I'm going to finish this story, damn it. I have the entirety of it outlined and so I have no excuse.

So here we go. I do not own Naruto or any of the wonderful characters.

XXX

Usually Deidara was good at seeing the beauty in life, both the obvious and the subtle. He could find it anywhere, from the delicate sweetness of a delicious pear to the glory of an exhilarating lightning storm or the feel of sun-kissed grass against bare skin.

When all else failed, he could find solace in his art. Manipulating clay and orchestrating explosions of innumerable shapes and sizes had the unique power of guiding him out of sadness, no matter how deep within it he fell.

But not this time. This time he was lost beyond measure, outside the reach of any means of being found. He was infected with a sadness that went deeper, soaking him to the core so that no amount of effort could blot the despair and allow him to recognize the transient beauty of life.

He had managed to keep calm and professional after his encounter with the Konoha ninjas. Masking his anguish with flawless perfection, he had reported to Pein everything he had learned about the Nine-tailed Jinchūriki. He received the information that Tobi would be his new partner without emotion.

It wasn't until after Kakuzu had repaired his arms and he was given a few days to recuperate that he allowed himself to freefall into a messy nest of depression. Once there, he could not nor did he have the desire to find a conceivable way out.

Sasori was gone. Itachi was gone. The only two people he had allowed himself to truly care about since leaving Iwakagure were gone. And left him to deal with the aftermath, the unbearable weight of a dozen emotions. He felt sad, he felt angry, he felt wronged, he felt confused, he felt rejected, he felt miserable. And when he was lucky, he felt nothing at all.

He tried working with his clay, but although his hands could feel the moist lump bend and fold as he molded it, his mind made no connection to the action. He didn't know what he was doing or why he was doing it. The tether between the physical world and his mental state had grown a mile long, or perhaps snapped altogether.

Nothing registered in the way it normally would have. He could acknowledge the sky was gray but it didn't matter, because he couldn't feel the rain anyway; he could tell time passed but remained untouched by the events it allowed to transpire; and could absorbing food really be classified as eating when it was unaccompanied by any taste and unable to satisfy a hunger that did not exist?

He still worked and trained because he knew he should at least go through the motions. But he did it in a perfunctory manner. Meanwhile, he tried to break the associations that involuntarily had built between certain sensory phenomena and his lost loved ones. He didn't want to be reminded of Sasori every time he heard the meticulous click of the clock or saw a shade of red embedded in a sunset that matched the color of his former Danna's hair.

He hated that certain scents, certain sounds, certain sights could immediately fabricate in his mind an image of Itachi so specifically accurate it almost was as if the artist was lying beside the Uchiha once more.

All it took was the sight of an inauspicious raven flying overhead, a whiff of mist-filled pine trees, which he always associated with Itachi for some reason, or the sound of an energetic rolling ocean. Each one was attached to specific memory or a specific impression of Itachi.

Deidara would replay clips of memories as needed to satiate his craving and ease the dull ache of lonely longing.

Even now, nestled on top of a heap of blankets in a room illuminated by a single, dim lamp, he could almost sense Itachi's presence. His heart swelled with anguish, the kind that sent out a wave of chill bumps and made his throat tighten until he felt as if he was choking.

XXX

Dei could see it all. A flat turquoise space, stretching as far as the eye could see. Thin strips of pure white foam rose and fell as the turquoise swirled around, distinguishing the image as a tranquil sea. Warmth. There was warmth. Not heat. Just clean comfort, like being covered in a blanker that's just been washed. And sweet. A sweet smell in the air – maybe jasmine. Or perhaps strawberries. Or maybe it was the field of meadow grass and wildflowers that suddenly appeared only inches from the sea. And it was beautiful. The wildflowers created a scattered firework display on the backdrop of the emerald field. It was all color and life and beauty. A masterpiece. But then, out of nowhere, materialized the true masterpiece. The slender, aloof figure; the sweeping black hair; the enticing smirk that drove the viewer crazy with desire to be on the inside of the joke. There he stood. Only a few inches away. Dei tried to move toward him. But the image remained the same size, the same shape. Harder and faster Dei ran. It didn't help. At last, in a helpless attempt, Dei reached out his hand to try to grab the Uchiha. The limbs that traveled into his field of vision caused him to blanche. They didn't extend into his long, elegant fingers. No. His hands were gone, his wrists were gone and his arms had been ripped into bloody short stumps. A small, terrified yelp escaped his lips. When he looked once more at Itachi, the terror grew. The raven, looking disinterested, was moving farther and farther away. Deidara tried to stop him; he tried to call his lover back. But when he opened his mouth, nothing came out. His throat was tight, clogged with unyielding cotton. He couldn't move, he couldn't speak, and Itachi had nearly disappeared. The soft teal sea had been replaced with black clouds, rolling and tumbling like boulders. Deidara tried to yell. Harder and harder, he pushed the noise against the clog in his throat in a frantic, crazed attempt to bring the Uchiha back. "Itachi!" He tried to yell. "Itachi! ITACHI!"

"Deidara?"

The voice was not Itachi's but it carried a strange sort of association that made him think of Itachi, the way the smell of spiced chicken made him think of holiday dinners with his family when he was 6 or 7.

"Deidara?"

It came again. Deidara realized he still hadn't opened his eyes as he thought he had. He forced them open to find Kisame standing over his bed, looking at him quizzically.

"Do you need Itachi?" the shark ninja asked. He looked a little annoyed and Deidara figured he probably had been staring at Kisame, dazed and confused, for several seconds.

"No," he muttered. "I was just having a nightmare, hm. .. Uh, just a dream about Itachi … turning on the Akutski and trying to kill us all. It was stupid, hm."

"Hm, fine," the ninja replied. "Just wanted to make sure everything was okay."

He abruptly turned to leave but before he reached the door his words, as well as the fact that Kisame was physically present, dawned on Deidara in a new way.

"Wait," he gasped. "What do you mean? You and Itachi are back, hm? For how long?"

As soon as the words had gushed out, he knew he had to conjure a reason to explain his excitement.

"Itachi made a promise to get me more clay," the blonde ninja lied nonchalantly. "I just didn't realize he might have it so soon, hm."

Kisame shrugged. "Yeah, we're back for a few days. Not sure why. Itachi said he had some urgent business to attend to. I don't know. Maybe it was the clay," he finished sarcastically.

Dei rolled his eyes, trying to suppress the flood of excitement and dread released by the thought of seeing Itachi so soon, and so unexpectedly.

"Whatever, hm," he said, and flopped back down as Kisame left.

A lump the size of a walnut pressed inside his throat. He was overwhelmed with the sick desire of wanting to see the raven again, even though he knew nothing good could come of it. There would be no relief in the process, no closure, no healing. It would just break him down again. And yet, he craved it. More than anything else he could think of in that moment.

"Why do I have to fucking care?" He asked himself. "It would be so much easier if I could just get over him, hm. Why am I hanging on? For what?"

His empty room provided no answer. There was nothing coming from within either. It was as if his logic was apathetically chiding his heart, "This isn't my problem anymore. I tried to warn you, but you didn't listen to me. You're on your own."

"I know it's my own fault," he replied, getting defensive, as if he could prove something to himself through this inane internal confrontation. "I know I got myself into this mess."

"… it just hurts."

"And I want it to stop. I don't want to feel anymore."

A knock on his door drew him out of his thoughts. His heart started beating furiously. A strange apprehension itched within his mind.

"Come in," he whispered, and then clearing his throat he repeated more loudly, "Come in."

When the door opened, Itachi walked in.

Dei's heart plummeted. Without thinking, he slowly inched the blanket higher on his body to cover his arms. At the same time, he tried his best to look unaltered.

"Hey," he said, desiring to be the first to talk and set the conversation's tone and rhythm. He feared if Itachi took that responsibility it would disadvantage him more than he already was. "When did you get here?"

To his surprise, Itachi didn't look at all unaltered. His normally placid face was covered with concern, from his sharp eyes, which slowly scanned the blonde to absorb the situation, to his lips, which were turned in a slight frown. Ignoring the question, Itachi asked abruptly, "Are you alright?"

Startled, Dei managed to nod. Within seconds, the Uchiha was standing over him, his eyes glued to the blonde's face, reading, scrutinizing.

"I heard what happened," he offered as explanation.

Dei could feel a patch of tears, which had sprouted in response to Itachi's concern, threatening to spill out. Tightening his resolve, he responded shortly, with a shrug. "Yeah, well, everything is alright, hm. … Thanks."

He turned down his face and continued, "Kakuzu got my arms stitched up. I'll be back good as new before too long."

It suddenly dawned on him that his body, his own personal artistic work, actually would never quite reach its former status of glory, strength and skill. That thought made him sad, but in a distracted way, as his mind was still overwhelmingly absorbed with thoughts of the raven, who was towering over him.

Suddenly Dei felt Itachi's long, slender hand cup his chin and gently turn up his face.

"Dei," Itachi's voice was soft and affectionate. It threw Dei even more off guard while simultaneously infiltrating him with a sense of peace and joy that he was uncertain how to handle. "I know you must be hurting. You lost Sasori, your mentor. I know how close you were to him. And your arms were torn off. I know how that affects you – physically and mentally. You don't need to hide those feelings from me. We traveled back here solely so I could see you."

"Why?" Dei asked suspiciously, not wanting to indulge his wild hope that maybe Itachi had changed his mind. "You don't have to worry about it, hm," he added defensively, tilting his head away from the Uchiha's reach.

Itachi seemed to be smirking in response to Dei's stubborn attitude and it infuriated the blonde.

"Is that all you came here to say?" he huffed, pulling the sheet tighter around him as a form of protection.

But Itachi didn't move, nor did he look away from Dei. Dei was unnerved by the raven's steady, earnest stare and couldn't look back at him. Instead he fiddled with a piece of his hair, which hung down around his neck.

The next thing he knew, Itachi had lowered himself to the bed beside the blonde artist. Dei focused harder on the golden hair twisting among his fingers. He tried to think of anything beside the soft, intoxicating smell and warmth emanating from the desirable man beside him.

"Dei," Itachi said again, even more softly. "I do have something else to say. I don't know how to tell you this… and I know the timing is not ideal…"

Dei braced himself to receive yet another disappointment or emotional blow on behalf of the Uchiha. Mustering his well-known pride and spunk, he forced himself to look at Itachi dead in the eyes, as if challenging the older, more imposing Uchiha to get under his skin. "It won't work this time," Dei promised himself. "I'm ready for it. Nothing you say can affect me."

"Yes?" he asked curtly.

Itachi had the decency to, at last, look slightly flustered to be on the receiving end of Dei's cool, calm stare. He swallowed and glanced down quickly before continuing.

"I just wanted to say," he paused, took a short breath and regained his composure. Finally he met Dei's gaze. "I just wanted to say … I love you."

It took a few seconds for Dei's mind to absorb those three sacred words. He didn't know what all transpired in the interim. He felt frozen for a second, unable to bounce from his present state of dismal uncertainty and insecurity to the beautiful reality those words created – a reality where he was intimately linked to the Uchiha in bond so complex, rare and natural that it could not be replicated, a reality where he could not fall past Itachi's ability to catch him and lift him back up, a reality that was infinitely expanded because he no longer was trapped in the shell of living for himself, but rather would grow up, out and infinite as he poured himself into another.

"What?" It was not what he thought he would say, but it came out organically, as if confirmation was crucial to move time forward. He carefully studied Itachi's face to ensure the words he was hearing actually came from the raven, and were not being conjured by his perverted mind.

"I love you, Deidara," Itachi repeated, his voice easy and even, as a voice only can be when the speaker is thoroughly confident that their thoughts, opinions or feelings are aligned with what is right, with what has to be. "I'm sorry it's taken me this long to tell you. To believe it was possible – not because of you, or anything. I just didn't think I was capable of caring about someone again, not with what has happened and not with the way everything is right now. I didn't want to make a promise to you I couldn't keep. But my love for you has become a truth I can't ignore. I didn't mean to toss you around – I just didn't want to hurt you. And even now, I don't know what it's worth. But I had to tell you."

Dei finally broke his gaze. Still speechless, he looked down at his hands and fumbled with the words he had just heard. "love… I love you … true … promise … I love you … Deidara."

Once again, he felt Itachi's hand on his cheek, then he felt the raven's other hand slip into his hair, and finally, Itachi's lips fell upon his own. It was a kiss impregnated with lust and desire, but more importantly with the symbolic conclusion of a wait Dei had endured and struggled through for months. It was heavy and important and it pushed the blonde down, down, down into a web of sticky disorientation. He couldn't clear his head well enough to think, to wade through the web, so he let his instincts take over. Ignoring the pain in his arms, he pulled in Itachi as close as he could. Only once he was pressed against the Uchiha and indulging his hands by feeling every piece of strong, slender flesh he could find did his mind become uncluttered. A singular goal remained.

Meanwhile, Itachi seemed to be on an identical mission. His hands were under Dei's shirt in a second, running from his firm chest to his muscular stomach and then around his waist to explore his back. His movements were more gentle, as if he remained conscientious that Deidara was technically still recuperating.

Gently, he kissed the exposed skin on Dei's neck, throat, chin and shoulders. Dei's chest rumbled through a tumult of various, crushing emotions. He held onto Itachi tightly, worried that if he let him go even a little, the moment would slip away, carrying this reality on its back, and Dei would be left empty-handed again.

He closed his eyes tightly and tried to absorb every sensation he could, as Itachi continued kissing and nipping at his neck, his hands clenched on Dei's waist.

"Itachi," Deidara mumbled, realizing he hadn't responded to the Uchiha's declaration. "Itachi, I love you. I love you…"

Itachi stopped and lifted his head again to look solemnly into Deidara's eyes. "I know, Dei. You've been constant. I'm sorry it took me this long to tell you I love you, too."

"Why, Itachi?" The blonde asked hesitantly. He was afraid to let himself go again completely, until he could understand the raven's motives and thoughts. He couldn't bear to have Itachi change his mind and leave yet again. "… Why did you break things off?"

Itachi cast down his ebony eyes, his mouth drawn tight in contemplation. For several seconds he stayed silent, as he gently ran his fingers over Dei's forearms to his wrists and hands. He drew a deep breath, clasped Dei's hands tightly in his own and, finally, looked up.

"I have to tell you something. It's something nobody knows. I'm nervous to tell you, because I know it will test your loyalties, and I hate putting you in that position – it's one I know too well myself, and it can severely damage your psyche and your soul," Itachi said.

Dei swallowed. His mind raced. He wanted to be able to anticipate what Itachi was going to tell him. But what could it be? What was this hidden secret that chose only to share with the blonde? Maybe something about the Akutsuki. Or the Leaf Village. But what?

"What is it, Itachi?" he prodded gently after several seconds of silence.

"Dei. I'm dying."

Dying. The word was suddenly foreign to the blonde. Unrecognizable. He could not comprehend it. "What? What are you talking about, Itachi?"

"I'm dying," the Uchiha repeated solemnly. He was calm as he'd already reconciled himself to the fact. "And there's nothing to do about it. I've taken medication to slow down the process, but there's nothing else to do. It might take a week, maybe a month. But there's no stopping it."

"No." Dei said, pulling back from the Uchiha, trying to distance himself from the very idea of Itcha dying. "No. No, hm. No, no, no."

"Dei – "

"Stop it, Itachi," Dei nearly shouted, his eyes filled with tears as the words finally registered only to be met by his denial. "Stop it! Don't say things like that, hm. It's not true. It's not possible. You're Itachi. You're the greatest shinobi that's ever lived. There must be something you can do, hm!"

"Dei," Itachi reached out and pulled the artist to his chest. He could feel the blonde shaking angrily, uncontrollably against his body. "Dei. There's nothing I can do."

His voice was soft but firm. Nevertheless, Deidara could not be solaced.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he sobbed. "What can you possibly mean, hm? How… why … why will you die?"

"I'm sick, Dei," Itachi whispered into the soft golden hair, pressing his lips to Dei's head. "I'm sick, and I can't be cured. Please, please don't be upset. I love you."

"Don't be upset?" Dei whispered through his cries. "But it's not fair. Not at all. I've only just found you, hm. How can I lose you already? It's not fair."

"No," Itachi agreed. "It's not fair. But then, what is? The world is messed up. And our love is not. It doesn't belong here."

Dei fell silent. This didn't make sense. And he didn't want it to. He buried his head in Itachi's lap, his arms wrapped tightly around the raven's slender waist.

Itachi decided to go on. Since there was nothing he could say to make Dei feel better, he figured he might as well get out the whole truth.

"But I have other business to do first," he said. "I'm going to see… fight… my brother, Sasuke. Very soon now. It's very soon. Honestly, that will likely kill me first."

He let his body recline on the bed, and then pulled Dei up so the blonde was weeping into his neck, rather than his legs. He kept one arm locked around Dei's body, and with his other hand, he lightly rubbed his lover's tear-drenched face.

Dei couldn't keep up with this turn of events. Everything that had happened tonight – it was too wonderful, too horrible. And he was exhausted.

"I can't do this, Itachi," he said. "I won't let you."

He could feel the Uchiha surrounding him with an embrace and, thankfully, the raven was silent, allowing the artist to wallow in this grief for a little while. He was overcome with rage, so white-hot and indignant. It was a rage that stemmed from the injustice of this situation and, more importantly, from his inability to correct it.

He hated this life. He hated the fighting, the Akutsuki, the brokenness, the sadness and the helplessness. He hated it all, and he wanted to defeat it. Why should the last remaining good person have to die? The world was doomed, and this was just another confirmation, in Dei's opinion. But he didn't want to be left behind. No again. Not for good.

"Stay with me, Itachi," he whispered. "Please, please, hm. Stay… stay with me."

Itachi gently squeezed the blonde, and let out a sigh that quivered with emotion. "I can't, Dei," he responded, his voice barely audible. "I wish I could. I wish you and I could just leave this all behind. And live together in a place we belong. I'm so sorry… you don't know how much."

It was what Dei wanted, as well. He wanted to run away, to get out of this place – both physical and emotional – and, for once, obtain pure joy. But he sensed the hopelessness in Itachi's voice, and he felt the same emotion take over his senses.

He wanted to be upset with Itachi, so that maybe the raven would be forced into taking action to fix this problem. But he knew that was irrational. But who then? Who could fix this? Where could he find them?

"We have a few days left, love," Itachi said. "I promise I am all yours … for the time remaining. I promise."