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Wind was a country of extremes whether one was speaking of the people who called it home, or the terrain and weather. The northernmost part had bitterly cold winters thanks to the peaks of Iwa and snow was seldom seen unless it was on the mountainous ridges of the upper borders. Anything below that was more likely to get a rainfall of rocks from above then see a single flake.
Towards the middle of the country steppes gave way to rolling plains of scrubby grasses and savannas until the south began to eat what little greenery there was until there was nothing but cragged earth, dust and then sand. During the daytime, the southern temperatures could hit well into the 100’s and during the night they might plummet to freezing or just above it. Beyond that was their one coastline, where the desert gave way to the sea. The country had more than enough salt to go around but most of their assets were in oil and mineral deposits.
Most people would have found it illogical that their capital was in the middle of a desert, even with the massive underground reservoir that kept the populace watered. There were plenty of more fertile areas that could have been chosen. ‘Pride and tradition.’ Sasori found that those were likely the primary reasons why, after overthrowing their previous system of governing his ancestors had decided to stay put rather than moving on to greener pastures. ‘A warning, a show of strength.’ At least that would be the case if they thought anything like he did.
It didn’t matter if they lived in the middle of an arid desert where resources were scarce, they were lean, mean and twice as ruthless because the environment demanded it of them. Hard people for a hard life, as the saying went and Sasori was no exception. Life, in his opinion, left very little room for weakness, not when people were like lions looking for the frail and sickly to pick off. So it was very little wonder why, despite the cold that had managed to catch him, Sasori utterly rejected its influence and carried on as he always did...with additional zinc supplements and tea brewed with desert thyme, laden with honey. “That troupe only performs in Suna once per year.” The rest of it was spent touring around the continent.
“Okay, but that doesn’t explain why you’re giving me this ticket.” Sakura replied, looking from the stiff slip of paper and then back to him. Her head cocked to the side, scrutinizing his face. ‘Odd.’ She thought, taking in the faint, red flush that crossed over the ridges of his cheekbones. ‘He’s typically a shade away from seeming like a ghost.’
“They gave me an extra.” Sasori had attended every year on his own since he’d been 15 in a seat as far away from his grandmother as he could get but no matter how prestigious it was for royalty to attend, they had not given him an additional one by accident. He always went alone, everyone knew it--well mostly everyone. His eyes wandered the medical room until they caught sight of Hippocrates’ bust. Sometimes he thought if he looked close enough at the etched grooves of the hair and full beard he might see a smattering of rust left behind but Sakura had been very thorough in scouring the remnants of that industrious encounter away. Apparently it’d been a graduation gift from her parents and she’d spent the entire time in the MRI worrying about whether she’d chipped it or not.
The clipboard Sakura had previously been pursuing as she checked over what needed to be resupplied was folded beneath her crossed arms. “Why not take Kankuro? He’s interested in bunraku.” [1]
Sasori scoffed and came to regret it when the exhale threatened to become a cough. “Little Girl, I can hardly believe you just suggested that I would take that one anywhere besides a trash can.” Kankuro had his own damn ticket. Stalking across the room, he took to leaning against her desk, fingers gliding over the little knickknacks she kept strewn over it until they slid over the top of the bust’s head.
“I’ve already seen this one, like twice and it never changes.” Sakura had been wrangled into going to more bunraku performances then she’d ever wanted to see. “And the female puppets don’t even have legs!”
“The whole point is that they don’t change.” He turned the marble over in his hands, suppressing a shiver. “In your own words you’ve watched that western animation with the fairy prince a million times, it never changes either.” he paused, recalling a particular quibble he had. “Why ride a bumblebee when he has wings?” It didn’t make much sense to him. The movie was juvenile to be sure but the message it was built upon was something he could commiserate with. [2]
Sakura lips pressed into a pout. “I dunno...when you say it like that, you make it sound dumb.” But she loved that movie, as a kid she’d worn out the VHS from watching and rewinding it so many times. The songs still had a tendency to flood her memory out of the blue. “I’m surprised you paid that much attention to it.” She probably should have been embarrassed to have been caught watching it at almost 28. ‘Now that I think about it, I’m surprised he didn’t rip it apart while it played.’ Instead he’d just sat around in her living room, perfectly silent as she rolled her eyes in the midst of checking his blood pressure and heart rate as had become their odd routine of late.
“I would have married the mole.” Sasori didn’t allow for much of a response to the shocking revelation before he continued on. “And killed him to acquire his vast fortune.” The Field Mouse was at least right about being pragmatic...though it wouldn’t have saved her from him, the Toad and Beetle would have followed shortly after. “Simply a matter of survival.”
Sakura went from shock to nodding her head in the span of a second. “That does sound like something you would do.” She probably should not have been so entertained or easy going at the thought of him killing a whole slew of animated animals. ’I’ve become desensitized.’ That was a bit worrying.
“Okay, so you have a point about the value of rewatching things…” If one found them enjoyable at least. It was just that tragedy was really her least favorite genre, which was probably why she preferred saccharine children’s movies. ‘At least it's not The Courier of Hell again.’ In Sakura’s opinion Chubei was worse than Romeo. The Love Suicides at Amijima was a little better, the characters were more well rounded and sympathetic--though she had major qualms about the wife begging her husband to save a prostitute from murdering herself just to avoid a man she hated. ‘Wouldn’t catch me doing that.’ Him and the trollop both could jump off a bridge.[3]
It wasn’t as though Sakura had a complete dislike of Bunraku, she was fascinated by the puppets and how they moved. Emotions were depicted not only through their faces but in her novice opinion a truly talented puppet-master could infuse each twist of the head and flap of a sleeve or the faintest quiver with more meaning than words. ‘On the subject of tremors…’ She narrowed her eyes at Sasori, catching the faint shiver that rippled through his body. He was wearing long sleeves and the room wasn’t that cold.
“They don’t need feet.” The puppeteers would oh-so-carefully fold the skirt to give the impression of knees and legs for the females. “It's meant to be elegant.”
Sidling up to his side Sakura hummed thoughtfully, she would have grabbed a infrared thermometer but she worried he’d catch her in the act and go slinking off before she could prove her theory. “If that's the only justification necessary then he obviously needed a bumblebee because it looked cool.” For the life of her she couldn’t understand why he was so fascinated by that bust. ‘Sure they sprung for a nice one but I would have preferred an espresso machine instead.’ Then again, Hippocrates had made himself mighty useful. ‘It was fate.’ She decided. “Don’t think I’m weird for doing this.” It was the only warning she gave him before popping onto the tip of her toes to press her lips against his forehead.
Sasori looked up from trying to discern some arcane bit of knowledge from the visage of a long dead man’s eyes. If they even were his eyes, it was just as likely the face was entirely fictional. “A person usually says that when they’re about to do something o--” Whatever he meant to say stopped there and then, thoughts halted for a millisecond that lasted an eternity within his mind. The swallow really had nothing to do with her lips touching his skin, just a misguided physiological reflex aimed at soothing an irritated throat. All he could really think was that she was kissing his temple. ‘Did she finally figure it out?’
Alas, it was simply not so.
“You,” Sakura gasped, once she pulled her lips away from his forehead. “Have a fever.” She looked almost enthused at the realization. ‘The only legitimate health problems he’s had have been gunshots, knife wounds and bruises.’ And it'd been 3 years since she’d started working for them. For a little while she’d actually thought he did have an irregular heartbeat until Deidara mentioned that Sasori could manipulate it like a complete freak of nature. ‘Surprise, surprise It makes him untestable on a polygraph.’ She thought drly. ‘I mean why would he purposely make me think there was something wrong with him like that?’ And keep insisting on it. ‘Clearly psychological torture is his favorite pastime. Well, that's just fine, karma always hits when you least expect it.’
Cupping his face between her hands, Sakura pressed her thumbs against his lymph nodes. “They don’t seem swollen, at least not that I can tell.” She said out loud, glancing at his face. ‘What's with that look?’ she wondered, taking in the almost startled away he stared at her. “I was only checking your temp, you don’t have to look at me like I tried to bite your face off.”
Sasori blinked and then the faint, wide set of his eyes was gone having melted into the familiar, bored expression she was used to. “Interesting method is all.” He said after a moment.
“It's how my mom used to do it when she didn’t have a thermometer handy.” Sakura explained, shrugging. “She said that the lips were more sensitive than hands, of course that is entirely dependent on one's arrangement of nerves.”
‘Fantastic.’ Now Sasori was stuck wondering if her nerves were arranged that way, there was a high chance given her genetics and he found the prospect full of possibilities. “I’m not sick.” Unless lovesick applied and if that were so he was positive that his case was terminal. ‘There is simply nothing to be done about it.’
“Mm, as a doctor I’ll have to disagree.” It amused her more than it should have and Sakura had a hard time fighting the way her lips wanted to curl up.
“As a former but no less qualified doctor I dispute your findings.” Sasori looked back at Hippocrates. “The play is tonight.” Even if it weren't he’d still refute the notion, cool fingers slid over his own to grasp the head and the difference in their body heat was staunchly apparent as he grit his teeth to keep them from chattering. “Your hands are cold.”
“Cold hands, warm heart.” Sakura wrinkled her nose at him, annoyed that he held fast even as she tugged at Hippocrates’ scalp. “And whether the play is tonight or a week from now the fact that you are currently sick doesn’t change.” Her hands were not cold, he was just warm.
Huffing a sigh Sasori finally relented and released the object, watching as she fumbled and fought not to drop it to the floor. In an instant he decided it would be rather upsetting for him if it ended up smashed to smithereens when he found that he was...sentimental about the bust. “That phrase is not meant to be taken as literal icy hands. It means someone who is outwardly cold but loving on the inside.” His hand scooped out to stabilize the backside, reflexes still blessedly sharp.
Sakura rolled her eyes and plopped the marble back where he’d been nabbed from, adjusting the angle so that Hippocrates’s eternal gaze stared towards the door like a glorified receptionist who never answered questions. “I just don’t get it.” She began, hands braced against her hips. “You pretend to be sick when you’re not and when you are, you insist that you aren’t.” He was a paradox, an enigma. It annoyed her but it didn’t change a thing. She was a doctor, Sasori was her patient and he was sick whether he liked it or not. ‘And if I get to rub in the reality that he is in fact a human being, it's a win for me.’
“My heart does have a problem, you just haven’t figured it out yet.”
“Please describe your symptoms.” Sakura tried to keep her face straight, she was after all a professional.
“A sharp increase in pulse when I encounter a specific...stimuli, I feel wary and a--”
Sakura threw her hands up with a groan and with it went her brief austere veneer of professionality. “No, not that nonsense!” She plucked a penlight out her shirt pocket and proceeded to click the button repeatedly in a rather agitated fashion. “Open your mouth.” Thinking about it for a moment she considered getting a cotton swab and a tongue depressor. ‘It could be strep…’ She had a pediatrician as a kid who really liked to get to the back of the throat and scrape it...ungently at that. ‘The sadist.’ She would have hated that guy if it weren't for the candy.
“No.” Sasori already knew how it looked, he’d checked it himself that morning . ‘It wasn’t awful.’ Nor was it great. He watched as her cheeks began to puff in aggravation, a part of him hating that he had anything to attach the word adorable, of all things to. “It's in two hours.” An unbearable itch seized the back of his throat and that time he had to relent, turning to cough discreetly into the crook of his arm. It lasted longer than he would have liked but then having to do it at all was like a sin against his nature. ‘I’ll have to make more tea.’ He’d take a thermos.
Thumb paused in what would have been the 50th click, Sakura watched in fascination as his face went through a variety of changes all in the span of a brief moment. Placid at first and then his lips parted faintly as he, like a dragon in a seethe hissed an inhale between his teeth, brows slanting in concentration. It was one of the more emotive spates she’d ever witnessed from him, especially when he pulled his face out of his arm and scowled at it, looking like he wished he could rip the offensive limb off like a salamander did its tail.
Mulling over what she knew about Sasori, she considered the likelihood that his refusal to admit weakness when he was clearly sick and the insistence that he was ill when he wasn’t all came back to two components of his character. Control and manipulation, one feeding the other. He liked to pull the strings, hated feeling as though he were tossed about by the whims and vicissitudes of life. For someone who held himself so highly, the inescapable force that now afflicted him was like an insult to the discipline he valued. “I’ll be gentle.” Sakura promised, struck with an absurd feeling of sympathy out of the blue. ‘If I need a collection I won’t jab at his uvula like it's a punching bag…’ Pressing her index finger under his chin, she turned his head back in her direction. “Open...please.” Phrasing it like a request was more likely to get it done.
There was a moment of hesitation and then, after his eyes roved over her face Sasori looked away, lips parting.
Shining the light down his throat, Sakura hummed thoughtfully. It was inflamed but thus far lacked any telltale signs of a bacterial infection. In the time it took for her to glove up and collect the culture kit he’d coughed again. Tsking, just as she promised she did her best to be nice about the business of grating a piece of cotton against his already sore insides.
“You can’t go.” She said, after pocketing her penlight and leaving the test to cure. “Even if it isn’t strep.”
Sasori scowled at her for the first time since he’d come in. “It's in two hours.” He said, like repetition of the time would change her mind. “We’re going.” The day was bad enough as it was, it would be unbearable if they missed it.
“Well, I’m not going.” Sakura rolled her eyes, sticking the earbuds of her red stethoscope in and slapping the drum against his chest. ‘Mistake.’ She thought with a wince when the sound thundered in her ears. “You’re going to be one of those annoying people in the theater who cough every 3 minutes. Everyone hates them.” She pointed out. “You hate them. Breath deep!”
“Cough syrup, honey. Tea. And I don’t care if they hate me, I hated them first.” Sasori replied spitefully and wondered if he should stop breathing all together just to deprive her of what she wanted like she was set on depriving him. ‘I want to go.’ And more importantly he wanted to go with her. In the end though, even he had to breathe and he did. The whole situation left him feeling pathetic. “I’m not sick.” At least not enough that he couldn’t do the things he enjoyed. ‘If I get to that point I should just die already.'
Biting her lip, Sakura suppressed a giggle. ‘He sulks like a child forced to stay home because he’s sick! Who knew...even Sasori has a cute side.’ She didn’t dislike it at all. Finding that he sounded clear, she pressed the underside of her wrist against his forehead, reaffirming her earlier thought. “Sick people should stay in.”
Sasori found that he preferred it when she used kisses to gauge temperatures--at least on him and lowered his head until it rested against the nook of her shoulder. “You’re cruel.” He accused, feeling like Cinderella forced to stay home from the ball.
A funny feeling began to swell in her chest and her arms laced over his back reflexively. “There, there.” Sakura laughed, patting at the space between his shoulder blades. “You can lay on the medical bed over there…” Her voice lowered to a hushed pitch. “Sometimes I take naps on it.” She admitted, shivering as his lips twitched against her neck.
“You do, do you? And here I thought you were so straight laced.” A half-laugh, half sigh was breathed over her flesh.
Her cheek found its way to being pressed against his hair. “I have to get my sleep in where I can, you people are keeping me busy.” Sakura explained. “I’ll even get out the blanket Granny Chiyo got me instead of making you use the holey hospital ones...don’t tell the animal rights activists--they scare me, but it's made of real sheep-skin.” And it was ridiculously soft and fluffy. ‘Like a warm cloud.’ Like Sasori’s hair. ‘Odd thought.’ She tossed it into the ether.
“You may regret telling me your greatest fear.” Sasori tutted. "Silly girl."
Absently, as if it possessed a mind of its own, her hand crept and sunk into his hair and the way that he went lax, almost boneless against her body made her breath hitch. It reminded her of a stray cat she knew once, as soon as it was pet it turned into a floppy, purring noodle. She’d liked that cat. “I never said it was my greatest fear. I said they scared me.” Sakura corrected. “Especially the ones who run around naked in fake blood.” Complete loons in her opinion. ‘He should get sick more often.’ She decided, finding that he was quite nice at the moment.
“Hm.” It was not much of a reply but he didn’t currently care to say anything more eloquent. Lyrics from that movie she adored sprung to mind from seemingly nowhere. ‘Heaven isn’t too far.’ It had some merit. The hands that had previously been gripping the edges of the desk loosened but the moment Sasori had the thought of returning her embrace, Sakura pulled away, clearing her throat.
Pointing towards the gurney in the far corner, Sakura shooed him along. “Go on, get!” She shuffled around, pausing to check the test she’d laid out and found that it had not finished developing. “I will go to the kitchens and make tea…” That was a type of sustenance even she could provide. “And tell the cooks to make some rice porridge.” Without a rice cooker she couldn’t do anything on that front.
In the span of a few seconds Sasori came to a conclusion. ‘It's not at night at the theater.’ But it would be an evening with her nonetheless therefore It was not a total loss in his estimation. ‘We can simply go to another showing.’ Even if they had to fly to Wave or Fire to see it. ‘Yes.’ He thought, dropping into the medical bed without argument.
On Sakura’s way out the door, after turning her head this way and that as if making sure no one but Sasori would ever know she sometimes took naps in her office she pulled the promised blanket from a cupboard where it had been hidden behind a stack of binders and laid it over him. ‘I am not that sick.’ He told himself, finding that it rang true--he saw no point in insisting on a lie to himself. ‘But if this is the treatment the ill receive then there is a silver lining to be found...’ He would make it last while he could and in the future he saw little reason not to occasionally act the part.
Sasori shuttered his eyes for what he thought were a few moments but when he opened them again Sakura had returned, setting a tea set down at the bedside table.
“You are positively negative for strep.” Sakura said, pressing a hot cup into his hands. “It's probably just a cold.”
He decided not to insist that he wasn’t sick and forced a cough. “Perhaps.” The smell of peppermint pierced whatever congestion he might have had before he even took a sip of the honeyed tea.
“Well, it's not the high arts like The Love Suicides at Amijima…” Sakura began and fidgeted for a moment but then pulled a slim case from behind her back and wiggled it enticingly. “But The Swan Princess isn’t a bad movie.” her lips tugged into a sheepish smile. “We can make fun of Derek's hair together.” And it had the added benefit of no one but the bad guy dying at the end, unlike the ballet. She appreciated that.
Sedate amber eyes slid from the cover of the DVD and back to her hopeful face. “Anything that you desire.” Sasori vowed, dropping his head back down into the pillow. ‘Anything at all.’ He’d watch a thousand saccharine, cheesy films if she asked it of him. ‘This,’ He thought listening to Sakura’s quiet, gleeful yes, and the sound of her fingers clicking and clacking against the laptop at her desk. ‘Is what love does to you.’ He decided that the worst thing that could happen to him would be if she someday disappeared without warning. ‘I’d chase her to the ends of the earth.’ If hell existed he’d go there for her. There was nothing else to be done about it.
He was only a man in the end.
And lovesick one at that.