--

Unfinished Business
An ItaDei Ficidee
By: Circius

--

Chapter One:

The End of a Beginning

--

When Deidara walked into the sitting room, he was nervous.

And not just an 'Oh shit, Oh shit, Oh shit' kind of nervous, more like that heart stopping, stomach flipping, about to castrate anyone who embarrasses you kind of nervous. At some point in any human's life, one will have this moment. For some, it's on their wedding night. For others, it's that second before they inhale that first breath of drugs. Others still it's right before they get on stage to either make or break their dreams.

Deidara's moment was now. Having rich snobs look at his life's work and deem whether or not he was worthy of their money--generally, worthy of existing at all.

Because it wasn't every day that some run-of-the-mill artist gets a once in a life time deal to make a showcase of his best work and put it up in a room for the richest people on earth to have a look at for purchasing.

It was simply not a normal occurrence--so yes, he did feel he was justified in being nervous. However, ever since the 'incident' back on the day of his high-school graduation, he learned that letting people know you were nervous was about ten times worse then just ignoring the feeling of your heart beating at a slightly faster pace. One set of freshly manicured nails drummed on one of the walls while the other rubbed his temples, fabricating the appearance of a hard-working artist with a headache so he could steady himself and catch his breath in peace.

The tattoos on his hands smiled up at him as he looked down to triple check and make sure his fingers weren't shaking. He remembered getting those tattoos. The thought made him smile, and that was enough to stand against the butterflies worming their way through his gut for the moment.

He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and moved towards the center of the room, where his agent/self-proclaimed best friend forever, Konan, was making small-talk with his hopeful clients-to-be, passing around flutes of champagne, and generally doing agent-like things to keep everything going swimmingly and to ensure that he would make a mint.

Her soft purple hair was pulled up in an elegant topknot on her head, and her dress was absolutely stunning--short, black, and sexy in the little black dress kind of way. Some of the less-informed occasionally took her as the artist, seeing as in the snob-circles, those who had come to interview him privately had already started cracking the "feminine" and "obviously gay" comments. Konan had told the blonde to not let it get to him--but he wasn't oblivious to the fact that she reminded him to take his medication about five times before the showcase. Then again, he could understand her paranoia. His father's obsession with fighting had paid off about half the way the bastard had intended.

But he was an old fucker anyway. Deidara was glad he had rotted to death in prison. He still toasted to it whenever he thought about it--he would again later, once everyone had left. Shrugging the thoughts away, he slid next to the dazzling Konan and grabbed a champagne flute of his own, joining in on the joke, charming as could be. His agent gave him a sideways glance, but laughed along anyway at his witty comeback. One of the younger women who was standing amongst the crowd spoke up, her interest obviously piqued in the handsome and funny blonde.

"Oh, yes, that is so true! Tell me sir, I haven't seen you around so far tonight, would you happen to be the--"

"The artist? Of course. That's me."

He gave a dazzling smile and a wink as the small group instantly began murmuring amongst themselves--after they quieted, the questions began--just like Konan had told him they would at their training session a few nights previous, over copious amounts of Chinese take-out and energy drinks.

"How long have you been studying art young man?"

Came the gravelly voice of an old woman. She peered at him through huge spectacles that made her green eyes look like they had been plucked from some exotic insect.

"Ah, since middle-school. I think, age-wise, eleven or twelve."

Some nods and mutterings were heard amongst the crowd as his agent gave him an approving look. The next question was from a middle-aged man who was trying to cover his balding head with a stylish comb-over.

"What kind of art do you prefer doing?"

The blonde thought about it for a moment before he replied with,

"Well, I like sculpting the best--it's more fun to get your fingers dirty, un."

He smiled as he heard one of the younger girls go "Oh my god he is so cute!"

However, he did not miss his purple-haired agent's warning look of 'drop the un, you moron. You haven't said it much since high-school. Kill the nervous habit! I thought it was dead!'

The origami-lover could move mountains with a look. Deidara continued, making sure to watch his words as he chose them as carefully as possible.

"But I find myself painting more then sculpting, because then I have an easier access to color--and I feel that color really helps me get my emotions across to whomever is looking at my work."

It he had been a show-dog, his best-friend would've been scratching him or the head and feeding him Scooby Snacks. Or whatever dogs ate.

"What has been your inspiration for the majority of your works Deidara?"

Came the same petite girl from before, eye-lashes fluttering in flirtatious invitation. Konan's eyes glittered as she inhaled sharply--almost mutely, but Deidara heard. She had mentioned something about not expecting this question to come up until after they had seen his pieces. She said the way to dance around the question was to talk about one painting or sculpture in particular and go off in how it became what it was. 'Just bullshit them with some mushy shit and they'll eat you right up! Talk about how pretty the view is from your apartment window or something!' was actually her precise wording, if Deidara remembered correctly.

He didn't even think she gave him a plan B. She must've been pissed, having grilled him so thoroughly in what to do in every other situation that would come upon him tonight. He felt the urge to laugh and gave into it.

At the sound of his laughter, the guests chuckled quietly amongst themselves, being polite if anything else before leaning in attentively, all actively curious to the answer.

"To be completely honest with you beautiful,"

The girl turned pink at his words as Konan visibly seemed to suppress the urge to roll her eyes.

"My inspiration changes with each piece I create--much like someone's view changes when they see a situation in a different perspective."

Smart people would understand that he was saying that yes, he did have an inspiration or a muse, so to speak, but it influenced every single painting he did in a different way. He never did the same thing twice.

"But was there a specific person or place that you have focused on?"

Another voice, male this time, questioned. Deidara sighed as he looked up and let his audience get full view of his eyes, trying to meet as many interested faces as possible.

"To be completely honest, I should say what I'm supposed to say, and tell you it's the scenery from my studio window--and we all know that would be utter bullshit."

Laughter and low mummers as smiles fell on cheerier faces while others simply stared at his blue, blue eyes. It made him a little uncomfortable, but he rubbed his hands together and went on, full speed.

"Because truthfully, my studio is a ranky little hell-hole crack in the side of the wall, and the only view I get is of the next building over, grey-stone on more grey-stone. It's ugly as anything, let me tell you."

More chuckles. More stares. He knew it was a mistake getting rid of his glasses in favor of eye-surgery. Sure, it helped him when he was working--but they had been like a security blanket for him all through his school years. No one seemed to be able to recognize him when his glasses were off--he was able to live two very different lives.

No more. Everyone could see his mother's eyes. Her sapphire, stare into my soul and see all that's in me eyes.

His bullshit eyes his father had hated.

He blinked, but didn't let the thought deter him.

"However, I will be honest with you kind people, because you are my only chance of escaping from the shit hole I call a home--"

Konan 'ahemed'--and he looked to see the classier-dressed people shift around uncomfortably at his foul language. He gave an imperceptible nod.

"Meaning no offense of course."

The ruffled feathers of the aristocrats seemed to settle as everyone took in his speech avidly.

"But my inspiration was the very thing that first got me into art--a passion that has hurt me more then it's helped. My inspiration was something that should've been tangible, but wasn't to me. It always seemed so distant, so far off."

He looked into the gilded mirrors on the crowning of the elaborate ceiling, his heartstrings straining at the memories.

Fuck Konan's scheme.

"My inspiration was something constant, something that I knew would be there every day of my life--my inspiration is the last thing I see when I go to sleep at night, and the first thing I see behind my eyelids when I wake up every morning."

He paused, taking in a deep breath.

"My inspiration was the only person I ever loved."

Konan hid her flinch with the flourish of opening the show-room doors and spoke softly, lowly--in just the tone that matched the utterly stunned silence of the hall.

"Welcome to Deidara's Gallery."

At the words, he knew he had to make his exit, and he did, spinning around to lead his clients into the show-case of his artwork.

He didn't think they would disapprove.

--

Of course, not a minute later, his was whipped over to the side by a very pissed off, possibly murderous, purple-haired woman.

"What the hell was that?! I said keep with the bullshit! They don't care! It would be the same that any other fucking newbie has told them!"

He shrugged.

"I like being different."

She sagged, her anger dissipating like a summer's rain.

"I know Dei, I know. Haven't I been there for you since we fought at that tourney? You saved my life. You jumped into the fucking ring to drag that bitch off me. You fucking brought me to the damn hospital. And when your Dad, when he--when he was finally put behind bars after what happened…where was I then? I found you Dei. You were a fucking mess. I've worked so hard to get you back on your feet again, ever since--"

He stopped her by putting a tattooed hand on her shoulder.

"I know Konan. You're my one and only."

His cheeks felt like lead as he gave a grin.

"I mean, sure we had pretty fucked up childhoods, but look where we are now, un! We've both risen beyond our own expectations. You have your own agency, you have a damn hot boyfriend that has influenced your cursing problem to the point of no return--your lungs haven't acted up in ages, and the Docs said they probably never will--I'm having a showcase that you put together to finally make a name for myself in the ring I've always wanted to shine in, un. And it's all real. What happened before isn't real anymore."

She blinked up at him, and he saw her smiling even as she threatened to bubble over in tears. He gave her an awkward hug as she threw her arms around him, saying,

"I know, I know, I know, that's all I can say, I know, but…you just worry me sometimes, ever since--"

She bit her lower lip, refusing to finish the unsaid words. Dei was still perplexed. Konan had literally murdered people before with her bare hands; she was anything but a flower. He had never even seen her remotely close to crying. She was always so calm, cool, and collected--he wondered what was up.

"Konan, you're going all mushy on me. Are you alright?"

She sniffed, wiping beneath her eyes to ensure that no stray tears had fallen.

"Um, yeah, I think so. You know, I've just been feeling really weird lately and I mean, we're so close to achieving your dream, but Pein is being so totally insensitive to my feelings, because it's all about what he wants and bullshit like that, and I can't stop eating spaghetti and ice-cream--I mean, I know it's weird and all, but it's all I want to eat recently, and suddenly I can't even stand the smell of pistachios, I mean, I fucking love pistachios, right? And I keep getting sick all the time, like the other day, I was in the middle of fucking--"

He took her by the shoulders and shook her hard, cutting off her ramblings.

"Konan…"

She looked up at him, make-up glittering underneath the light. For the sake of all that was by Picasso, how the hell was he supposed to ask his friend such an awkward question?!

"Is it…at all possible that you're…um…"

"That I'm what?"

"Ah…preg--"

"OH MY GOD!"

The scream interrupted him mid-word (Damnit!), and Konan whirled around with him to look towards the location of the high-pitched squeal. Thank whatever was upstairs that the showcase-room had an open floor plan, and everyone was put at ease to see that the screaming woman was in fact simply a little too over-enthusiastic in her appreciation of the painting she was looking at.

"Okay, we'll talk about your question later."

Konan murmured, putting on her hostess mask.

"It's show time."

She grabbed Dei's arm and dragged him over (well, she glided, he was dragged) to where a lovely blonde haired, blue-eyed woman was still standing, her hands covering her mouth as she stared at the painting before. Taking a peek at it, Dei frowned to himself. The piece wasn't a personal favorite of his.

The painting actually came from a dream, and the idea in and of itself was rather simple: the view was of a hand (it seemed like it belonged to whomever was standing directly in front of the picture) reaching out as darkness seemed to permeate into the painting's reality-- a place of blue skies and white birds flying in the distance. The hand had the barest threads of grasp on another, paler and larger one (the first was very petite and delicate in retrospect), in just the way that it was up to the viewer on whether or not they thought that the grip strengthened or broke. The view was the most interesting aspect on his own opinion. The hands were life-sized, and it seemed as though the first was your own. The woman was staring at her own fingers in disbelief.

"Oh my God, I love it. I saw it move! That means it's made for me! I saw the hands tighten around each other, I did!"

She squealed, her bright blue, peacock colored eyes dancing. Konan delicately asked if she was felling well, or if she wanted to sit down.

"Oh nonononono, I'm fine, it's just that I haven't been this excited in…well, exactly three months and four days."

She bubbled, and her pink haired companion gave a strained smile.

"I'm sorry, Haruko is a little…excitable. And she likes art a little too much."

She murmured as Konan nodded kindly, Deidara felt as though he knew the green-eyed woman some how, and was staring her down, trying to match a face to a name. Haruko was still apparently enthralled by the piece before her.

"May I ask why you were so excited three months and four days ago Miss…"

"Haruko Uchiha--I mean, well, my surname is technically Mesotomi, but I'm going to be an Uchiha in six months! That's when I was so excited you see, because I finally got engaged to Itachi, who I had been dating for who knew how long--but you know men and their--Ohmygod!"

The champagne flute Deidara had been holding fell to the floor with a horrible crash that sent the room into quiet mummers again. Konan swallowed something but instantly bounced back with,

"Well congratulations! I'm happy that you've found someone you obviously care for a lot. Deidara darling, I'm sorry, but are you feeling alright? I know you have a slight claustrophobia and perhaps that's why you lost your grip?"

Deidara laughed a laugh that sounded hollow to his ears, but apparently was good enough to put the rest of his clientele at ease.

"Oh no, actually, I dropped my glass because I was nervous being in the presence of so pretty and lucky a lady. Itachi Uchiha? I think I went to school with him--in Konoha Private, no? I transferred there from my home town when I was in Middle School."

Haruko blushed a lovely shade of cherry as she fanned herself with her brochure.

"Oh thank you but--wait, you went to school with my fiancée?"

He nodded, the fake smile still frozen in place.

"Yes, I'm rather sure we did--well, it's not hard to forget somebody like Itachi Uchiha--don't get me wrong, I wasn't a close friend of his or anything, but we passed each other in the hall-way. We were even partnered up for a few projects once or twice, if I remember correctly."

Actually, He and Itachi had only been partnered up for their final English project in their senior year. The thing had lasted for an entire term--more then enough time to fall in love of course.

"No! Really? The artist of the painting that I must have, friends with my dashing fiancée--old friends that haven't met in years! Oh it's like a story-book! That is too wonderful!"

She sighed dramatically, flinging her arms past her head as Dei felt his composure cracking and his eye twitch.

Itachi was marrying this bimbo?

But he didn't loose his cool--instead, he calmly stated, without a hint of apprehension or dislike in his voice--

"Well, if you like it so much, you should have it. Consider it my wedding present to you. It's not often a painting could find a home with someone that cares for it so much."

Konan looked at him as though he was on crack, and Haruko's familiar, quiet companion with bubble-gum colored hair also stared at him in utter shock mixed with a hint of disbelief. The blonde however, looked as though Christmas had come early.

"Oh really? Truly? I was going to buy it right here anyway and--oh, you are the sweetest and most handsome man I ever met! Save for my fiancée of course, but don't tell him that!"

She giggled, and polite laughter was heard around the small circle in response.

"But, wait, oh, I have a splendid idea! You will of course, come to the wedding Deidara?"

The blonde felt as though his blood had turned to ice.

"Miss Mesotomi, I would hate to impose and cost your further, I mean, you must already be pulling out all the stops by the sound of it--"

He began, when--

"Nonsense! In fact, I know that Daddy and my father-in-law were actually looking for painters to paint portraits of themselves and their families recently--you would be perfect for the job, I can tell already from your work here. Everything is almost as though…it's alive some how."

"Miss Mesotomi--"

Konan tried to interrupt, but the woman cold not be stopped.

"And since you live in a hell-hole, if I remember correctly,"

She laughed again to herself, as though it was the funniest thing in the world.

"You could live with us in the Uchiha manor until after the wedding! And we'll pay you twice as much for whatever you're asking for any of the paintings in this room for each one you make us. That should be ample payment for your generosity, don't you think Sakura?

Her companion just stood there, shell-shocked, same as everyone else in the group. Deidara finally recognized her as an old friend of Itachi's younger brother. That was where he had seen her before--he just didn't expect her to be hanging around with someone she obviously didn't care for.

Konan seemed to be the first to find her voice to speak.

"Miss Mesotomi, you do know that you're talking about twenty thousand dollars a painting, correct?"

The blonde tossed her curls back with a wave of her hand.

"That's pocket change. The Mesotomi and the Uchiha families together make triple that every five minutes."

His purple-haired agent's eyes widened, and the blonde could hear the gears turning in her head.

The look in her eyes spoke her words before she said them.

"Well Miss Mesotomi, if you really want to, I can pull up the papers tonight and have Mr. Deidara over there by morning with your gift."

The bride-to-be fairly outshined the sun with her too sugary-sweet, let me give you a cavity smile.

Deidara couldn't take it anymore.

"You know Konan, I think I am starting to feel a little bit claustrophobic, with all of this going on. I'm going to take a breather outside Konan, if that's okay with you?"

His agent/best-friend nodded, her face now unreadable.

But the blonde could hear their conversation in his mind.

Dei: Konan, are fucking crazy?! I was fucking in love with Itachi Uchiha for five fucking years! FIVE YEARS!

Koko: Stop fucking cussing you fucking sonofabitch! You know how great of an opportunity this is for you, I mean, it's the fucking UCHIHAS for Chrissake! They own fucking MISSILES AND SHIT! You're over Itachi anyway now, you told me that. You're dating Sasori, and you like him like hell! You just have bad memories, but when you see Uchiha again, you'll heal faster then ever. It's called fucking closure you ass!

Dei: You don't UNDERSTAND Konan, I--

Koko: WHO THE FUCK IS YOUR AGENT?!

Dei: You are.

Koko: WHO THE F.U.C.K. KNOWS WHAT'S BEST FOR YOU?!

Dei: You do.

Koko: And WHO the FUCK is always right?!

Dei: You are.

Koko: …If I'm single when I'm 35, we're so getting married.

Dei: …Do I have a choice in the matter?

Koko: Shut. Up.

End of discussion.

Walking outside, he pulled a cigarette from the pack in his pocket and lit it, inhaling as he felt the nicotine work through his system and calm his racing heart.

"Itachi Uchiha."

The name rolled off his tongue like smooth lips used to.

"We have some unfinished business, un."

--

Itachi Uchiha was a busy man. He didn't have time to waste helping plan his funeral.

No, his wedding. Right. Wedding. He kept getting the two confused--for reasons that didn't make sense to his mother as she cutely showed him the plans she had drawn up for the reception.

"And I'm thinking that we can sit Sasuke next to Naruto, because that blonde is the only one that boy will talk to with any sort of interest, even though honestly, I keep telling him that the Harunos are very interested in a match between him and Sakura, who's such a sweet girl--Haruko loves taking her everywhere and--"

"Mother, Sakura's parents order her to be friends with Haruko so that Sakura can spend more time with Sasuke since my fiancée, is, obviously enough, spending a majority of her time with our family. Sakura however, hates my future strife."

"Wife darling."

Dark, tired eyes glanced up at his mother from his briefing of the newest design for the next missile Uchiha Incorporated was hopefully going to produce within the next year. He didn't have to say 'What?', because his mother married into the Uchiha family, and anyone who marries in is required to speak its archaic and silent language very fluently.

"She's going to be your wife sweetie. Not your strife."

"That's what I said."

"No you said--never mind. You know, I think all this work is getting to you. Have you even listened to one word I've said so far?"

"Yes mother, I have. I'm good at multi-tasking."

His eyes were back on the paper, calculating whether or not he could fit in a hair more of a highly combustible, top-secret chemical into the main hull without having the pressure break through and blow up whatever air-craft it was on. He worked on these plans whenever he needed an inner chuckle, for the company had code-named the fuel 'Sasuke' as a rather good joke.

Seeing as the missile was, consequentially, labeled 'The Naruto'.

The look on both of their faces at the conference meeting had been priceless. It got even better when Naruto had flown out of his chair, shouting,

"LIKE HELL I WOULD BE TAKING IT UP THE ASS!"

And Sasuke leaping up in retaliation, also yelling at the top of his lungs, blushing madly.

"LIKE HELL I WOULD!"

"WELL YOU WEREN'T COMPLAINING LAST NIGHT YOU BASTARD!"

And then…the awkward silence.

Itachi, though a busy man, did have some perks in his life.

Torturing his foolish little brother was one of them.

"Right then, what is the seating chart I planned?"

His mother's voice interrupted his enjoyable memories as she stared down at him with her coolly appraising eyes. She could never pull off the official Uchiha Glare, but she definitely pulled off the 'I am your mother' glare well enough to scare her own children.

Thinking back, she pulled the 'I am your wife' glare off on their father too. Whenever she turned out that look, the men of the Uchiha household usually went "Yes Mam", and meekly obeyed her commands.

The heir to said family, company, and the multi-billion dollar fortune that went with it pulled out a spare sheet of paper from his desk as his mother waited patiently for him to answer her question. Quickly, he drew out the seating chart and labeled every person at the chairs the woman had assigned them to. He held out the paper to Mikoto as he looked back to his missile plans.

After glancing at the perfect copy of the chart she held in her hands, she rolled her eyes.

"You know darling, sometimes it's really very annoying to have geniuses for sons. They always seem to be smart-alecs that can never let their mother's have one moment of glory. I mean, look at you, my baby boy, getting married!"

He heard the sniffle and went for the tissue box he kept in the bottom left-hand draw for such occasions, holding them out as his eyes did not waver from his blue-prints.

His mother snatched the tissues from the box and dabbed her eyes for a moment before staring at him in silence.

Then she burst into tears.

"Oh Itachi, I just can't believe it, I mean, it was only yesterday I held you in my arms--"

"Mother."

"And I changed your dirty diapers--"

"Mother."

"And I brought you to school for the first time--"

"Mother, did you take your--"

"And when you brought your first friend home, oh my god, you were always so lonely, I thought you'd never find anyone, and that kid, oh, what was his name? He looks a little like Haruko, you know? Blonde hair, blue eyes, glasses though--but he had the sunniest disposition. He was your anti-thesis--and I remember how frustrated you would get with him, but you were in high school, so I couldn't give you a hug when you were frustrated, because it wasn't--"

She sniffled, not noticing Itachi stiffen in his chair, all thought-processing, hell, all brain functioning shutting down as the memories came rushing back.

"It wasn't cool! And now, now you have so many friends and you're marrying the girl your father wanted you to, and it's all so wonderful!"

"Yes."

He suddenly felt light as air as he fell back to being seventeen: slender, tall, his hair having finally grown out, embarrassed by his little brother as Sasuke stared at him and the first person he had ever brought home (They were doing their final English project together, if he remembered correctly) with his overlarge black eyes.

And then his partner, laughing as he waved 'hi' to the younger teenager, who just continued staring after him before vanishing back in his room to continue making plans with his two best friends for some reason or another.

Itachi remembered sitting at the kitchen table, trying to get it through the blonde's thick skull that they could not write a paper about pyrotechnics citing experiments they had done themselves as examples because it would be illegal--

When his mother walked in with the groceries, shouting her "I'm home!" to what she thought would be a house devoid of all people but her sons and the cleaners.

He can remember feeling as embarrassed as anything when his mother dropped her shopping bags (she lived for doing domestic house-wifey things, even though the Uchiha's could afford for her to not), and watching the eggs cracking all over the floor, freezing as he looked over to see his new friend's reaction.

His partner had taken off his glasses for the moment so that he could look at the assignment again, and stared at the Uchiha heir with his heart-stopping, too-blue eyes.

Itachi could've sworn that they were portals to different worlds. They were so simply…intense--so opposite of what he was used to seeing in the mirror every day, or walking around his home; going to family dinners.

He could never forget the image of those blue eyes. They seemed to be forever ingrained on his retinas.

The blonde had then lept up to grab some towels so he could help Mikoto clean up the mess, introducing himself in that funny way that he used to talk.

"Hiya Mrs. Uchiha, un! My name is--"

"Deidara."

Itachi was swung back to the present by his mother, finally having used all of his tissues, seeming to be stable and sane once more, and was now murmuring the name of the aspiring artist he had brought home so many years ago.

"That means Mud in Japanese. It was a strange name. But he was very cute, why, they way you two were acting around each-other, at first I thought he was a girl, and that you had a crush on him!"

His mother started laughing as though it was the funniest thing in the world.

"I really can't believe I haven't seen him in so long. When did he stop coming around--I used to think of him as my third child!"

Itachi, having still not moved an inch from where he had been frozen at the sudden recollection of the petite, blonde, high-school student named Deidara.

Then he spoke.

"It's been five and a half years since I've seen him. He…left at the end of that year that we had been partnered for that project. The teachers said he was a bad kid anyway, and it was only a matter of time before he dropped out."

His pen scratched on the paper as he tried to focus his mind on missiles again.

"But he seemed like such a good kid! And whenever you two said you would be working, you were. Didn't you both get the highest score in your class on that project?"

His mother interrupted. He sighed, stilling the movements of his ballpoint yet again as he thought back to his red-hot anger, his embarrassment.

His utterly mind-warping feeling of betrayal and mistrust.

"He left his half of the project on my desk the day he left. I turned it in a few days later, when it was due. I thought the teachers were lying about him never putting effort into anything but…I never saw him in any other class but that one, so I couldn't make any kind of conclusion. He just…left."

His mother tilted her head a little to the side, a curious look coming over her face.

"And you didn't ask your father to see if he could help you find him? I mean, he was your first friend, and you two were thick as thieves, back in the day. I remember when you both hotwired your father's car to take it to some party!"

She laughed, a reminiscent look in her eyes.

"Where did all those years go?"

Itachi put his pen down and looked up, seeing his mother lost in her own memories, he fingered the side-compartment drawer that held the only photograph he had of the blonde and him together; Dei's arm slung around his shoulder while he glared the Uchiha glare at the only teenager in their high-school that seemed impervious to it. The photograph was all that was left. He had burned everything else.

"Dei vanished into thin air. We had gotten into a fight and…at the time, I was too blinded by my pride to try and find him until it was too late. Now I'm here, five years later."

Mikoto grinned.

"That's right! My baby's fresh out of college and already two steps down from CEO. And he's getting married!"

God, menopause was definitely the worst invention ever made. Before, he could calculate when his mother would be pmsing and made plans to be out of the house during that time period. Of course, he would also conveniently forget to tell Sasuke--but the torture had also made his younger brother much more adept at handling their emotionally unstable mother then himself. It would probably be a smarter idea to call him to eat tomatoes with her or something so that Itachi could return to his happy working place--

"And this is the dining room, across from which is Itachi-pooh's study."

The sound of Haruko's voice jolted him out of his semi-calm state of peace. He began wracking his head to find some reason for her to leave him alone--

But his mother was already gone, her warm voice excited and welcoming.

"Haruko-chan! It is so wonderful to see you again so soon! I though you were going to the Harunos for the weekend?! But you're right on time, because Itachi has just finished all of the work he needs to do today, so you can spend some quality time together and--oh my."

Plan B, make up a reason for her to leave him alone.

"Actually mother,"

He began smoothly, standing up and, after cracking his back a little, striding out into the dinning room--

Where he saw Mikoto's abrupt loss for words--

Because at the sight that stood before him, looking at him sheepishly with his stunning blue eyes and a dizzying smile, Itachi lost his words as well.

"Dei--dara?"

Was all he managed to get out, feeling extremely undignified and, well, generally shocked.

But seeing as Uchiha's didn't get "shocked" or "undignified", he ventured a guess that he probably looked the same as he always did, save for his eyes, which he felt widening in surprise. His gaze rested on Haruko's curvy form for a moment before they flicked over to the ripped jeans and paint-stained wife-beater clad blonde man before him.

If he ever had any doubt about his sexual preferences, it was resolved at that moment. Or maybe, he thought as he gave his old friend a once over, he was simply Deidara-oriented.

The shirt clung to a thin, lithe body like a second skin, leaving nothing to the imagination. His pants were baggy and way over-sized, but they had been the same way in high-school as well. He wore a few beaded bracelets on his wrist and a simple choker tied on his long, elegant neck.

He had grown up in the good way. Itachi, always one for detail, appreciated the perfect angle of his jaw line and the completely unmarked skin that stretched across the expanse of a warm, honey-gold colored neck--the delicate nose that flared whenever he was angry; the full, pouty lips that were slightly parted in identical shock.

But the one thing the Uchiha was drawn to more then anything else were Dei's eyes--their exotic slant, giving indication to his Asian background--and their sapphire blue depths that seemed to stare into his very soul, glittering without any glasses whatsoever resting on the bridge of his nose.

Seeing him brought the turbulent waterfall of memories back--and by the look in those eyes, Itachi could tell that he wasn't the only one thinking back to that moment. That night. That week.

And as articulated as Itachi was, with his years of education and legendary skills of charisma, only one word seemed fit to describe his situation as it stood.

And that would be Shit.

--

Review if you want. Favorite if you want. Leave words to make this writer happy. Because a happy writer is an updating writer. ^^