasori and the rest of them to meeting Ino. Receptions had never really been his thing, and he would've considered skipping if Pain hadn't done him a favour. That, and he owed Ino a fancy dinner. He supposed having her with him would make the event somewhat bearable, even if he was sure he'd spend the night pining over his workshop.

He was distracted when Ino's voice cut through his thoughts.

"Hey, look at that..."

Hearing the marvel in her voice, he followed her gaze to see the grey sky overhead turn black with a massive outpour of starlings.

The park darkened as though the sun had gone down, enveloped in the shadows of a thousand birds as they weaved and careened in perfect sync, forming an ever-changing, undulating shape that resembled a different life form altogether. He stared, transfixed by the sheer size of the flock and its uncanny ability to fly in perfect formation without a single starling straying from place.

They hovered above the park for a few more seconds, forming a spiral shape that tapered off into a perfect point, before the entire shape seemed to collapse in on itself and they soared by in a black blur, disappearing into the tree tops at the end of the street.

Deidara stared after them, a strange stillness descending upon him. His breath hitched, a lump rising in his throat.

_That was it._

The immense feeling that washed over him then, suddenly and violently, sparked an electric, prickling sensation over every inch of his body. He stood, breath shortening when he realized in a burst of euphoria what he was experiencing.

Pure, unfettered, inspiration.

He continued to stand there, allowing himself to bask in the long-forgotten sensation until he was struck with the need to capture the vision taking shape in his mind.

_Paper_, he realized suddenly._ I need paper. _

He jammed his hands into his coat pockets, searching them. When they yielded nothing, he tore it off and searched his jeans, managing to retrieve an old drugstore receipt and a nub of a pencil from his back pocket. Without wasting a second, he dropped to his knees beside the bench to use the seat as a drawing board.

His fingers quickly grew numb in the cold but he didn't feel it, eyes focused intently on the complex arcs and curves taking shape on the paper. Simultaneously, ideas of the size, scope, and structure flashed in the back of his mind, the entire piece conceived in its completion before he even finished drawing it down.

Once he finished, he could only stare at it, an onslaught of familiar, giddy excitement crashing down on him. Oblivious to the cold, he jammed the paper back into his pocket and got to his feet.

Ino was still gazing skyward when he whipped around to look at her.

"I have to go."

She blinked and lowered her eyes, stilling when she took in the sight of him.

His coat lay discarded on the ground and he stood breathless, face flushed and eyes bright. But it was the sight of the radiant, boundless smile spreading over his face that made her stop in shock.

"Deidara," she said, actually alarmed. "Are you okay?"

"I need to go," he repeated, already backing away.

The resurfacing of this sudden, unknown side of him rendered her speechless, and before she could react, he turned around and began running back the way they'd come.

That was enough to startle her into movement. "Dei—your jacket!"

She swiped it off the ground and took off after him. He didn't slow down once, practically bursting into the house when he got there and bounding down the basement steps two at a time. Ino arrived soon after, closing the door he'd left hanging open and following him into the basement.

He was dragging new boxes of clay over to his work station, oblivious to everything around him as he sat on his stool and leaned forward to open the box. These instances were the rarest, when inspiration struck so deep and sound that he could mould straight from the box without any preliminary sketches.

Ino stood behind him, astonished by the enthusiasm and manic energy that seemed to have taken hold of him. It was easy to see that he'd forgotten about her, especially when he turned around a minute later to grab his tools and blinked at the sight of her standing there.

"I've finally got it," he said by way of explanation. "I need to work now, un."

"Okay," she replied, unable to resist smiling at his verve as she moved to gather her things. "But you're going to take a break at some point, right?"

He returned his attention to the clay and didn't reply.

Ino dropped her books into her bag, brow furrowing. "Promise me you'll take a break. I don't want to have to come back and find you passed out in a pile of putty."

"I'll take a break when I feel like it," he said impatiently, opening the box up. "Just go. I need to work."

"I don't know if I can trust you."

Deidara felt a twitch start in his eye. "Ino, you need to leave. I can't work with people hanging over me."

She stopped dead.

"_Hanging over you_?" she repeated, outraged. "Here I am, stressing over your well-being, and you tell me I'm hanging over you like a big, stinky—"

"I never said that," he said, exasperated. "Just go."

"Deidara—"

He smacked his forehead and spun around. "Damn it, Ino!"

They glared at each other. Ino hefted her bag onto her shoulder and crossed her arms.

"You can't make me."

He blinked. "What?"

With measured deliberation, she sat down at the edge of a table and crossed one leg over the other. "I am not leaving until you promise you'll take a break." She spared him a contemptuous look. "And _you_ can't _make_ me."

He suddenly kicked the box of clay aside and stood up. Ino blinked, her resolute expression wavering when he started towards her. She tended to forget. Even if he had the effeminate features and artsy occupation, he was still a man, and consequently much stronger and brasher than she gave him credit for.

She emitted a shriek that Deidara had braced himself for when he grabbed her and threw her over his shoulder, but he still winced and took quick strides towards the door as she kicked wildly and screamed at him to put her down.

He dropped her unceremoniously over the threshold and slammed the door shut, grabbing a nearby chair to wedge between the floor and the doorknob.

"Go home!" he shouted through the door.

Then he strode over to his industrial-strength clay mixer and turned it on full power to drown out her yelling.

After that, the remainder of the day and most of the night passed in a blur. He worked in a trance, oblivious to hunger and the exhaustion seeping into his muscles, only getting up to retrieve the chair he'd jammed the door with to serve as a makeshift support for the sculpture.

At 6 AM, he reached a point of complete memory loss, unsure what transpired in the gap between him etching out the tail feathers of a starling and finding himself stumbling drunkenly to his feet with Ino's arm around his shoulders.

"Get up, you ass. You're going to bed."

When he turned his head in the direction of the bedroom in the basement, she hauled him towards the stairs.

"No way. You can't be trusted."

He might have mumbled something in return, but was half asleep by the time she managed to get him up the stairs and into the hallway. He vaguely recalled her dumping him on his bed and then immediately passing out.

Twelve hours later, he woke in the exact same position she'd left him. He turned his head towards his bedside clock. It was six in the evening. Feeling incredibly stiff, he lifted his head and stopped short at the sight of Ino at his closet, rifling through his clothes.

His forehead wrinkled in confusion. "Ino, what the hell're you doing?"

"Finally awake?" she said, ignoring his question. "Took you long enough."

A look at her clothes told him she must've just returned from her part-time job. It was with slight chagrin that he realized she also must've dropped by his house earlier that morning to check on him, and then had to drag him to bed.

She didn't seem to be holding a grudge about it, though, turning around to show the suit cover she held against her chest. She grinned. "Guess who did your shopping."

Deidara rubbed his head. "For what?"

"Are you serious? For the wedding!"

Realization dawned on him as he looked at the suit cover. Then he squinted up at her in confusion. "How did you...?"

Ino only smirked and reached into her back pocket, withdrawing something and throwing it into his lap. He fumbled for it, blanching when he realized what it was.

"The suit was 600 dollars," she said simply. "I put it on your credit card."

He dropped it in shock. "You did _what_?"

"Jeez, you could at least act a little more grateful."

"How the hell did you get my PIN number?"

"I asked you," she said with a touch of irony. "You were so out of it last night you gave it to me."

Taking advantage of his stunned silence, she unzipped the cover and presented the tux with a flourish. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

Deidara stared at it without actually taking any of it in. This was too much information to digest first thing in the morning. Or evening, for that matter.

"How do you know that'll even fit me?" he said in disbelief.

"Oh," she turned carelessly back to the closet. "I took your measurements while you were asleep."

He gaped, appalled at her audacity and the fact that he hadn't woken up when she'd done it. She didn't give him a chance to speak, sighing and shaking her head.

"Speaking of clothes—"

She yanked out a t-shirt in disgust and held it up for him to see.

"What is this?" she demanded. "Eddie's Trucking Company? Is your name Eddie? Do you own a truck?"

Deidara slowly closed his eyes and fell sideways onto the bed.

"No? Then this is trash."

She threw the shirt on the floor and proceeded to decimate the rest of his closet.

"Come _on_, Deidara. You're an artist. That doesn't mean you have to dress like a dirty hipster. You just need a few simple shirts in solid colours that don't look twenty years old. And some new jeans. And pants. Ugh, you're so going shopping with me after the wedding..."

Deidara grabbed one of his spare pillows and clamped it over his head.

December 31st couldn't come fast enough.

* * *

Nine days later, Deidara found himself eating his words when Ino hauled an entire suitcase full of her stuff into the house and into one of the spare bedrooms upstairs. When he'd asked, she'd looked at him as if he was insane.

"You haven't been to many receptions, have you?"

"No, but I know you don't need a whole freakin' suitcase to go to one, un."

"You're a guy, so I don't expect you to understand. A lot of work goes into looking this good."

He gave up and left it at that, returning his attention to his fledgling masterpiece, only to notice that Ino was still standing behind him and had fallen silent.

"What?"

"Nothing," she murmured, bending closer to one of the starlings he'd adhered to the wire frame. "You just...did a really good job."

He turned back to it, hiding his obvious pleasure. "You haven't seen anything yet."

"Oh, I believe that. I'm just wondering if you'll be able to tear yourself away long enough for the reception tomorrow."

Reality smacked him upside the head and he grimaced, holding one of the starlings to his chest.

"Stop being such a hermit!" she exclaimed, noticing his reluctance. "One night away from the house won't kill you. Besides..." her voice took on a note of slight concern. "If you don't take a break, you're going to burn yourself out."

He clenched his jaw, setting the clay bird back on its frame. "I'm going, un. It's not like I have a choice."

The surliness faded from his features when she leaned down and kissed his temple. "I appreciate it."

Still, just to spite her, he stayed in the basement for the remainder of the night, working late into the morning and finally dragging himself to bed at some godforsaken hour. He woke around four o'clock in the afternoon, and only because Ino hit him over the head with a pillow.

"You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?" she sighed when he sat up, sparing a lazy glance at the clock. "You only have two and a half hours to get ready."

"Like I need more than that," he muttered, getting up and trudging past her. "I'll be done before you."

"Ha, here's hoping." As an afterthought, she called after him, "And before you ask, I left your suit in your room!"

"Yeah, yeah..."

He left for the shower, taking his sweet time getting ready. Forcing himself to do it was like working against gravity, his mind and body constantly leaning towards the unfinished masterpiece sitting in his basement. He felt half-tempted to fake a sudden illness, but knowing Ino's probable reaction, decided he liked his head where it was and got dressed.

The only full-length mirror in the house was affixed to the wall between the living and dining room. With grim expectation, he trudged back downstairs, taking a moment to steel himself before stepping out in front of it.

Taking in his reflection, he was unnerved to notice that the suit fit like a glove, prompting him to wonder at Ino's prodigious measuring skills. It was a modern cut, sleek and single-breasted, in all black save for the silken tie; that was a deep scarlet.

He reached up to adjust it, feeling strangely out of place in something so formal, until he heard someone clearing their throat behind him.

"Well, well..."

Deidara dropped his hands and turned. Ino stood in the foyer, a Cheshire-like grin playing on her lips as she looked him up and down. "_Hello_ nurse."

Embarrassed and caught off guard, he rolled his eyes and turned back to the mirror. "Shut up."

"Who's a genius?" she asked, flouncing up next to him and picking an invisible piece of lint off his jacket. "I have excellent taste, don't I?"

"Expensive taste, sure," he retorted, grinning a little at her mock scowl. "Did you use up all your genius on me or did you save any for yourself?"

He aimed a pointed look at her buttoned up wool jacket.

The self-satisfied grin returned in a heartbeat and she stepped back with her hands on her hips.

"Well, I wouldn't want to steal your thunder..."

"But you're going to do it anyway," he said, leaning against the wall. "Let's see it."

He didn't have to ask her twice. With a flourish, she whipped off the jacket and tossed it onto the couch, completing the gesture with a twirl to show off her dress. The only sound in the room that followed was the gentle rustle of black tulle swishing on red taffeta, and for an unbearably long moment, she stood waiting as he stared at her.

"So?" she prompted eventually. "How do I look?"

The dress was a deep red, embellished with black floral embroidery, strapless and knee length with the skirt flaring out at the waist. There were a million things he could have said, none of which he could actually say out loud because it would only give her the incentive to milk the compliment for all it was worth. Not to mention he'd been on the receiving end of her teasing long enough.

So he remained silent and adopted a thoughtful expression, approaching her from the side. Ino regarded him quizzically as he crossed his arms and circled her, examining the dress from all angles. After a while, he took a step back and nodded.

"It's nice."

"Nice?" she echoed, raising her eyebrows.

"Yeah."

"...that's it?"

He nodded. "We better go before we're late."

She mouthed wordlessly in shock as he turned away and strode over to the closet to get his coat. Stifling a snicker, he watched her examine herself in the mirror, resuming his expression of blank indifference when she glanced back over her shoulder at him.

A few minutes later, he was standing at the door, ready to depart for the taxi waiting outside. When he looked back into the den, Ino was still standing in front of the mirror.

"Ino, the taxi's here, un."

She suddenly whirled to face him.

"Maybe I should go change," she blurted, looking panicked. "Maybe I should—"

She didn't let herself finish, scrambling into the foyer and towards the stairs when he reached out and grabbed her arm.

"Are you crazy? We have to go."

"But I look—" she gestured to herself, at a loss for words. "You said I look—"

He raised an eyebrow. "Nice?"

She grimaced as if he'd uttered a curse word. At her reaction, he couldn't stop himself laughing and pulled her off the steps and back onto the floor.

At her confusion, he decided he'd gotten his share of retribution for the time being and gave her a wry smirk.

"It was a joke, un."

At her surprised silence, he cocked his head at her, voice blunt.

"Do you really need me to tell you that you look beautiful?"

Her eyes widened before narrowing again in suspicion. "Are you joking again?"

He regarded her contemplatively. Then, taking a leaf out of her book, dropped the teasing tone and stepped closer till he was looking her straight in the eyes.

"No."

It must have been the plain honesty in his voice, rather than the actual compliment, that resulted in the wholly unexpected blush that crept into her cheeks. He looked just as surprised by it as she did and retreated to open the door.

"Don't forget your jacket."

She grabbed it in a hurry, sparing him a smile before stepping out into the cold winter air. He shut the door and locked it, hunching his shoulders against the chill and jogging after her to the cab. Upon entering, he slipped the directions to the driver and settled in next to her, the bulk of her dress, jacket, and his coat crowding the backseat. It was a snug fit, and after a while he glanced over at her.

She was checking her reflection in a compact, putting it away when she noticed him watching.

Deidara made an amused snort, raising his gaze to the ceiling. "You really care that much what others think of you?"

"No," she sniffed, sticking her tongue out at him. He lowered his eyes to look at her again when she sank into the seat, mumbling. "Just you, for some dumb reason."

* * *

They reached the hotel half an hour later, rushing for the door to the venue when Deidara realized they were ten minutes late—only to enter and find many of the reception guests still loitering in the lobby outside the banquet room.

Ino clasped her hands together, elated by the sight of such refined company and the beautiful array of florals decking the hall, whereas Deidara grimaced at the thought of making the rounds to greet Pain's acquaintances.

He was spared, temporarily, when an unimpressed voice cut through the clamour.

"We were wondering if you'd show, Deidara."

He turned at the sound of his name. Looking vaguely irritated, Sasori nodded curtly as a way of greeting before looking impatiently out the window.

"So like Pain to be fashionably late to his own wedding reception."

"They're not here yet?" Deidara questioned, surprised.

Sasori opened his mouth to reply, only to cut himself short and smirk faintly when he saw the group approaching. "Ah, here they come."

"What the fuck, Sasori? I told you to help me move the damn chairs in the lobby!"

"I am not a janitor," Sasori said flatly. "And control yourself, Hidan. We're at a wedding."

Hidan opened his mouth to reply, only to have Kisame thrust a hand between him and Sasori to shake Deidara's hand.

"It's been a while," he said, genuinely pleased to see him. "You're looking a little livelier than last time." He paused, a knowing smile spreading over his face. "Finally out of your rut?"

Deidara managed a self-deprecating grin. "Something like that, un."

"What the hell took you so long, Deidara-chan?" Hidan suddenly questioned, sounding even more irritated than Sasori.

"Ignore him," Kakuzu cut in, paying no attention to Hidan's glare. "He's just uptight because Konan made him wear a shirt."

"Screw all of you," he grumbled when the others snorted in laughter. "And where's Itachi?"

"Attending to the phone," Zetsu replied, directly behind him.

There was another round of laughter when the priest jumped and backed sullenly away into the corner. Deidara knew exactly what the green-haired man was thinking when he reached out to shake his hand.

"I heard your mission was a success."

"Yeah," Deidara admitted, unable to resist the pride welling up inside him. "Piece of cake, un."

"I seem to recall your lady friend saying those exact words," he grinned. "Where is she, by the way?"

Deidara's eyes widened in realization. Turning, he blinked when he found the space behind him empty, and looked around the lobby until he noticed her conversing animatedly with the florist by the venue entrance.

Zetsu followed his gaze. "We never had a proper introduction."

Deidara hesitated, wondering how a meet and greet with the rest of the group would pan out, but then realized they'd have to meet at some point during the night, anyway. He left the group by the window, weaving his way through the crowd to reach her.

"I never thought stephanotis would compliment calla lilies so well," he heard her gush. "It looks gorgeous. You did an amazing job—"

Realizing he'd be standing there forever if he waited for her finish, he coughed to get her attention. "Ino."

The blushing florist noticed him and timidly bid her goodbye, leaving to attend to the flowers again as Ino glanced over her shoulder.

"Oh, did I ditch you? Sorry, the flowers were just—"

"It's fine," he said, ushering her back to the group. "There's some people wanting to meet you."

Ino looked tickled pink by the idea, about to ask who when he stopped by a group of intimidating-looking men standing by the window.

Her silence made him wonder if she found the prospect daunting. But then Ino took one look at Zetsu and stilled. Their gazes met for a second, and then she strode right up to him and clasped him in a hug. Hidan's jaw dropped and Kisame stared, surprised, as Zetsu's pale face gradually tinged pink. He hesitantly patted her on the back.

Ino pulled away, beaming. "I remember you! Zetsu, right? Deidara didn't tell me you'd be here."

"Oh, well," he managed to say, finding his composure again. "I'm more of a distant acquaintance."

She pursed her lips. "Don't be so modest. You really helped us out last time."

Deidara coughed again when the comment garnered a few curious looks.

Getting the hint, Ino finished with a gracious smile. "Thanks."

Zetsu nodded, still dazed by the greeting as he moved aside to let Deidara introduce her.

She looked completely at ease in their midst and waited expectantly as Deidara gestured between her and the group. "Ino, these are all..." he floundered for the right words. "Uh, mutual friends from university."

"Nice to meet you," Kisame said first, extending a hand. She took it without hesitation, oblivious to the strange look he gave her.

"Have we met?"

"I don't think so," Ino replied, cocking her head at him. "Why do you ask?"

He smiled in a bemused way. "You look familiar."

Hidan butted in. "You related to Deidara-chan or something?"

She laughed. "No."

"Oh." His eyes widened and he shot a visibly impressed look over at the blond. "So you're his girlfr—"

"Hidan, at least _try_ to be tactful," Kakuzu interrupted. He took her hand, courteously formal. "Kakuzu."

"Wow." Ino blinked in awe. "You have really nice eyes."

Taken aback, Kakuzu tightened his jaw at Hidan's snort of laughter but managed a stiff thank you nonetheless.

"Save the rest of the introductions for later," Sasori said suddenly, looking out the window. "They're here."

The harried wedding planner burst into the lobby and wasted no time in ushering them into the banquet hall to make room for the bride and groom's entrance. Upon entering the room, it was difficult not to stop dead and block the rest of the entourage coming in from behind them.

"Damn," Hidan said blankly.

For once, they had to agree with his sentiment.

The room was a phantasmagorical display of flowers and crystal, lit a pale, tranquil blue from filtered lights. A month's salary worth of flowers served as a centerpiece for each table, and they didn't have to touch the linens to know they weren't anything less than silk.

Even Sasori, Deidara noticed, notorious critic of everything in the universe, eyed the decorations with approval. They found a table a minute later, sitting just in time for Konan and Pain to step through the door. The room erupted in cheers and applause as the two joined hands and made their way down the carpet, smiling and waving to the guests.

"That's Konan?" Ino questioned, voicing exactly what everyone at the table was thinking. "She's a knockout."

The blue-haired woman was breathtaking in her sleek, sheath gown, hair done up in a French twist and accented with a perfect cluster of stephanotis. Pain was almost unrecognizable without his piercings, appearing almost normal in his tuxedo save for his wild red hair.

Besides Ino, Deidara and everyone else at the table were visibly taken aback to see their one-time boss smiling like that.

"You're shitting me," Hidan said, rubbing his eyes. "Is that seriously Pain?"

"Of course," Kisame said. "He just looks..._happy_."

An imperceptible shiver ran through the group at the thought.

The new bride and groom took their seats at the head of the room, immediately striking a jubilant atmosphere as guests took turns walking up to congratulate them.

Deciding he'd make his greeting rounds later, Deidara leaned back into his seat, taking note of the occupants at the table.

Ino, Zetsu, Kisame, Kakuzu, Hidan, and Sasori. There was one vacant spot and his eye twitched at the thought of its owner. He was distracted though, when Ino leaned across the table and extended her hand to Sasori.

"I didn't get a chance to introduce myself in the lobby. I'm Ino."

Deidara furtively glanced at Sasori, who gave her an assessing stare and slowly reached out to grip her hand.

"Sasori."

There was a reason his red-haired colleague was known as an introverted loner in the art world, and why even Jei didn't dare test him. Sasori had all the patience of a wasp and a serrated tongue to match, and wasn't at all afraid to show his disinterest in idle chatter.

It was fortunate, then, that Ino somehow managed to choose the exact topic that would hold his attention for more than ten seconds.

"You did _Perpetual Motion_, right?" she said, smiling at the slight surprise registering in his eyes. "It was one of my favourite pieces at the gallery."

Deidara kept his own surprise to himself, realizing she must've seen it the day they'd run into each other. The piece had caused a stir when it had first debut, for being of interest to both the science world as well as the art. Sasori had constructed an abstract representation of time out of spiralled tungsten, a feat in itself considering the metal's durability. The amazing part, though, had been the metal sphere he'd gotten to spin constantly within the curving spirals, without stopping even once.

There were speculations of magnets being involved and other things along those lines, but Sasori chose to keep the actual truth secret and keep the public guessing. It also happened to be one of Deidara's own personal favourites, if only for its ingenuity. Though he'd never tell the red-haired artist that.

Sasori didn't dither in responding to Ino's compliment, reacting with his typical modest grace.

"You have excellent taste."

Ino smiled pointedly at Deidara. "Thank you."

Sasori noticed, allowing himself a haughty smirk. "Don't look to him for anything regarding artistic merit."

Used to the jibes, Deidara only smirked back. "I can't blame you for your narrow-minded perspective, un. You're practically a dinosaur in the modern art world."

Ino stifled a laugh and Deidara grinned at the contemptuous look Sasori gave him.

"How tragic," he intoned, leaning back in his seat. "That such promising minds should fall into your company."

Ino laughed. "No need to pity me." A teasing note crept into her voice as she leaned into Deidara's side and looked adoringly up at him through her lashes, "I've enjoyed it so far."

In hindsight, he wondered what kind of expression must have crossed his face to make Hidan choke on his drink and make even Sasori chuckle. Ino pulled away and joined in the laughter as if it was nothing, oblivious to the half-hearted scowl he aimed her way.

He was spared any further ridicule when the servers began making their rounds with the appetizers, followed shortly by dinner. Ino struck up a conversation with Sasori again, leading Deidara to wonder what they could possibly be discussing when they headed out of the hall to retrieve her compact from her coat pocket.

It had only been an hour and he was already bored. Idle conversation was okay for a little while, but there wasn't much for him to talk about, anyway. His mind kept returning to the unfinished centerpiece he'd left in his basement, impatience gnawing at him as he glanced apathetically around the room.

It was only when Kisame addressed him directly did he lift his head from the chair's backrest.

"So, where do I know her from?"

Deidara stared at him, bewildered, until he glanced around the table and noticed Hidan, Zetsu, and Kakuzu were also listening. He briefly wondered if they'd goaded Kisame into asking, knowing the question had been inevitable. Hauling himself forward to rest his arms on the table, he scratched his head, voice dropping into a mutter.

"She's the girl from the club you took me to last year."

Kisame was silent, uncomprehending, but then his eyes widened and his face split into a grin. "You sneaky bastard, then you did go talk to her!"

"No. She came and talked to me." He paused, wondering how to explain the bizarre happenings of the night. "It's a long story, un."

"I didn't think you had time for a relationship."

"That's because we're not in a relationship."

"Then you two are going casual—"

"No," Deidara interrupted impatiently. "We're just friends."

He wasn't surprised to see all four of them looking sceptical.

"You're telling me," Kisame began slowly, "that you hit it off with a beautiful girl in a club, been buddies with her ever since, and just decided to bring her along to Pain's wedding?"

"Yeah."

"What, do you paint each others' nails, too?" Hidan laughed. "How'd she get here, anyway? When I called you, you were just leaving your place."

Deidara shrugged, nonchalant. "She spent the night."

They fell silent and stared at him.

He shrugged again, not getting the big deal. "I live in a four-bedroom house, un."

Kakuzu sipped his drink. "Is she mooching off of you?"

"She lives with her parents," he said, annoyed.

Zetsu blinked. "And they let her spend the night at your place?"

Deidara struggled with himself for a few moments, wondering if it would be better to just let the truth out, let them have their laugh and leave him alone, or to let them keep pestering him about it. He decided to choose the lesser of two evils.

"She told them I'm gay," he mumbled.

His expression dissolved into a glower as the table erupted in hysterical laughter. Sometimes he really hated people.

Fortunately, Ino chose to return a few minutes later, Sasori following close behind. She seemed unusually pleased with herself, and a glance at Sasori's face offered no clues. He was as impassive as ever. He didn't get a chance to ask, anyway, because the missing member of the table finally chose to make his appearance.

"Itachi, what the hell took you so long?"

Deidara tensed in his seat when the usually sombre Uchiha stopped in front of the table and offered them a barely-there smile.

"Security issues," he said, adjusting his jacket sleeve. "Pain asked me to look into it..."

He looked up and trailed off, taking notice of the only unfamiliar face at the table.

"Hi," Ino said, sounding unusually reserved.

Kisame realized the last thing Deidara was going to do was introduce her to Itachi, of all people, so he took it upon himself to do it instead.

"Ino, this is Uchiha Itachi. Itachi, this is Ino." He glanced at the blond. "Deidara's friend."

Itachi extended his hand. "Nice to meet you."

She stood up and accepted it, tilting her head inquisitively. "I'm sorry...did you say Uchiha?"

When he nodded, she took a moment to examine his face. Then her eyes widened and she went completely still. "You...wouldn't happen to have a brother, would you?"

Itachi eyed her curiously before nodding again.

Her lips parted in shock.

"Sasuke?"

He blinked, surprise trickling into his features. "Yes. How do you—?"

Ino laughed incredulously. "We went to middle school together! He'd mentioned he had an older brother, but—" she shook her head in disbelief. "I haven't seen him in years. How is he?"

The guarded overcast in Itachi's eyes faded, a small smile reappearing on his face. "I was just going to get a drink..."

He didn't have to finish. She was by his side in an instant, signalling a 'be right back' gesture to Deidara before disappearing with him into the throng of people.

Kisame had to fight to hold back his laughter at the dark look that passed over Deidara's face. Sasori rolled his eyes, Kakuzu and Zetsu smirked, and Hidan flicked a crumpled gum wrapper at him.

"You're a dumbass. Seriously."

"Well, we _were_ trying to be tactful," Kisame grinned. "I'm surprised you let her go off with him like that."

Deidara aimed his glower at the other man. "Why would I stop her? She can talk to whoever she wants."

"Yeah, right. That vein in your forehead says otherwise."

"Honestly, I thought you would have gotten over it by now," Sasori muttered. "He didn't _intend_ to win that competition. The judges just happened to be the sorts of fools who interpret garbage as some form of metaphorical, post modern art."

"I dared him to do it," Kisame added. "He still doesn't understand why you're so mad at him."

"That's exactly it," Deidara ground out. "It didn't even occur to him to think how big of an insult that was to real artists."

"Sasori's an artist," Kakuzu pointed out. "And he didn't care."

Deidara grew irate. "Sasori doesn't care about anything!"

"Untrue," Sasori said. Then he reconsidered. "No. Never mind. He's right."

"Well, either way, Itachi certainly has a way with women," Zetsu commented, gazing out into the crowd. "She seems to be enjoying his company."

Kisame followed his line of sight and nodded. "She's got him. He only gets like that when he talks about his brother."

From a distance, they could see Ino doubling over in laughter, obviously in the middle of retelling some childhood story, and Itachi appearing genuinely enthused by the conversation. Deidara's fists tightened under the table and he forced his gaze elsewhere.

"You don't look happy," Kisame drawled.

"Obviously not," Hidan snorted. "Itachi's macking on his woman."

"Hidan," Sasori said, closing his eyes. "Do you even know the meaning of the word 'subtle'?"

Fed up with the entire conversation, Deidara got up and left the table. The servers were clearing the dinner plates and guests were gravitating towards the open bar. Gradually, people began taking to the dance floor, charging the atmosphere with laughter and music.

Deidara weaved his way through the crowd, aiming for the venue entrance for some fresh air. He was stopped just by the door when Ino snagged his arm.

"Where are you off to?"

Thankfully, Itachi wasn't with her and he bit back a retort when he took in her appearance. Excitement shone in her eyes and her face was flushed, and an exhilarated smile played on her lips as she glanced over her shoulder at the dance floor.

As if on cue, the music changed tempo and Ino gasped.

"Oh my God I _love_ this song. Come dance with me!"

He instinctively pulled his arm back. "I don't dance, un."

She pouted. "Why not?"

"Because," he said, searching for an excuse. "It's stupid."

If he thought his response would damper her enthusiasm, he was wrong.

"Hmph, fine. Be a bore," she said, striding off in search for a dance partner. He stared after her, momentarily dreading the idea of her finding and asking Itachi, only to blink in surprise when he saw who she stopped in front of.

Kisame looked visibly taken aback and glanced around to see if she was addressing the right person. "Me?"

Ino didn't deign him with a response and instead seized his wrist, dragging him out onto the dance floor.

Despite himself, Deidara couldn't help smirking in amusement. It was just as well she enjoyed herself the rest of the night, he thought, leaning against the wall and watching her meld into the crowd with a flustered Kisame. He owed her that much.

* * *

The party tapered off hours later, sometime around 1:30 AM. The guests gathered in front of the hotel entrance to bid goodbye to Pain and Konan as they departed for their hotel in a limo. Once the car disappeared into the distance, they dispersed, chattering excitedly about what had most certainly been the best reception of the year.

Ino was no exception and left Deidara to wonder how she could still feel so energetic after hours of dancing. She relayed the party's experiences the entire ride home, and despite his headache, he was glad to hear that the night had surpassed her expectations and then some.

Some of her verve evaporated, though, by the time they reached his house, and she stifled a yawn behind her hand when he unlocked the front door and stepped inside. Grateful for the peace and quiet, he kicked off his shoes, eager to rid himself of his formal attire.

He shrugged off his jacket as he headed into the kitchen, tossing it over a chair. Ino pried off her heels in the foyer, wincing in relief before padding after him. Standing by the fridge in the dark, he loosened his tie with one hand while pouring himself a glass of water with the other.

"Want any?" he asked.

"I'm good," she replied after yawning again. "You really missed out tonight, you know."

He turned around at that. She was leaning against the counter, pulling the pins out of her hair and combing her locks loose.

"How's that?" he questioned flatly.

She looked at him as though it was obvious. "You didn't dance with me, doofus."

He rolled his eyes, deciding to take a sip of water instead of answering. She set the pins on the counter, idly lining them up.

"What do you have against dancing, anyway?"

"Nothing. It's just not for me."

"It's not hard or anything."

"I know. Just drop it, un."

She glanced towards him. He ignored her stare, finishing his drink and placing the filter back in the fridge. When he turned around, she pointed a finger at his chest.

"You're afraid you'd look stupid," she accused.

He gave her a dry look. "You can be really annoying when you want to be."

"Yeah, and you're a chicken."

He narrowed his eyes at that but didn't take the bait, moving to step past her and go upstairs. She matched his movement and blocked his way.

"It's understandable to be embarrassed in front of a crowd. But this time, it's just the two of us."

She fished her cell phone out of her purse and flipped it open. Deidara watched in bewilderment as she searched through its contents. After a few seconds, her eyes lit up and she pressed a button before setting the phone on the counter.

As the first tinny notes of music spilled from the tiny speaker, he realized what she was doing and rubbed his forehead in exasperation.

"Ino, it's freakin' two o'clock in the morning."

"I'll lead," she said, as if she hadn't heard him. "You just follow."

She moved towards him, then reconsidered and walked over to the exhaust fan to press the button for the lowest light setting. The bulb flickered and a dim yellow glow spilled over the stove and tiles.

He looked at her blankly.

"To set the mood," she explained.

"You're nuts, un."

Unperturbed, she walked up to him and held out her hand. When it was met with a faint scowl, she rolled her eyes and grabbed his tie, pulling him away from the fridge. Any further protests were silenced when she stepped out to meet him halfway and hooked one arm around his shoulders, seizing his left hand and bringing it to shoulder level.

In response, his gaze dropped pointedly to her waist.

Ino sighed. "I don't have cooties, Dei."

The jibe was enough to spite him into putting his hand where it was supposed to go. Satisfied, she assumed the lead and took a step forward, expecting him to follow through. He wasn't anticipating her to move so suddenly and took a stumbling step backwards, knocking over the trash can behind him.

Taking the mistake in stride, she turned him in the opposite direction.

"Didn't you learn this in middle school?"

"No," he muttered derisively. "I wasn't the school dance type, un."

She smiled. "Then you're going to learn so you can dance at my wedding. And then I'll do the same when you find yourself a nice girl and settle down."

He snorted at that.

"Oh, right," Ino sighed. "Married to your work."

"Till the day I die. Even if it's been one-sided lately."

She laughed, her voice soft and mischievous. "Maybe you should have an affair in the mean time."

He raised his gaze to her briefly, then looked back down at the floor.

"Well, unlike you," she said, voice dropping into a murmur. "I know exactly what my soul mate will be like..."

Ino pulled back from him long enough to twirl beneath their joined hands, leisurely easing back into position. "Like I said before, he'll be tall, dark, and handsome...kind of on the serious side, but I'll be able to make him laugh. Older by a couple of years, mature, sophisticated, cultured...he'll be family-oriented. He'll love spending time at home..."

Deidara had to bite the inside of his mouth to vanquish the sudden image of Itachi that rose in his mind's eye.

She continued, voice softening.

"We'll meet by chance, and we'll just _know_."

He did nothing to hide his incredulity. "How can you be so sure of that?"

"_Because_," she said emphatically, as if that was enough of an explanation. "That's just...how it should be."

"You're delusional, un."

"And you're doomed to be a crazy old spinster."

He smirked despite the feminine denomination, not denying it because she was probably right. After several seconds of silence, she spoke again.

"Dei..."

"Yeah?"

"Have you ever been in love?"

He looked at her from the corner of his eye, vaguely perturbed by her sudden preoccupation with the subject.

"No," he answered eventually. And truthfully.

"You know how they say, when you're in love, you just know?"

He'd heard that adage often enough, so he nodded.

"How are you supposed to know how it feels unless you've felt it before?"

He remained silent, spared having to reply when she answered her own question.

"I think we all knew, once," she said quietly. "We just don't remember."

A few beats passed before he spoke, voice frank. "Your beliefs are too idealistic, Ino."

She pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes.

"Life is short," she said, challenging. "Why shouldn't I believe in whatever makes me happy?"

He returned the gaze. "Because it's not realistic."

She smiled slightly. "If I'd been realistic, you and me wouldn't be standing here right now."

He couldn't think of a response to that, lips pressing into a thin line. Eventually, his silence earned a nudge from her.

"Lighten up," she murmured, closing her eyes and leaning her head against his shoulder. "Sometimes it doesn't hurt to be unrealistic."

Growing tense, he shifted his gaze to her questioningly. She didn't seem to notice, instead relaxing the arm draping his shoulder and shortening the distance between them.

He mused over her words, wondering if she knew what they meant when the stiffness in his posture melted away and the soft weight of her hand melded into his grip; wondered if she knew what possibilities surfaced in his mind when he looked at her.

_Sometimes it doesn't hurt to be unrealistic._

He didn't believe her. But in that moment, a combination of the kitchen's familiarity, the late hour, and the warmth of her closeness was enough to make him close his eyes and turn his face into the side of her neck. His next breath flooded him with the subtle notes of perfume lingering in her hair, evoking a deep, soporific feeling.

He felt as if he'd done this somewhere before.

_I haven't_, he reminded himself.

But still, as they turned in slow circles over the kitchen tiles, the motions became effortless and thoughtless, bringing to mind vague recollections of being somewhere else, surrounded by a soundless void of bright lights. Feeling contentment and euphoria all at once. Entwining with something familiar. Something similar.

Fitting seamlessly together.

Startled, he opened his eyes.

The kitchen was dark, the only light glowing faintly beneath the hood of the exhaust fan. The cell phone had gone silent.

Glancing down, he realized his back was to the fridge and that her forehead had come to rest in the crook of his neck. They'd stopped moving.

Ino slowly drew away from him, then, looking up and meeting his gaze. A strange expression passed fleetingly over her face, but then she smiled sheepishly and glanced at the stove clock.

"I lost track of time." Her smile became teasing. "You're so dancing with me at the next wedding we go to."

He didn't say anything. Her smile faltered slightly and she took a step back before turning to leave. "I'll see you in the morning." She hesitated. "Goodnight."

When he nodded, she left and disappeared upstairs.

He didn't move to follow, instead crossing the kitchen and descending the steps into the basement. His fingers found the light switch. The bulbs flickered to life, illuminating the spread of clay-caked newspapers on the floor and his scattered tools.

In the centre of it all, stood what he'd committed himself to for the rest of his life.

A starling hung precariously near the end of its wire frame. He reached out to touch it, the sight of it prompting a recent, disconcerting memory.

Them arguing over something stupid. Her bending down. Kissing him. Leaving him with a strange feeling welling up inside his chest. Something like nostalgia.

He took a deep breath and exhaled before sitting down.

There were many things he could afford to be, he realized, gathering his tools.

But being unrealistic wasn't one of them.

* * *

His final project consumed him in the days that followed. Both his intense focus and unwillingness to leave told Ino he wanted to be left alone, especially in those hours he spent painstakingly etching details into the hundreds of starlings filling his basement.

Still, she made sure to leave him breakfast by his bedside table, knowing he wouldn't bother to eat otherwise. The winter holidays meant no school for her but posed longer work hours, and that first week of January found her scarce around his house. He was relieved for it, throwing himself into his work to distract from his disquieting thoughts. Thoughts of doubt towards his commitments, thoughts that he could make room for other things, other people alongside his profession, thoughts that he'd had for a long time and hadn't acknowledged until now; that art was slowly killing him. That art and he were drifting apart.

The muscle pain and fatigue were obvious symptoms of that, building to a point of agony and going ignored as he drowned them in painkillers, fuelling himself on ambition alone.

_It'll be worth it_, he assured himself repeatedly, even as the skin of his hands cracked and bled, staining the clay red. _It'll all be worth it when it's done._

The scope of his vision was too much to be completed within a single week, though, and he found his body turning on him by Friday. It hurt just to move and the prospect of sitting hunched over in a cold basement for another night was enough to sap whatever energy he had remaining.

That was how Ino found him when she dropped by that night after work, stopping dead at the sight of him slumped, motionless over his drawing board.

She released a breath she hadn't known she was holding when he lifted his head at the sound of her coming in.

"You scared the crap out of me," she breathed, putting a hand to her chest as she walked over. "Are you okay?"

He attempted sitting up and playing off his obvious pain and exhaustion, but the effort was too much and he dropped his head back into his arms.

"Fine," he muttered, briefly closing his eyes. "Just sore, un."

She gave a critical onceover to his work area. "I'm not surprised."

Returning her attention to him, she bit her lip, hesitantly reaching out to touch his shoulder. When he couldn't hide his flinch, a resigned look crossed her face.

"One of these days, you're going to kill yourself." She dropped her hand. "I just came by with some dinner. Wanna come up and eat?"

"No," he said, finally lifting his head and wincing as he straightened his back. "I'm not hungry—"

He didn't finish, because Ino gasped in shock at the sight of his bloodied fingertips and dropped her bag to the floor.

"Dei, you jackass!" She took one of his hands in hers for a better look. "What did you do to your fingers?"

"Nothing," he groused, pulling his hand back. "That happens."

Throwing him a glare, she undid her jacket and tossed it over a chair, turning in the direction of the washroom.

"Where do you keep your bandages?"

He mumbled something about the medicine cabinet, only to realize his mistake a fraction of a second later. By the time he was on his feet to go after her, it was too late.

She emerged from the washroom moments later, holding something in her hand.

There was an unbearably long silence.

"What are these?" she asked quietly.

His eyes shifted between her face and the three bottles she held in her hands. At his silence, she looked down at the labels again.

"Did you know," she said slowly and deliberately, "that taking these together could be fatal?"

When he didn't answer, she raised her head again. "Did you know that?"

He clenched his jaw, knowing in that instant the look on his face was more defiant than apologetic, because her brows knitted and she retreated into the washroom. Startled, he moved to follow, only to stop suddenly in front of the doorway when he saw her holding the open bottles over the toilet.

He froze, under the impression that it would only take the slightest twitch on his part for her to go through with what she was threatening. She tipped the bottles slightly and the tablets clicked against each other, sliding to the lip of the container. One of them slid over the edge and fell into the toilet bowl.

Deidara's annoyance escalated into fear.

"Don't do it," he croaked. "I need those."

Her eyes hardened.

"No, you don't, and I'll be damned before you develop an addiction to painkillers on my watch."

His blood ran cold when she turned the bottles and the pills rained into the toilet. They hadn't settled to the bottom before she pushed the lever and flushed.

Deidara stood frozen, fury coalescing with horror. He couldn't commit to either, though, and continued to stand there in stunned silence until she grabbed his arm and pulled him to his room.

In hindsight, he supposed it didn't matter to her how brusquely she'd pushed him, face first, into his bed. She knew he was in too much pain to protest, let alone resist. He muffled a curse into the bedspread and raised his head to see her pulling the chain on the bedside lamp.

Then she left the room, returning with her bag.

She pulled a clip from it and quickly pinned her hair up, then retrieved a small bottle and sat on the mattress next to him.

There was a rustle of fabric as she hoisted her bag next to her and sifted through its contents. Then he felt something tug on the hem of his shirt and heard the unmistakable sound of snipping. Too tired to protest, he merely lay there until she finished and peeled away the thin material.

The drops of oil sprinkling onto his skin went unnoticed, but then she touched his back and his eyes opened slightly against the pillow, squinting when she ran her palms over it. The oil had an acridly sweet smell that was nauseating at first, but grew more tolerable as time went on.

Eventually, she focused on the spot just below his left shoulder blade, fingers prodding the tense muscle to test his reaction. When he made none, she leaned forward and pushed into it. The pain flared into a sharp, penetrating sting, bleeding out around into the muscle. He resisted the urge to swear and instead buried his face into the bedspread, gritting his teeth.

She stopped instantly, leaning down near his ear. "Relax."

He turned his head and spoke through a clenched jaw.

"That hurt like_ hell_."

"I know. But it'll get better. Just keep breathing and try to relax."

The pressure increased and he sucked in a breath as she once more pushed the heel of her hand into the sorest part of his shoulder. His knuckles whitened around the fistfuls of sheets, eyes squeezing shut and breath hitching in pain.

She did it twice more, gently and methodically, until the pain lost its edge and faded into something dull and tolerable. It was just as agonizing for the remaining sore spots, but gradually he grew numb to it, the tension seeping from his shoulders.

His breathing slowed and he closed his eyes again, lost in the smell of linen and ointment. Thoughts floated aimlessly in the back of his mind, leaving him feeling strangely detached. He was almost dozing until she gently worked a hand under his shoulder and eased him onto his back.

She removed his shirt and dropped it to the floor, sparing him the sudden cold when she leaned over him. The ceiling grew dim and he blinked slowly at the pressure of her thumbs against his temples and the throbbing spots on his forehead.

It hurt and felt good at the same time. His pulse dropped.

She moved her hands lower, thumb tips brushing his lashes, and a deep wave of drowsiness coaxed his eyes closed.

The faint scent of water lilies cut through the smells of oil and clay, and he suddenly felt compelled to take her face, hold her there, and confide in her that his marriage was falling apart. He didn't realize he'd given into the urge until he opened his eyes to the sight of his fingertips tracing the line of her jaw.

She stilled, meeting his gaze. In that instant, he wondered if she could hear the thought that broke free from the muddle and stopped at his lips.

_It scares me, _he thought, unguarded._ How much I trust you._

A closed look came over her features. A moment later, she raised her left hand and wrapped her fingers around his, slowly lowering his arm back to his side.

"Stop thinking," she whispered. "And go to sleep."

She smoothed his hair away from his face, tracing her thumb over the furrow in his brow until it receded and his eyes drifted shut.

He couldn't remember ever falling asleep so fast in his life.


End file.
