[Insert unoriginal title here]
Some bits from the slowly moving DeiSaku (tentatively called 'Anarchy') that I owe Lily:
The cool metal barrel of the gun pressed against her temple just as she slid her eyes shut. He said he couldn't bear to watch the light leave her eyes when he blew her brains out across the basement floor. Sakura had laughed at him when he said that, called him 'her soppy little poet boy'. Seconds later Deidara had pounced on her and they had rolled around throwing kicks and punches at every bit of the other they could reach.
Later, she was glad that he said it, because it meant that he cared about her more than she ever thought he would, or could. Later, she pressed a kiss against every little bruise she had inflicted on him and smiled as she told him that he probably wouldn't miss her anyway. A few metres away Hidan snorted with barely concealed irritation and let out a string of increasingly offense curses all aimed at her. Deidara's hand was shaking and that worried her the most; he never showed any sign of weakness.
"Just kill the little bitch," he hissed, "Or I'll do it myself."
"I've never had the honour of sacrificing a Pinkie to Jashin."
It struck her as funny that she actually enjoyed the sound of his harsh, mocking voice. Stockholm syndrome, or the same feeling a criminal on death row got when the hangman touched them to slide the noose over their neck? - the last piece of human contact they would ever receive before they slipped into the void. Was this the last human voice she would ever hear?
And she had failed. Failed Sasuke, failed Naruto, and failed Konoha.
So, she deserved this.
So she deserved his gun held to her head and the bullet that would end her life.
It's turning out a tad morbid and there's a few swears in there so it will prolly be an M.
There were worse things than watching him come in night after night with someone else's blood splattered across his clothes - their flesh always seemed to stick to his skin and clog his long, golden hair with knots that took her hours to remove. It was worse when he himself came in drenched in blood from some new wound that she would carefully stitch back together while he watched with his cold, hard eyes.
Eyes that had seen far too much and carried that with them. For a long time Sakura refused to meet his gaze at all. Those piercing blue orbs reminded her so much of Naruto and Ino that it was almost a physical pain. His weren't exactly the same (Naruto's were nothing but bright cerulean and Ino's were paler), but it was still too much to wake up and then realise it was him - not them.
His eyes tore up old wounds. Ino - pretty, perfect Ino who's voice still rang through her head from time to time - had eyes the same shape as that and smooth golden hair the same as his. If he could just not speak then she could pretend.
("Sorry I couldn't fix it, Ino-chan. Some prodigy, some healer, I am. And Chouji went off the wall too when they cut your face up with shards of mirror after they shot you. You didn't see that though. Kind of ironic isn't it, Ino-chan? That's what they said. Shika, Shika took care of them; so you don't have to worry no more Ino-chan. You don't have to worry.")
When she had finished sewing him back together she would pause and run her fingers gently across the tiny stitches before allowing her hands to wander of their own accord - tracing his old scars and the bold, black lines of his tattoos that contrasted so sharply with his tanned, olive skin. He would watch her silently - it was so strange for him to be silent - and sometimes the corner of his mouth would tilt up while he languidly closed his eyes.
Still a lot more to go; it's sitting at a mere 5'300 odd words at the mo'. My muse just ain't biting.
"They're coming to see you, Petal. I suggest you pray for your soul," he said, eyeing the cross that hung at her pale throat above the pendant.
Fear constricted her thoughts and she couldn't even muster the strength to hiss some insult at him for calling her 'Petal'. It was instinctive, almost, and borne of so many years of being taunted for her hair colour, which was covered with thick layers of sludge coloured dye. Her hair colour was far too distinctive not to be covered on a mission; leaving it as was naturally (so pink it was almost radioactive) would be like wearing a sign saying; Haruno Sakura, Elite of Konoha Underground.
Just a harmless comment, they didn't know who she was. She repeated that like a mantra in an attempt to calm herself. Since she had been brought here she had not even referred to herself using her own name. It was rumoured the head of this organisation could read minds. Pein was his name. Though she only knew that because she had managed to gain access to a few of the restricted files through her mentor.
(He called himself a God, a deity. Her strict religious upbringing had rebelled against that thought - that there was someone out there making a false idol of themselves. Though her righteous anger felt insincere. After all, how long had it been since she had really believed there was a God?)
That was ridiculous. Science had proved it to be so. The human, frightened, part of her that Konoha hadn't yet managed to wheedle out whispered that it was better to be safe than sorry. If they knew who she was she would most definitely die and they would know what was hanging around her neck at this moment - heavy with her own guilt - and the entire city would be in their control.
The cool metal barrel of the gun pressed against her temple just as she slid her eyes shut. He said he couldn't bear to watch the light leave her eyes when he blew her brains out across the basement floor. Sakura had laughed at him when he said that, called him 'her soppy little poet boy'. Seconds later Deidara had pounced on her and they had rolled around throwing kicks and punches at every bit of the other they could reach.
Later, she was glad that he said it, because it meant that he cared about her more than she ever thought he would, or could. Later, she pressed a kiss against every little bruise she had inflicted on him and smiled as she told him that he probably wouldn't miss her anyway. A few metres away Hidan snorted with barely concealed irritation and let out a string of increasingly offense curses all aimed at her. Deidara's hand was shaking and that worried her the most; he never showed any sign of weakness.
"Just kill the little bitch," he hissed, "Or I'll do it myself."
"I've never had the honour of sacrificing a Pinkie to Jashin."
It struck her as funny that she actually enjoyed the sound of his harsh, mocking voice. Stockholm syndrome, or the same feeling a criminal on death row got when the hangman touched them to slide the noose over their neck? - the last piece of human contact they would ever receive before they slipped into the void. Was this the last human voice she would ever hear?
And she had failed. Failed Sasuke, failed Naruto, and failed Konoha.
So, she deserved this.
So she deserved his gun held to her head and the bullet that would end her life.
It's turning out a tad morbid and there's a few swears in there so it will prolly be an M.
There were worse things than watching him come in night after night with someone else's blood splattered across his clothes - their flesh always seemed to stick to his skin and clog his long, golden hair with knots that took her hours to remove. It was worse when he himself came in drenched in blood from some new wound that she would carefully stitch back together while he watched with his cold, hard eyes.
Eyes that had seen far too much and carried that with them. For a long time Sakura refused to meet his gaze at all. Those piercing blue orbs reminded her so much of Naruto and Ino that it was almost a physical pain. His weren't exactly the same (Naruto's were nothing but bright cerulean and Ino's were paler), but it was still too much to wake up and then realise it was him - not them.
His eyes tore up old wounds. Ino - pretty, perfect Ino who's voice still rang through her head from time to time - had eyes the same shape as that and smooth golden hair the same as his. If he could just not speak then she could pretend.
("Sorry I couldn't fix it, Ino-chan. Some prodigy, some healer, I am. And Chouji went off the wall too when they cut your face up with shards of mirror after they shot you. You didn't see that though. Kind of ironic isn't it, Ino-chan? That's what they said. Shika, Shika took care of them; so you don't have to worry no more Ino-chan. You don't have to worry.")
When she had finished sewing him back together she would pause and run her fingers gently across the tiny stitches before allowing her hands to wander of their own accord - tracing his old scars and the bold, black lines of his tattoos that contrasted so sharply with his tanned, olive skin. He would watch her silently - it was so strange for him to be silent - and sometimes the corner of his mouth would tilt up while he languidly closed his eyes.
Still a lot more to go; it's sitting at a mere 5'300 odd words at the mo'. My muse just ain't biting.
"They're coming to see you, Petal. I suggest you pray for your soul," he said, eyeing the cross that hung at her pale throat above the pendant.
Fear constricted her thoughts and she couldn't even muster the strength to hiss some insult at him for calling her 'Petal'. It was instinctive, almost, and borne of so many years of being taunted for her hair colour, which was covered with thick layers of sludge coloured dye. Her hair colour was far too distinctive not to be covered on a mission; leaving it as was naturally (so pink it was almost radioactive) would be like wearing a sign saying; Haruno Sakura, Elite of Konoha Underground.
Just a harmless comment, they didn't know who she was. She repeated that like a mantra in an attempt to calm herself. Since she had been brought here she had not even referred to herself using her own name. It was rumoured the head of this organisation could read minds. Pein was his name. Though she only knew that because she had managed to gain access to a few of the restricted files through her mentor.
(He called himself a God, a deity. Her strict religious upbringing had rebelled against that thought - that there was someone out there making a false idol of themselves. Though her righteous anger felt insincere. After all, how long had it been since she had really believed there was a God?)
That was ridiculous. Science had proved it to be so. The human, frightened, part of her that Konoha hadn't yet managed to wheedle out whispered that it was better to be safe than sorry. If they knew who she was she would most definitely die and they would know what was hanging around her neck at this moment - heavy with her own guilt - and the entire city would be in their control.