Naruto Fan Fiction ❯ Artless ❯ Chapter Four ( Chapter 4 )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: YoukaiFate 
Anime/Manga: Naruto Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Drama / Comedy / Action | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 06.03.2010 | Pages: 2 | Words: 4.4K | Visits: 326 | Status: Completed
Anime/Manga: Naruto Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Drama / Comedy / Action | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 06.03.2010 | Pages: 2 | Words: 4.4K | Visits: 326 | Status: Completed
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, etc., of Naruto. This story is for entertainment purposes only, and not for profit.
Artless
A/N: Been a while, hasn’t it? Thanks for your patience, and remember, I’m a shameless review-slut. I’ll take any I can get. =P
Chapter Four
“Ugh.”
Ino rolled over in bed and glared at the empty quart of chocolate ice cream that mocked her from the nightstand. The plastic spoon was still stuck in the carton. Like she needed any more reminder of her foolishness last night than the sour, over-stuffed feeling she’d just woken up with.
It was all his fault, of course. She wouldn’t have needed to console herself with a whole quart of ice cream if he hadn’t been such a jerk. And she wouldn’t have been so hungry if she hadn’t been trying to impress that same jerk by only ordering a stupid salad for dinner.
Gods, she hated mornings.
A shower helped improve her mood---as did throwing away the evidence of last night’s indulgence. Her hair was behaving today, so she left it out of its normal ponytail and used four pretty little butterfly barrettes to pull it back off her face. The style made her look younger than she was, but that might not be such a bad thing, since she intended to start making inquiries today regarding her mission. Normally, she liked to look older, but the whole fresh-faced, innocent look wouldn’t hurt her cause.
Pulling on some cute tan capris and her funky black sandals, she debated what shirt to throw on. Her eyes kept straying to the shopping bag she’d tossed on the chair last night. She was determined never to wear that stupid tank, since it would forever remind her of that stupid jerk, Deidara.
But that was nonsense. She’d selected the shirt before she met Deidara. And it didn’t matter who pointed out how well it matched her eyes---if it even did. It wasn’t as if his judgment was anything great to go by. Look just how well he had judged her, the horny creep!
Yanking the sleeveless tank top from the bag, Ino pulled it on and went into the bathroom to see for herself. Wow. It really did match her eyes. It was the perfect shade of powder blue. And she had the perfect white sweater to go with it in order to pull the whole innocent look off, even with the tank top’s plunging neckline. She just needed a cute charm bracelet---there.
Mood much improved by what she saw in the mirror, Ino blew it a fond kiss before grabbing her purse---not the big one, but the small, black shoulder-bag---and keys and leaving the room. Locking the door, her thoughts turned inward, going over ways she might start investigating some of the suspicious activities of the merchants of Kotonashi. Some of them were getting a little too rich off the legitimate trade now passing through their town. Old Big Boobs Tsunade was certain there was some black market activity going on, and she wanted to know if it was just the normal smuggling or something bigger. It was easier to nip these things in the bud rather than wait until they became too big a problem to handle easily---or quietly.
Ino smirked. She wondered if the Fire Daimyo had any idea just how seriously Konohagakure took its policing duties. Besides, there was the not inconsiderable prospect of earning some additional income for the ninja village. It wasn’t only the daimyo who could hire them. So long as it was for a legitimate---or worthy enough---reason. The Fifth saw no problem in taking advantage of an opportunity, rather than passing it up and maybe letting one of the other hidden villages profit by their stupidity. The gods knew there were plenty of ninja willing to take on any task, so long as they got paid for it in cold, hard cash.
The small, dark lobby was deserted. Pushing the front door open, Ino squinted against the brilliant light that dazzled her eyes. Darn it, she’d left her sunglasses back in the room. Blinking, she raised a defensive hand to shield her eyes from the flood of sunlight as she gingerly stepped outside.
“Morning, un.”
Ino froze. Slowly turning her head to the right, her eyes widened to see Deidara propped against the side of the building, as if he’d been waiting for her. He straightened up as she watched in stunned disbelief, her mouth hung open like a dumb fish.
A thousand and one errant thoughts whirled through her mind. He looked even better than he had last night---though she wondered how he had gotten his stupid trench coat cleaned and dried already. The look in his smoldering blue eye sent alarm bells off in her skull even as her heart started thumping over just how damn cute he was. Not to mention tall. While not the tallest guy she knew, he sure knew how to loom up over a girl and make her feel all small and feminine. She felt almost giddy, and that was so stupidly unlike her that it knocked her right back to her senses.
Snapping her mouth shut, Ino glared. Putting her hands on her hips, she looked up at him and demanded angrily, “What do you want?”
“You,” he said huskily, and her world flipped upside down.
Deidara winced. That damn girl had some good lungs. Ow! She also had a mean right hook. Even hanging upside down slung over his shoulder, she almost managed to get his kidneys.
Palming a kunai, he held it against her exposed midriff, where her blue shirt had ridden up, to show he wasn’t playing around. “Quiet, un, or I’ll make sure you stay quiet. Permanently.”
She did; at least long enough for him to slip inside the dark alley beside the inn, and then she erupted into a vicious wild cat. A wild cat with wicked claws---he got a scratch down one cheek for his pains, and barely missed the kunai she slipped from her back pocket. Dropping his, he managed to twist the blade out of her hand by force alone. That knee to the groin he barely avoided was really a dirty move, and her fist was downright nasty when it fetched him one right in the abdomen.
She was a dirty fighter, but he was dirtier. He also had a whole hell of a lot more practice. He was also a good fifty pounds heavier and a great deal faster, and it wasn’t long before he got the upper hand. She realized it almost as soon as he did, and her eyes widened in fear even as he smiled knowingly. She tried to run then, abandoning her purse and flinging several senbon at him. He dodged them easily, and caught her by the back of her white sweater. It tore with a loud, ripping sound, and she slipped free of it, intent on making a break for the promised freedom at the end of the alley.
Her eyes lit up with hope---the way was free and clear. But he managed to get in front of her, and she crashed headlong into him with a muffled cry that died as his seeking fingers closed in on the pulse-point at the side of her neck. She hissed in protest, calling him a bad word even as she sagged against him, her beautiful blue eyes rolling up as her thick lashes fluttered closed.
Deidara grinned. Did she just call him a fucking shithead? My, my, wasn’t that quite a change from the Little Miss Goody-Goody she’d played last night. His grin died as he glanced sharply up the alley. Their brief little scuffle hadn’t gone completely unnoticed, and he had to get them out of here before someone came to investigate.
Pulling a bird from his pocket, he released his chakra into the enlarging gyrfalcon even as it started scrambling up the side of the building. He jumped, grasping the bird’s shoulder with one hand, the limp girl tucked under the other. Once on the roof, he settled them more squarely on the gyrfalcon’s back. Expanding its wings, it took off for the deep forest beyond the village.
Gods, she hated mornings. Blearily eying at her surroundings, Ino didn’t know if it was the strangeness of them or the sudden lightheadedness that had her rubbing her temples as she closed her eyes. She tried to remember what the hell had just happened, and why the heck she was in a cave, of all places.
“You’re up, yeah.”
Ino froze, memory flooding back with one horrific headache.
“Ow.”
He stared at her, as if surprised by her complaint.
She glared back, wincing slightly as her temples pounded. “What’d you do, hit me with a frickin’ club? My head hurts.”
He kept staring at her.
She kept glaring, thought better of bitching at him, but was still angry enough to spit nails. Folding her arms over her chest and trying to ignore the fear that shivered down her spine, she spat with sheer stupid bravado, “So what is this? Your lousy attempt at getting me away for a romantic weekend?”
She pointedly sneered at the dirty cave around them.
For a long moment, he only stared at her as if she’d completely lost her mind. Then, throwing his head back so that his golden hair spilled over his shoulders, he laughed out loud.
Ino’s eyes widened. With his hair back, his headband was fully exposed, and the metal of a hitai-ate gleamed at her in the faint spill of daylight from the mouth of the small cave. The jagged line deliberately slashed through Iwakagure’s dual-squared symbol was perfectly plain to see, and her stomach dropped several feet into her funky black sandals as she recognized that this crazy lunatic was not only crazy, and a lunatic, but he was a missing-nin. A renegade from Stone, if not a wanted criminal.
She was forming the Shintenshen no Jutsu before he even stopped laughing. Noticing her hand gestures, he dropped his head back down to narrow his eyes at her as his laughter abruptly faded. He made an abortive move, as if pulling something from his pocket, even starting to say something like, “Won’t work, un---”
But then they locked gazes, and she had him. Hands formed in a perfect square, she growled, “Katsu!”
And she was suddenly inside a maelstrom of thoughts and sounds and such strange sensations that she felt herself stiffening, even as she watched her body through his eyes slump over on the floor.
*What the fuck?* His thoughts whirled around her, and she desperately tried to capture his awareness, seeking to subdue it but only getting tangled up to the point where she felt herself sinking beneath the weight of his overwhelming personality. Drowning in images and feelings that were not her own, Ino screamed. She tried to pull free of that sucking whirlpool of thoughts that was not hers, but his. To be lost within it was to lose forever her self, and she valiantly tried to push back out of his mind, but she was held fast by her own jutsu. And then she was…
…running down a street, eyes blurred by tears, as bigger boys chased her, taunting, always taunting. She ducked behind a fruit stand, sinking down on her butt in the dirt, chest heaving and heart racing, hoping they wouldn’t see her, that she’d be safe from them, for this time at least. Their mocking laughter chased her, making her shudder as she cowered, trying to hide from everyone. “Bastard! Freak! Bastard!”
…and then she faced a terrible old man sneering down at her, telling her she was a shame on his bloodline. The little bastard who had cost him his beloved daughter’s life, her birth the reason she’d died, and how unworthy and disappointing she was in every way possible…
…and then she was surrounded by genin who laughed as she tried and failed to do the simplest jutsu, so much smaller than they, always trying so hard to please everyone…
…and found herself running again, away from all the taunting bullies that always chased her. Found herself ducking this time inside a dark shop, one where such quiet peace reigned that she had to blink at the change from the dusty chaos outside to the quiet peace within. She found herself surrounded by sculptures, both plain and beautiful, and an old man whose eyes had never known light, born blind as he was. His hands---his hands were old and wrinkled and surprisingly graceful, and she watched those hands create the most beautiful objects, running smooth across the white surfaces, creating beauty out of ugly misshapen lumps of clay, and found acceptance for the first time ever, for he didn’t question, he only ever created…
…and she found her own hands, scourge of her childhood, sign of her bastardry, taken by the old man’s, and smoothing over the same contours, creating the same simplicity and beauty with an aching awe that she could create such beauty with the ugliness of her own hands, the hands she’d been ridiculed for all her life…
…felt the steady spin of the potter’s wheel, turning beneath her splayed fingers as her feet drove the muddy blob into beautiful symmetry and something useful…
…knew the simple joy of spreading her hands before the kiln fire, watching hopefully for her own small bowls to come out perfect and complete in and of themselves…
…felt the sting of shame as the old man found out she’d been skipping class again to spend time in the dark shop with the blind potter with the spotted, graceful hands that held the key to the only joy she had found in this bitter, lonely life. She felt the old man’s anger as sharp as the birch rod he used to stripe her back and legs, snarling that he’d never tolerate his only grandson, bastard ingrate that she was, to play the pretty-boy with a dirty old peasant. She sobbed, in the chilling darkness of the dank cellar her grandfather locked her in as punishment, vowing she would find some way to keep the art close, wishing she could burn that leering old bastard with the fires of the kiln now denied her…
…felt the horror of finding the blind old man had been turned out of the stone village, his shop razed amid the broken shards of his destroyed living. Her grandfather had been thorough in his wrathful revenge, and no one would go against the testy edict of the sour old Tsuchikage. She felt her helplessness, then, her hopelessness, and raged against it. The tears came, for the last time, and even as she stood there, empty and shattered and crying, the bullies came to taunt her and push her, mocking her for the wet tracks across her dirty face. And for the first time, her fists curled and she fought back. She fought hard, kicking and biting and punching and screaming like one demented. They fell back before her fury, truly frightened by her ferocity, and called her crazy. A name that stuck ever after, to the point where she eventually learned to embrace it, turning the epithet into something to be proud of…
The scenarios changed, perhaps because she was older, and understood better, and children only ever felt things so keenly…
…the beatings continued, of course. The old man believed in harsh justice, and she often got into trouble. She didn’t care. She welcomed the stripes on her skin for the anger it brought her, the determination to win past him. As stubborn and proud as the old man, they tested their wills against each other---she refusing to cry out, he refusing to give up. And even as her grandfather beat her with a harsh hand, he praised her for finally becoming a man, strong enough to stand her ground and fight her own battles, if only she would quit fighting so damn much…
….fight she did; for strength, for pride, for revenge. She tackled her ninja training with a ferocity never seen before, determined to show them all. Eventually she became the best, through sheer stubborn determination. The taunts still continued, though now in mocking whispers behind raised hands and smug, superior smiles as the true-blood sons of the Stone clans disparaged his bastardry and tried any way they could to trip her up. Constantly laying traps for her with broken equipment, dull knives, torn straps, and unclaimed accidents that were no accident at all.
…Their malicious jealousy actually led her back, ironically enough, to the lost joy of her childhood. Someone---no one would ever be found culprit, the old man uncaring and the teachers only saying it was the way of the Stone, the harsh truth of survival----had cut her climbing ropes, and she fell several feet into the river that raged its way over the tumbling rocks below. Mountain-fed, icy-cold, she felt herself numbing in the swirling water even as she struggled feebly against the angry clutch of the river. Battered and beaten bloody by the sharp rocks under the water’s surface, she barely managed to climb out onto a muddy bank. She clutched the soggy soil as she retched the water from her lungs, her hands spasmodically opening and closing on the dirt, which got into the mouths on her hands. And that was when those mouths, so useless before now except for licking stamps---as one of the bullies had taunted---started chewing and spat out the lumpy clay…
…clay she could use and mold into the most beautiful shapes. Hidden away in her secret alcove above the dirty bank, the cave became her sanctuary against the world, allowing her to escape the petty ugliness of her miserable existence. It was there that she experimented, using finer sands and better grains to make firmer molds. It was there that she learned that her own bloodline limit, scourge of her childhood, was now her greatest weapon…
…it wasn’t long before she’d perfected her art. Starting small, with tiny figures that exploded into little blossoms of light, glittering artistic displays that made her mind soar with all the creative possibilities. It was as if she were the kiln fires that had once sparked her childish imagination. There was something so cleansing and beautiful about destroying the ugliness around her with the purity of fire. Not only the ugliness of her dusty, barren surroundings, but the ugliness of her dusty, barren fellows, so steeped in tradition and surrounded by the rules and limits they so willing placed upon themselves…
…it was natural that one day the old man would confront her, demanding to know where and why she spent so much time away. There was some childish yearning left that wanted the old bastard’s love and approval, and she’d proudly displayed her art, showing him what it might accomplish if put to practical, and beautiful, use. He laughed then, saying she was a fool and a romantic, hardly the man he’d raised her to be better than some dirt-grubbing potter. Her outrage at the old man’s mocking disdain had fueled a flurry of cutting words that had the kage turning purple with rage. He’d snarled that she had never been anything but a worthless, pathetic bastard, and was no longer any true kin to him. She snarled back that Iwakagure had never been worthy of her, and the old man had raised his cane, as if to beat her like he had as a defenseless child, and she used her clay bombs to demonstrate he no longer had any power over her. The jounin who rushed to defend their Third had died as pathetically as they had lived, though they managed to save the old man by their stupid self-sacrifice. She fled then, for there were too many to contend with---though she took vicious delight in tossing a few of her more beautiful bombs on those who had mocked her the most before she left, leaving a trail of fiery destruction in her wake…
…her hands, always mocked, were the ones that cut the line savagely across the two squares of Iwakagure, cutting ties forever with the village who had never wanted her in the first place…
…it was then that she wandered, going from village to village, sometimes working at dull or dirty jobs, at other times hired for her special skills in explosive display or demolition. It was a time of contentment, for she could use and explore her art---all the more so once word of her skill spread. She enjoyed the challenge of each mission and the unfettered freedom that came with it. She disdained those who thought they were using her even as she used them to do that which she truly loved…
…There was a price to pay for the fame she relished almost as much as she did the creativity of her art. It confronted her in the stark reality of three missing-nin from Akatsuki. Angry that they would dare challenge her, she felt the horror of defeat at the cold-eyed Itachi’s hands, and felt the fetters closing around her once again as Akatsuki claimed her as their own---
Her world suddenly twisted back upon itself, the whirlpool spinning a kaleidoscope of images and sounds and feelings until she was all but sick and dizzy with it. She tried to cry out, uncertain what had attacked her---
And abruptly found herself back inside her own body, slumped against the floor. She feebly tried to move, to push herself upright, but her arms refused to obey her. Pins and needles prickled along her skin, sending sharp messages to her throbbing head that it wasn’t happy as the blood returned. She felt so cold, so very cold and alone and vulnerable, and memories suddenly flooded through her, memories that were not even hers, but his.
They were now as much a part of her psyche as her own, and it was hard to separate herself from them. Tears prickled beneath her lids, and she drew a ragged breath---uncertain if it was the shock of exposure, the fear she felt at her own weakness, or the terrible memories that now surged through her with all the poignancy of fresh emotion. Past pain felt in childhood was often dulled by time and distance, but she had just lived Deidara’s past, all in a matter of minutes. All the agony of each hurt, each insult, each rejection and denial. Such betrayal and terrible, terrible determination amid stark loneliness and utter depravity filled her to the point where she could not contain them anymore, and she did that which she never, ever did.
She cried. Rolling into a ball of huddled misery, trying to fold herself around the pain and terror and the incomprehension of a child too young to understand why, and also knowing there was nothing she could even do to help that poor, unwanted child. Nothing, nothing, nothing---the inevitability of that, the knowledge that it was not something she could help or solve or fix, it was all too much. Her emotions, so raw and ripped opened like a bleeding wound, spilled forth in an agony of heart-wrenching sobs that would not stop, even when she felt Deidara staring at her in complete bafflement. His demand to know what the fuck was going on just made her curl all that much tighter around herself, for how could he understand? What in his life would have ever let him?
And that knowledge made it all the harder to bear now, when he tried to grab her, and she batted his hands away. Just like all those others had done---pushing him away, rejecting him and who he was, calling him freak and bastard and unnatural. Something she had never experienced in all of her own warm, well-loved childhood. How could she do that to him, push him away like all those cruel, indifferent people who should have been the ones to protect and nurture him, instead of ridicule and reject him?
He was kneeling beside her now, and she blindly turned and threw herself at him. Taken completely off-guard, he landed back on his butt with a grunt. She almost strangled him in a fierce hug, trying to tear the old pain away by offering what little she could. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so very, very sorry…”
Artless
A/N: Been a while, hasn’t it? Thanks for your patience, and remember, I’m a shameless review-slut. I’ll take any I can get. =P
Chapter Four
“Ugh.”
Ino rolled over in bed and glared at the empty quart of chocolate ice cream that mocked her from the nightstand. The plastic spoon was still stuck in the carton. Like she needed any more reminder of her foolishness last night than the sour, over-stuffed feeling she’d just woken up with.
It was all his fault, of course. She wouldn’t have needed to console herself with a whole quart of ice cream if he hadn’t been such a jerk. And she wouldn’t have been so hungry if she hadn’t been trying to impress that same jerk by only ordering a stupid salad for dinner.
Gods, she hated mornings.
A shower helped improve her mood---as did throwing away the evidence of last night’s indulgence. Her hair was behaving today, so she left it out of its normal ponytail and used four pretty little butterfly barrettes to pull it back off her face. The style made her look younger than she was, but that might not be such a bad thing, since she intended to start making inquiries today regarding her mission. Normally, she liked to look older, but the whole fresh-faced, innocent look wouldn’t hurt her cause.
Pulling on some cute tan capris and her funky black sandals, she debated what shirt to throw on. Her eyes kept straying to the shopping bag she’d tossed on the chair last night. She was determined never to wear that stupid tank, since it would forever remind her of that stupid jerk, Deidara.
But that was nonsense. She’d selected the shirt before she met Deidara. And it didn’t matter who pointed out how well it matched her eyes---if it even did. It wasn’t as if his judgment was anything great to go by. Look just how well he had judged her, the horny creep!
Yanking the sleeveless tank top from the bag, Ino pulled it on and went into the bathroom to see for herself. Wow. It really did match her eyes. It was the perfect shade of powder blue. And she had the perfect white sweater to go with it in order to pull the whole innocent look off, even with the tank top’s plunging neckline. She just needed a cute charm bracelet---there.
Mood much improved by what she saw in the mirror, Ino blew it a fond kiss before grabbing her purse---not the big one, but the small, black shoulder-bag---and keys and leaving the room. Locking the door, her thoughts turned inward, going over ways she might start investigating some of the suspicious activities of the merchants of Kotonashi. Some of them were getting a little too rich off the legitimate trade now passing through their town. Old Big Boobs Tsunade was certain there was some black market activity going on, and she wanted to know if it was just the normal smuggling or something bigger. It was easier to nip these things in the bud rather than wait until they became too big a problem to handle easily---or quietly.
Ino smirked. She wondered if the Fire Daimyo had any idea just how seriously Konohagakure took its policing duties. Besides, there was the not inconsiderable prospect of earning some additional income for the ninja village. It wasn’t only the daimyo who could hire them. So long as it was for a legitimate---or worthy enough---reason. The Fifth saw no problem in taking advantage of an opportunity, rather than passing it up and maybe letting one of the other hidden villages profit by their stupidity. The gods knew there were plenty of ninja willing to take on any task, so long as they got paid for it in cold, hard cash.
The small, dark lobby was deserted. Pushing the front door open, Ino squinted against the brilliant light that dazzled her eyes. Darn it, she’d left her sunglasses back in the room. Blinking, she raised a defensive hand to shield her eyes from the flood of sunlight as she gingerly stepped outside.
“Morning, un.”
Ino froze. Slowly turning her head to the right, her eyes widened to see Deidara propped against the side of the building, as if he’d been waiting for her. He straightened up as she watched in stunned disbelief, her mouth hung open like a dumb fish.
A thousand and one errant thoughts whirled through her mind. He looked even better than he had last night---though she wondered how he had gotten his stupid trench coat cleaned and dried already. The look in his smoldering blue eye sent alarm bells off in her skull even as her heart started thumping over just how damn cute he was. Not to mention tall. While not the tallest guy she knew, he sure knew how to loom up over a girl and make her feel all small and feminine. She felt almost giddy, and that was so stupidly unlike her that it knocked her right back to her senses.
Snapping her mouth shut, Ino glared. Putting her hands on her hips, she looked up at him and demanded angrily, “What do you want?”
“You,” he said huskily, and her world flipped upside down.
ooOOOoo
“PUT ME DOWN YOU STUPID JERK!”Deidara winced. That damn girl had some good lungs. Ow! She also had a mean right hook. Even hanging upside down slung over his shoulder, she almost managed to get his kidneys.
Palming a kunai, he held it against her exposed midriff, where her blue shirt had ridden up, to show he wasn’t playing around. “Quiet, un, or I’ll make sure you stay quiet. Permanently.”
She did; at least long enough for him to slip inside the dark alley beside the inn, and then she erupted into a vicious wild cat. A wild cat with wicked claws---he got a scratch down one cheek for his pains, and barely missed the kunai she slipped from her back pocket. Dropping his, he managed to twist the blade out of her hand by force alone. That knee to the groin he barely avoided was really a dirty move, and her fist was downright nasty when it fetched him one right in the abdomen.
She was a dirty fighter, but he was dirtier. He also had a whole hell of a lot more practice. He was also a good fifty pounds heavier and a great deal faster, and it wasn’t long before he got the upper hand. She realized it almost as soon as he did, and her eyes widened in fear even as he smiled knowingly. She tried to run then, abandoning her purse and flinging several senbon at him. He dodged them easily, and caught her by the back of her white sweater. It tore with a loud, ripping sound, and she slipped free of it, intent on making a break for the promised freedom at the end of the alley.
Her eyes lit up with hope---the way was free and clear. But he managed to get in front of her, and she crashed headlong into him with a muffled cry that died as his seeking fingers closed in on the pulse-point at the side of her neck. She hissed in protest, calling him a bad word even as she sagged against him, her beautiful blue eyes rolling up as her thick lashes fluttered closed.
Deidara grinned. Did she just call him a fucking shithead? My, my, wasn’t that quite a change from the Little Miss Goody-Goody she’d played last night. His grin died as he glanced sharply up the alley. Their brief little scuffle hadn’t gone completely unnoticed, and he had to get them out of here before someone came to investigate.
Pulling a bird from his pocket, he released his chakra into the enlarging gyrfalcon even as it started scrambling up the side of the building. He jumped, grasping the bird’s shoulder with one hand, the limp girl tucked under the other. Once on the roof, he settled them more squarely on the gyrfalcon’s back. Expanding its wings, it took off for the deep forest beyond the village.
ooOOOoo
“Ugh.”Gods, she hated mornings. Blearily eying at her surroundings, Ino didn’t know if it was the strangeness of them or the sudden lightheadedness that had her rubbing her temples as she closed her eyes. She tried to remember what the hell had just happened, and why the heck she was in a cave, of all places.
“You’re up, yeah.”
Ino froze, memory flooding back with one horrific headache.
“Ow.”
He stared at her, as if surprised by her complaint.
She glared back, wincing slightly as her temples pounded. “What’d you do, hit me with a frickin’ club? My head hurts.”
He kept staring at her.
She kept glaring, thought better of bitching at him, but was still angry enough to spit nails. Folding her arms over her chest and trying to ignore the fear that shivered down her spine, she spat with sheer stupid bravado, “So what is this? Your lousy attempt at getting me away for a romantic weekend?”
She pointedly sneered at the dirty cave around them.
For a long moment, he only stared at her as if she’d completely lost her mind. Then, throwing his head back so that his golden hair spilled over his shoulders, he laughed out loud.
Ino’s eyes widened. With his hair back, his headband was fully exposed, and the metal of a hitai-ate gleamed at her in the faint spill of daylight from the mouth of the small cave. The jagged line deliberately slashed through Iwakagure’s dual-squared symbol was perfectly plain to see, and her stomach dropped several feet into her funky black sandals as she recognized that this crazy lunatic was not only crazy, and a lunatic, but he was a missing-nin. A renegade from Stone, if not a wanted criminal.
She was forming the Shintenshen no Jutsu before he even stopped laughing. Noticing her hand gestures, he dropped his head back down to narrow his eyes at her as his laughter abruptly faded. He made an abortive move, as if pulling something from his pocket, even starting to say something like, “Won’t work, un---”
But then they locked gazes, and she had him. Hands formed in a perfect square, she growled, “Katsu!”
And she was suddenly inside a maelstrom of thoughts and sounds and such strange sensations that she felt herself stiffening, even as she watched her body through his eyes slump over on the floor.
*What the fuck?* His thoughts whirled around her, and she desperately tried to capture his awareness, seeking to subdue it but only getting tangled up to the point where she felt herself sinking beneath the weight of his overwhelming personality. Drowning in images and feelings that were not her own, Ino screamed. She tried to pull free of that sucking whirlpool of thoughts that was not hers, but his. To be lost within it was to lose forever her self, and she valiantly tried to push back out of his mind, but she was held fast by her own jutsu. And then she was…
…running down a street, eyes blurred by tears, as bigger boys chased her, taunting, always taunting. She ducked behind a fruit stand, sinking down on her butt in the dirt, chest heaving and heart racing, hoping they wouldn’t see her, that she’d be safe from them, for this time at least. Their mocking laughter chased her, making her shudder as she cowered, trying to hide from everyone. “Bastard! Freak! Bastard!”
…and then she faced a terrible old man sneering down at her, telling her she was a shame on his bloodline. The little bastard who had cost him his beloved daughter’s life, her birth the reason she’d died, and how unworthy and disappointing she was in every way possible…
…and then she was surrounded by genin who laughed as she tried and failed to do the simplest jutsu, so much smaller than they, always trying so hard to please everyone…
…and found herself running again, away from all the taunting bullies that always chased her. Found herself ducking this time inside a dark shop, one where such quiet peace reigned that she had to blink at the change from the dusty chaos outside to the quiet peace within. She found herself surrounded by sculptures, both plain and beautiful, and an old man whose eyes had never known light, born blind as he was. His hands---his hands were old and wrinkled and surprisingly graceful, and she watched those hands create the most beautiful objects, running smooth across the white surfaces, creating beauty out of ugly misshapen lumps of clay, and found acceptance for the first time ever, for he didn’t question, he only ever created…
…and she found her own hands, scourge of her childhood, sign of her bastardry, taken by the old man’s, and smoothing over the same contours, creating the same simplicity and beauty with an aching awe that she could create such beauty with the ugliness of her own hands, the hands she’d been ridiculed for all her life…
…felt the steady spin of the potter’s wheel, turning beneath her splayed fingers as her feet drove the muddy blob into beautiful symmetry and something useful…
…knew the simple joy of spreading her hands before the kiln fire, watching hopefully for her own small bowls to come out perfect and complete in and of themselves…
…felt the sting of shame as the old man found out she’d been skipping class again to spend time in the dark shop with the blind potter with the spotted, graceful hands that held the key to the only joy she had found in this bitter, lonely life. She felt the old man’s anger as sharp as the birch rod he used to stripe her back and legs, snarling that he’d never tolerate his only grandson, bastard ingrate that she was, to play the pretty-boy with a dirty old peasant. She sobbed, in the chilling darkness of the dank cellar her grandfather locked her in as punishment, vowing she would find some way to keep the art close, wishing she could burn that leering old bastard with the fires of the kiln now denied her…
…felt the horror of finding the blind old man had been turned out of the stone village, his shop razed amid the broken shards of his destroyed living. Her grandfather had been thorough in his wrathful revenge, and no one would go against the testy edict of the sour old Tsuchikage. She felt her helplessness, then, her hopelessness, and raged against it. The tears came, for the last time, and even as she stood there, empty and shattered and crying, the bullies came to taunt her and push her, mocking her for the wet tracks across her dirty face. And for the first time, her fists curled and she fought back. She fought hard, kicking and biting and punching and screaming like one demented. They fell back before her fury, truly frightened by her ferocity, and called her crazy. A name that stuck ever after, to the point where she eventually learned to embrace it, turning the epithet into something to be proud of…
The scenarios changed, perhaps because she was older, and understood better, and children only ever felt things so keenly…
…the beatings continued, of course. The old man believed in harsh justice, and she often got into trouble. She didn’t care. She welcomed the stripes on her skin for the anger it brought her, the determination to win past him. As stubborn and proud as the old man, they tested their wills against each other---she refusing to cry out, he refusing to give up. And even as her grandfather beat her with a harsh hand, he praised her for finally becoming a man, strong enough to stand her ground and fight her own battles, if only she would quit fighting so damn much…
….fight she did; for strength, for pride, for revenge. She tackled her ninja training with a ferocity never seen before, determined to show them all. Eventually she became the best, through sheer stubborn determination. The taunts still continued, though now in mocking whispers behind raised hands and smug, superior smiles as the true-blood sons of the Stone clans disparaged his bastardry and tried any way they could to trip her up. Constantly laying traps for her with broken equipment, dull knives, torn straps, and unclaimed accidents that were no accident at all.
…Their malicious jealousy actually led her back, ironically enough, to the lost joy of her childhood. Someone---no one would ever be found culprit, the old man uncaring and the teachers only saying it was the way of the Stone, the harsh truth of survival----had cut her climbing ropes, and she fell several feet into the river that raged its way over the tumbling rocks below. Mountain-fed, icy-cold, she felt herself numbing in the swirling water even as she struggled feebly against the angry clutch of the river. Battered and beaten bloody by the sharp rocks under the water’s surface, she barely managed to climb out onto a muddy bank. She clutched the soggy soil as she retched the water from her lungs, her hands spasmodically opening and closing on the dirt, which got into the mouths on her hands. And that was when those mouths, so useless before now except for licking stamps---as one of the bullies had taunted---started chewing and spat out the lumpy clay…
…clay she could use and mold into the most beautiful shapes. Hidden away in her secret alcove above the dirty bank, the cave became her sanctuary against the world, allowing her to escape the petty ugliness of her miserable existence. It was there that she experimented, using finer sands and better grains to make firmer molds. It was there that she learned that her own bloodline limit, scourge of her childhood, was now her greatest weapon…
…it wasn’t long before she’d perfected her art. Starting small, with tiny figures that exploded into little blossoms of light, glittering artistic displays that made her mind soar with all the creative possibilities. It was as if she were the kiln fires that had once sparked her childish imagination. There was something so cleansing and beautiful about destroying the ugliness around her with the purity of fire. Not only the ugliness of her dusty, barren surroundings, but the ugliness of her dusty, barren fellows, so steeped in tradition and surrounded by the rules and limits they so willing placed upon themselves…
…it was natural that one day the old man would confront her, demanding to know where and why she spent so much time away. There was some childish yearning left that wanted the old bastard’s love and approval, and she’d proudly displayed her art, showing him what it might accomplish if put to practical, and beautiful, use. He laughed then, saying she was a fool and a romantic, hardly the man he’d raised her to be better than some dirt-grubbing potter. Her outrage at the old man’s mocking disdain had fueled a flurry of cutting words that had the kage turning purple with rage. He’d snarled that she had never been anything but a worthless, pathetic bastard, and was no longer any true kin to him. She snarled back that Iwakagure had never been worthy of her, and the old man had raised his cane, as if to beat her like he had as a defenseless child, and she used her clay bombs to demonstrate he no longer had any power over her. The jounin who rushed to defend their Third had died as pathetically as they had lived, though they managed to save the old man by their stupid self-sacrifice. She fled then, for there were too many to contend with---though she took vicious delight in tossing a few of her more beautiful bombs on those who had mocked her the most before she left, leaving a trail of fiery destruction in her wake…
…her hands, always mocked, were the ones that cut the line savagely across the two squares of Iwakagure, cutting ties forever with the village who had never wanted her in the first place…
…it was then that she wandered, going from village to village, sometimes working at dull or dirty jobs, at other times hired for her special skills in explosive display or demolition. It was a time of contentment, for she could use and explore her art---all the more so once word of her skill spread. She enjoyed the challenge of each mission and the unfettered freedom that came with it. She disdained those who thought they were using her even as she used them to do that which she truly loved…
…There was a price to pay for the fame she relished almost as much as she did the creativity of her art. It confronted her in the stark reality of three missing-nin from Akatsuki. Angry that they would dare challenge her, she felt the horror of defeat at the cold-eyed Itachi’s hands, and felt the fetters closing around her once again as Akatsuki claimed her as their own---
Her world suddenly twisted back upon itself, the whirlpool spinning a kaleidoscope of images and sounds and feelings until she was all but sick and dizzy with it. She tried to cry out, uncertain what had attacked her---
And abruptly found herself back inside her own body, slumped against the floor. She feebly tried to move, to push herself upright, but her arms refused to obey her. Pins and needles prickled along her skin, sending sharp messages to her throbbing head that it wasn’t happy as the blood returned. She felt so cold, so very cold and alone and vulnerable, and memories suddenly flooded through her, memories that were not even hers, but his.
They were now as much a part of her psyche as her own, and it was hard to separate herself from them. Tears prickled beneath her lids, and she drew a ragged breath---uncertain if it was the shock of exposure, the fear she felt at her own weakness, or the terrible memories that now surged through her with all the poignancy of fresh emotion. Past pain felt in childhood was often dulled by time and distance, but she had just lived Deidara’s past, all in a matter of minutes. All the agony of each hurt, each insult, each rejection and denial. Such betrayal and terrible, terrible determination amid stark loneliness and utter depravity filled her to the point where she could not contain them anymore, and she did that which she never, ever did.
She cried. Rolling into a ball of huddled misery, trying to fold herself around the pain and terror and the incomprehension of a child too young to understand why, and also knowing there was nothing she could even do to help that poor, unwanted child. Nothing, nothing, nothing---the inevitability of that, the knowledge that it was not something she could help or solve or fix, it was all too much. Her emotions, so raw and ripped opened like a bleeding wound, spilled forth in an agony of heart-wrenching sobs that would not stop, even when she felt Deidara staring at her in complete bafflement. His demand to know what the fuck was going on just made her curl all that much tighter around herself, for how could he understand? What in his life would have ever let him?
And that knowledge made it all the harder to bear now, when he tried to grab her, and she batted his hands away. Just like all those others had done---pushing him away, rejecting him and who he was, calling him freak and bastard and unnatural. Something she had never experienced in all of her own warm, well-loved childhood. How could she do that to him, push him away like all those cruel, indifferent people who should have been the ones to protect and nurture him, instead of ridicule and reject him?
He was kneeling beside her now, and she blindly turned and threw herself at him. Taken completely off-guard, he landed back on his butt with a grunt. She almost strangled him in a fierce hug, trying to tear the old pain away by offering what little she could. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so very, very sorry…”