#and finally!!!!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

But nothing can touch your happy thoughts anymore

With your glass ceiling, walls, and floor

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The steam of a sauna thickens and fades. Before the dead girl knows it, the clouds have swallowed up the inn...and dispersed.

The slightest bit of mist left from the strange, humid weeks is lingering on the ground, and as she looks out the window of her home, feeling distantly a throb on her healing thigh, she swears she can see it disappear before her very eyes.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Once again, like when she got the piano, rain falls and begins to clear the air, bring more distance in how far out you can look. What notes does she hear? The tune keeps changing whether it’s hopeful or sad. But no matter how conflicted, as the blue outside reflects into her eyes and shows raindrops slip down in shadows upon her face...the song is, without question, both somber and strong. That much she is sure of. Especially since that’s how she feels now.

One by one, the pairs of Akatsuki have their alone time with the girl watching through the window, waiting for the sight of the final two. She nearly wishes she had never met them before. It’d be easier, imagining whatever she wants. But she knows them. And they know her.

How much they know is the scariest thing of all.

And so she stares through rain-polished glass, even when it was made clear, beyond shadow of a doubt, that they will not arrive until she is well and truly alone.

Hidan and Kakuzu, of course, are first.

“Don’t let them intimidate you, girlie,” Hidan both encourages and pleads, taking her chin to redirect it from looking so fucking sad into the horizon past the trees. A flicker of a smile widens, and though it fades, it doesn’t completely disappear; he’s merely catching a bit of her steeled attitude. “Who’s strong?”

...A second passes and she blinks. “Me?”

And he grins to show teeth, kissing her forehead as a reward. For such a violent man, even as he crashes into her on purpose, he’s bad at pretending to be reckless; it’s as delicate as can be. He's still getting used to this.

“Keep your head,” a deeper voice rephrases, rough yet soft, right above her scalp. Hidan’s touch easens up to allow the disciple to tilt her chin straight up, looking upside down and backwards at a cautioned old man who folds his arms. “Be smart." A slight pinch of his brow, underneath the slash upon metal. "...Just like always.”

Kakuzu allows time for her to nod, a harrumph in his chest before he holds the side of her face and bends down, pressing covered lips upon the same place Hidan’s were a second ago. It makes the priest snort, narrow his eyes.

“Fuckin’ copycat. Get your own thing.”

Gemstones, green upon red, glitter with the rainfall at Hidan as Kakuzu’s cloaked head lifts up. “I quite like it this way,” he grumbles, halfway between a joke and a threat. The grim reaper makes a “tsk” sound and rolls his shoulders.

“As long as you get no one’s better at it than me.”

Her slight, small giggle is enough to tell them they both did just fine. The two men exhale, one loudly and one low, as it becomes clear they’re just lengthening the inevitable.

“You’ll be fine!” Hidan assures, perhaps more for himself than for her as he drawls out the last word. “Like what Kakuzu said! Be smart! All there is to it.”

The slightest eye roll in Kakuzu’s sockets at that, the indignant nature of something rather grim and serious, potentially. “Takara…” he murmurs, leaning down to whisper through his mask and into her ear. There’s one final piece of advice he has to give:

“They don’t know. We didn’t tell them.”

With that, the two zombies linger away, one walking backwards out the door with a lopsided smirk on his face and a sharpness in his eyes. The other, taller man turns his head and stops just before following the shorter one out. A lingering stare that feels minutes long...and he sighs one last time. Silly little nuances, relationships have.

He tugs down his mask to show her what she already knew: that he is smiling.

And they’re gone.

Unlike the first time they left, they embrace fear with a different kind of strength than before. They are not afraid to give her their joy. She will make it. It will be okay, and they will come back to her in the end.

…

But as their shadows down the hallway disappear...the corners of her mouth drop. A phrase repeats in her head, one that Kakuzu ironically said to bring her relief:

We didn’t tell them.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Sailing on a ship in a bottle

Anchor all your thoughts to the bottom

Pulling ropes and pulling your head back

To see what is breaking the foremast

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

She’s leaning sideways against the panel of the window, trying to hear the reverberations of the rain as it hits the siding of her haunted house, when Itachi and Kisame walk in. Just like the first time they met, she sees Kisame first, so very tall it makes the rest of the world scale down into a dollhouse, the way he has to duck under the doorway. The giant shows his teeth in what’s supposed to be a grin, but it looks more like a grimace, and somehow eyes so small can hold and display a lot more than others’ usually can. There's a glossy veneer about them, one that makes her want to pull him down into her arms. Kinder...gentler...than she could ever be. That's what the swordsman deserves for all he's been and done.

Kisame's stance laxes soon as one fish spots the other in the pond, and his arm lets go of the door’s siding, finally allowing space for a view of Uchiha Itachi just behind and beside. There’s a weariness about him, one deeper than usual, as he contemplates what he should or should not regret, what it means to use his eyes for someone besides himself. He is the bearer of her dreams, despite her bidding he keep his eyes far away mere weeks before she coaxed them right back.

“Miss Takara,” he greets, if only to break the ice, get words in the air. Somehow the way the magician sounds makes her heart ache even more, the awareness of how fickle a woman's desires are. His long, dark lashes blink, slowly as to shake off the spell of the sandman. “Are you well?”

Is she well?

A stab wound in her leg, nightmares in her head, and horsemen of the apocalypse arriving at her door, the answer is pretty obvious. “Yeah,” she says, and only someone who knows her can tell that despite saying it so soft, she is not being meek. It gives the two men relief.

“Good,” Kisame sighs, stopping an anxious grip on Samehada’s hilt that he didn’t realize he had. He’s somehow gentle even in the way he walks, though the way the floorboards creak still betray what a big monster he is. She doesn't care, of course not! ...But he does. The biggest beast of them all...slowly...trods...up...until the knight is so close that if he really wanted, he could open his cloak and swallow her up, shield from the entire world and everyone in it. He wants to.

He wants to.

But he can't. Sheepishly, his smile widens, gums peeking from the corner of his mouth. Is she ready for this? It only feels like yesterday that everything went to shit. Last time he was gone, the worst possible thing happened. And now he's being asked to leave again?

If it wasn’t the leader himself ordering it, he’d tell them to go fuck themselves.

Kisame is so lost in thought he didn't notice something shift, only grunting in surprise once he feels Itachi brush past his side. Before his very eyes, an event both terrible and marvelous happens next:

So delicately yet with no hesitation...the dark-haired man puts his arms around the woman. His fingers latch as palms rest on her shoulder, his cheek rests upon her head. He's so...loose. Like she's his bed standing up, a tree in the forest to rest his weary spine from travel, more and more of his weight pressing down and into her. Selfish, he knows. Someone such as he should never have to ask for this. And in the same gradual, dawning way as these movements...the woman eventually realizes what he’s doing.

It’s hard to be an Uchiha. It’s hard to be strong. It’s hard to ask to be held. And so she does it, no explanation necessary. Sometimes you’re just small, you’re worried, the little kid inside you opens their mouth and starts to cry in pain. No matter how nonsensical...no matter how collected you’re supposed to be…

...We all need a break from being the strong one, sometimes.

Kisame has never, not once in all their years side by side...seen Itachi ask for a hug before. Has he missed it? Was it always this subtle...? Memories flash in the days of travel where he leaned against his side, nights where as Kisame tried to sleep he'd feel a stare on him. Just tired...just pensive...that's what Kisame always thought. How can a man think so much yet so little?

With a racing heart, he swallows any words usually reserved for teasing, the parries he loves to pass to Itachi to get him to respond, react, show emotion. It isn’t needed. There it is... There it is.

Slowly, like moons raising off the ground...the woman that holds the Land of Fire's deadliest man to her chest now looks to her dutiful and obedient steward.

And something mutual is suddenly so very seen. She aches, yet she soothes; she yearns, yet she invites. He blinks, simultaneously so guilty yet so...unburdened. The explanation is simple as she releases one hand and curls her fingers towards him, tips kicking in the air like they're swimming to find his body. Just like in the cave...she takes his wrist and begs him to come close.

If she and Itachi are allowed to feel small...so does he.

That's all he needs.

An exhale and Kisame lets go, places down his facade of control and manners overcoming barbarian strength. It is delicately set upon the ground to be picked up again later, like putting on your shoes or pulling on a coat. They’re inside, right now, and at least for a moment...they’re together. The rain against glass is enough noise to soothe his pounding heart.

He puts his arms around the biggest pieces that make the puzzle that is his life...and as they both move their fingers to hold him back...he briefly feels safe. His princess smells like daffodils, golden as honey and just as sweet. To Itachi, his dreamer carries the spirit of roses, both dead as the ones outside at the bottom of browning bushes and living as the one frozen inside her broach. To her, she's surrounded by the scent of smoky fire and a coming hurricane upon the wind. The elements surround her, protect her, and she in turn protects them...however little she can.

The woman makes sure to etch this feeling onto her heart for when she needs it most.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

There are red spots under your eyes

From when you cry into the sky

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The rain’s been going on for so long now that it sounds less like rain and more like talking. News...business...gossip. Every whisper of lips made in this universe keeps their secret in a raindrop. It hits the earth in a "plink" and soaks into the dirt, never to be heard again. That's why there's so many of them. People want to make sure their truth doesn't go down without a fight. Prayers...and curses...and songs.

Lady's probably going a bit nutty, thinking something as elaborate as that out of thin air, she concludes.

She’s pulled a chair up to face the window, slumping forward in a way that will surely kill her back later. But she can’t bring herself to stop, to lay down, to leave this place. Goddammit. She keeps her vigil, if only for her own sake, shoulders hunched forward with forearms dangling between stretched legs, pillowed— at least— by the fabric of her skirt.

“Such posture,” a quiet voice says, “...Ill suits you.”

Sasori on the left side. And then:

“Who are you to define such a thing?” a louder one audibly smirks. “I think there’s something quite artistic about subverting expectations.”

...Deidara on the right. The day has gotten long, and it’s a bit more orange outside, drifting sunlight sinking into blue clouds so both colors line the artist’s faces. She glances between them with eyes alone, one side to the other, and she decides something about how they look…

...But perhaps shinobi don’t like being accused of kindness, so she says it of herself first:

“I’m going to miss you both...being here. I wish you didn’t have to go. It’d be...easier if you didn’t.”

And how right her assumption is. Deidara swallows, his smile becoming firmer, and Sasori’s lids pop up like you bent backwards a baby doll. Even this may have been too much...even the mere acknowledgment that she, too, is worried. Sasori recomposes first.

“Certainly it’d be,” he returns, as always so factual and sharp with a voice both dulcet and cold. “But so long as there’s no choice in the matter...well…”

The tiniest click that she almost misses as his eyes hood again, more like his usual self, as the scorpion’s skin absorbs and reflects light in a different way than the skin on her arm or that on Deidara’s cheek.

“...It can be withstood.” The closest he can get to assure, miraculously with no backhanded insult or bitter words. She’s walking a tightrope, talking to him with her heart, and she’s doing marvelously.

“More than withstood,” Deidara adds, as always needing to one up and make the themes of the moment readable, appreciated. He shrugs, and the relaxed nature of his gaze is more seen than the makeup that attempts to obfuscate it, make it bold. “You’ll meet the leader…” the sculptor explains, allowing what is between words to give her a plan. “You’ll see what he wants...and then we return. Simple...un.” A quick, one-eyed blink of his immaculately lined blue. “And then we can see what to make of it.”

...And that’s more than what she expected, really. It makes her perk up, straighten her back and put her hands on her lap to better evaluate Deidara’s intent, his expression. Cool, cool as ever...yet he runs so hot underneath. He isn’t so far from Tobi in that he very much tries to appear a certain way, but...she glimpses it.

He wants to help her get through this...if only so they can see where this is all leading to. And it’s possible to do things for selfish reasons...and still be kind.

Before she can say— do anything in return— a huff is heard behind her turned head.

“See?” Sasori observes, laying out the truth for his naive partner to see. “My dress falls better on her figure when the girl keeps her posture.”

“Ha! So you admit you can design something with flaws...un?”

And despite herself, despite the petty nature of these arguments...she really, really will miss this. A thumb and index finger go to the broach clasped at her neck, remembering that pink glass was once over her eyes and how everything stays, even if not in the way you expect.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Ocean waters rising above your neck

You feel the glass start to crack

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Even when she’s not watching with her eyes, she still can’t manage to leave.

Her back to the wall, curled up underneath the window as the remnants of sunset fall in the shape of four squares at her feet. Pink toes enter her view.

And she doesn’t flinch as much as he expected her to.

“Takara,” her name is said. It’s the darker one...the black side. A blink and her gaze flickers up, meeting two yellow fireflies that glow in the dark. This is her acknowledgment; she does not speak.

No matter what is to come, she is as ready as one can be. No matter what he’s said. No matter what is planned. She can do it.

If only to keep what she has.

And Zetsu, with his white half, frowns. The lid of a complete eye hoods, such great contrast to the circle that never blinks. Here’s the thing:

He knows.

She knows he knows.

And he knows that, too.

So what next? The answer is easy, at least for her: embrace it. All of her is seen, every iota, every emotion, ever relationship and every fear. Can't change it? Okay, then! Life must go on all the same. Part of her is indignant about it, though. It’s one thing to spy on her...but on her friends? Her loved ones? Even if it’s collateral damage...well…

She’s a lot more willing to stand in the way of danger, unflinching, if it’s for someone else instead of herself. Funny thing, bravery is.

So she challenges him, eyes alone that stare so exhaustedly above the knuckles that grip her knees. The light of the window is a boundary between them, laid upon the floor: a barrier, a chess board. All that’s left to wonder...is if he’ll step into it.

Seconds pass. On the cusp of day and night, a man much the same way, one inch at a time, makes his way to a choice. Pale lips part and a gold orb stares.

“I didn’t tell them.”

The only thing that could catch her off guard.

The ghost playing pretend gasps, chin jerking up in abrupt acknowledgement. Though the white half’s mouth is open...it wasn’t him that talked. No, it was unmistakably...the other.

White Zetsu is merely ogling her, in disbelief himself.

Her brow furrows, her bracing for impact broken and leaving raw feelings— a twitch in her eye, a tremble in her hands, a shake in her tongue.

“W—... You...didn’t...?!”

He lets the silence answer that— that and the way his gaze softens even more. Confusion races, racks her brain. If he did see everything...did he change his mind? Why the hell he'd do that...?! Does he pity her? After that big show of violence? After that intense release of love...? Is she pathetic? Is he...afraid?

Zetsu has a secret of his own, but he isn’t about to say it. So with empty answers, the woman swallows fear up and asks one, clear and coherent question:

“What...do you want from me...then?”

…

…

There’s a brief flash upon his face from outside, a lightning strike with a dull, purring grumble of thunder that follows. Slowly...slowly...he smiles. He smiles so calmly...yet she sees no sense of understanding nor peace.

And as he slips out of reality, she begins to wonder if the split man doesn’t even know.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Oh, captain, make up your mind

Before the salt burns your eyes and you run out of time

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Step.

Step.

Step.

Maybe it’s because he’s not a full-fledged member. Maybe it’s because he’s her best friend. Maybe he's just making a big mistake. Either way, a gloved hand holds hers and helps her fade away, out of the twilight and the clouds of a second-story window and into a dark hallway where she will confront her fears. He’s awfully quiet; so is she. Obito begins to realize this feels less like he’s introducing her to new friends and more that she’s being walked down the aisle to her own funeral. Perhaps he was too hasty...

The orange mask turns its black hole to her. “You don’t have to be afraid.”

He whispers it, so she knows he’s being serious, so she can tell he’s not speaking with his mask but through it, underneath. A suck in of air and a rise of her chest, she attempts to find words.

“I don’t…” How does she explain it? There’s so much involved...so much on the line, and it’s all hinging on what’s to come. Worst of all, she isn’t even sure how much she can do, how much of her fate has been predetermined, even before the Akatsuki leader and his celestial entourage packed up and started their journey over so she may kneel at their feet. “I don’t...know what to do,” she says, at first as an excuse but then finding that’s really just it. She has no idea what to do.

Tobi tilts his head. “What do you mean?” They continue to walk for a few more paces, a bite of her bottom lip as she thinks and feels, the murmurs of water more muted in these halls but not gone.

“I don’t know what they want,” she admits, eyes glued to their shoes. “I don’t know why, only now, they’re coming...and…” Her head bows even lower, expression more despondent. “I don’t know how to make them happy with me.”

So that’s it.

He nearly thinks to call her silly...but only his lady from the stars would care so much about being so good.

“Of course they’ll be happy,” the whisper continues, free of persona despite the simplicity, the lightheartedness of the sentence; the next weighs it down. “...Even if they won’t be right away.”

...That’s enough to make her look at him, intrigue and curiosity, the gray nature of life and the “what ifs”...that’s the most convincing truth of all. He never stopped holding her hand, but somehow, it seems more poignant now.

“If you are who you are…” a hurt, lonely soul says. “...Then everything will be just fine.”

She stares at him, lips parting to speak—

And just like that...he stops. Their destination has been reached. The piano waits for her, next to her propped up guitar, in the room where she’s played music for ears who listen like she’s sent from above. All she has to do, Obito knows, is manage it again. Do what she does best...and then he'll see what she’s really, truly capable of.

He has faith in that, as surely as his red eye will shine up in the sky.

A clasp, a tightening on her wrist— just enough so for her to know that Tobi doesn’t want to let her go yet as she tries to step away. Her hand moves back to her side, and black fingers slip in between hers, neither yet home to a ring.

But who needs that when you wear the crown?

The slight grit of moon-chilled ceramic presses onto her cheek, so very, very intentionally in the same movement as a kiss, though she will second guess that till the end regardless of any shivers or lost breath. Obito pulls away, and he has to be Tobi again.

“You’ll be great!”

A cheery voice to hide, to help her forget what just happened. By all appearances...it works. She smiles so nicely...and he finally lets go. The woman steps into her chamber and waits for the challengers of her next hard-fought battle.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

'Cause you're popping the cork, you get lost in your brain

And you lose touch with all the things that made you feel sane

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The rain always seems to miss touching them, Tobi notes, as he opens the door to the two he’s been waiting for. Not a single slick of water trailing down those red clouds, though perhaps considering the source of this rain, it makes sense. One bag each, Pain and Konan step through the threshold of their strange new base. Neither say a word, the darkness of an unlit house being peered at for details by keen eyes. Tobi allows them to enter...and then he slips away.

The rest is up to her.

The musician exhales, doing her best to release the tension in her shoulders as the sound of walking grows in volume over the coming seconds, moments, minutes. She sits at the bench of the piano, though her back is to it. She’s picked her song, and she tunes her guitar.

The pitter-patter of raindrops, of all the tears she’s cried...of every note she’s ever played. She funnels it all into the plucks of her copper strings...and she begs, so earnestly:

See me as your equal.

Be honest with me.

And I’ll try to be honest with you.

The rain falls outside and she steadies herself as once again, perhaps for the last time, the boat that is her life is rocked by the arrival of someone scary and new. It’s a lyrical melody so intensely desperate as you face the eye of the storm and try to plead to it...in order to bargain with your very self.

Konan feels lost breath in her chest as the song echoes from the belly of this strange house.

You can fit everything you know

In a bottle for you to show

As she stops, so does her god, because even he too needs to contemplate and listen.

Pick your brain apart and put it in

And like a ghost, the line echos, like you’re speaking into a cave. The next words swallow it up.

And build it again with needles and pins

Be smart, be vulnerable, be poised, be...you. The lessons her friends had to give before they left trace the goosebumps on her skin and soak in like she's being left outside with no umbrella. She hears the swishing of the ocean, like she's in the mouth of a whale that's cracked its lips open to eat...

In.

Out.

All the remembered from that day, at that time...was waiting. The water encroaching little by little, lap by lap, like breathing in and out as she waited on the beach to be taken away. Imagined or not...she swears now, only now...that she can hear what it was like when it finally embraced.

The stranger closes her eyes and just like that...three stories of a home are drowned underwater. She has rinsed her hands clean until she has flooded this house, and there is nothing to show for it except a waterlogged boat and its locked chest of treasures. It's hers. It's all she has...but it is hers.

Everything you have earned is a ship

With blue waves crashing into it

The other woman raises her orange-amber stare, bright in the gloomy dark. A glance to Pain and it is clear... He’s deciphering it, too. A long, long look at a ghost of her own...

Oh, Nagato, she wonders...what do you mean to find?

Perhaps he knows. Perhaps he doesn’t. That’s not her position to judge. Loyal till death, as soon as he walks again, she follows, nearly by his side but not quite. As they draw closer to the source, it gets louder. There are no drums— the performer only has two hands— but the intent is clear: the clamoring, the strength, the holding on for dear life. Crash, crash, crash. Shout orders to the mirrors in your psyche and hope they listen, lest you don't make it out alive.

The pierced man with the whole universe in his eyes will, he promises. He will hold on. He will discover. He will know.

So deeply that it’ll be like sinking to the bottom of the sea.

You set sail alone, there is no crew

No one on the deck who can help you

This is all your own battle to win

This is your ship and you are the captain

Her voice isn’t perfect. It quivers in her throat and words fumble into each other upon a tongue heavy with bravery. But that’s fine. It has to be fine.

Surely it is better if she drops the facade of being fine in any other way.

Please, she hopes...please…! All she wants from you, holy leader, is to be on even ground. But that's a tall order; she’s asking this from the worst person you can. He is, after all, no mere man.

But even his angel can see something tremble in the rings that make his eyes, an alteration in the orbit his existence takes, their path of pain. They’ve talked so much...thought so much, both said and unsaid. And even now, she isn’t sure...

...As she looks at the pale face of her possessed, dead friend...

...What he really is thinking when Pain hears the traveler's voice?

She focuses on this so much that it makes it easier to stop thinking for herself, if even for a moment. That is, after all, what she always intends to do.

Oh, captain, let's make a deal

Where we both say the things that we both really feel

I feel scared and I'm starting to sink

And I only sink deeper the deeper I think

The building, halls and walls and floors and all, drowned in blue and starlight guides them to their destination, to the source of all this mystery, into the otherwordly and unknowable and incomprehensible. Oh captain, the woman begs, deal. Shake my hand, tell me your secret, and maybe then I'll finally know why I'm still here. Have mercy— have mercy on a poor sinner such as she.

Oh, captain, deal

And her battle to fight alone begins, a few more, harsh strums of the guitar’s strings and it’s over. Standing in the doorway, dry as bones in the heart of a ship in a bottle, are Poseidon and Thalassa. If they want to find out about her world— her discovers theirs—...then here it goes. Draw swords and hear the blades sharpening as they strike together, and maybe in between will be something worthwhile.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Oh, captain, deal