Dreams of a Nightmare

still alive...

2009-01-19T19:18:24Z

Just thought I would let you all know that I am still alive, and I will be posting new chapters soon. I've just had so many things going in the last few months I've had no time to write whatsoever. But at least a lot of it was cosplay related, so I figure that's a valid excuse.... Anyway, my apologies for making everyone wait, and I promise updates are coming!

Beyond Blood - Chapter 10

2008-10-07T06:40:18Z

Title: Beyond Blood
Fandom: Naruto
Rating: M
Pairing: Gaara / Temari (sandcest)
Summary: Sequel to Pain Binds Us. With war, betrayal and the threat of death looming on the horizon, can Gaara and Temari’s relationship withstand the judgment of the world?
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.
Fanfiction.net link: Beyond Blood
Note: thanks to Lotos-Eater for beta'ing.

Chapter 10 – On the Brink

Gaara sat on the roof of his house, his knees pulled up to his chest and arms locked around his legs – an oddly childlike gesture in stark contrast to the harsh, cold expression on his face and the weight of knowledge in his eyes. The nearly full moon behind him cast an eerie glow around his figure, throwing an elongated shadow of his form in front of him. It was drawing close; he could already feel the whispers in the back of his mind getting stronger, beckoning for blood and destruction, for release that had been denied for too long.

His attention, though, was diverted elsewhere, his gaze focused on the two figures beneath him, standing in the back yard of their house and arguing in hushed tones, as if they didn’t know that he could hear them perfectly. His brother and sister. Arguing about him.

It was odd, watching them like this. He had done it before, when he was younger, when he still held some small fragile hope that one day he too could be a part of their family. When he envied the closeness they shared, the ease with which they interacted with each other, the unspoken affection behind all their actions. Even when they fought, even when Temari would hit her brother with all the rage and brutality she showed in battle, even when Kankuro called her the foulest of names, there was never real hate between them. They were there for each other, they accepted each other, unconditionally and irrevocably. It was there in every gesture, in every word, in the way they looked at each other.

Neither of them had ever shown such feelings towards him.

Back then, this used to disturb Gaara. The ache in his chest used to grow every time that look disappeared from their eyes when they saw him, every time he realized that he would never belong in their world. Now, it was nothing more than a vague awareness, a subconscious knowledge that his siblings would always share something that he could never be part of, something that he had convinced himself he would never need or want.

It was there now, in the way Temari leaned unconsciously towards Kankuro as she gestured wildly in her heated argument, in the way his hands curled into fists to stop his instinctive retaliation. Gaara supposed neither of them noticed this, or they would’ve found a way to conceal these small hints. It was too telling, gave the enemy too much of an opening to get to one of them by wounding the other. If anything, he knew his siblings were excellent shinobi. If they had realized there was a flaw in their behavior, they would’ve corrected it immediately.

His assessment of his siblings was detached, no real feeling entering his thoughts while he gave their argument only cursory attention. There was no real point in listening, he already knew what the eventual outcome would be. He had refused to join their conversation when they first brought up the subject earlier that night and had retreated to the roof to get away from them. However, his siblings, apparently determined to keep him involved, followed him outside and proceeded to discuss the matter in front of him while otherwise ignoring his presence. Since they hadn’t approached him directly or done anything else to disturb him, he hadn’t bothered leaving.

Gaara’s eyes swept over his sister when he heard his name fall from her lips followed by an accusation that made Kankuro hiss in response. The youngest sibling smirked involuntarily as his gaze travelled along the lines of Temari’s body, noting the faint web of scars covering her skin that glittered unnaturally in the moonlight, the way the hand on her hip was clutching the flesh tighter than usual, the rigid line of her back and stiffness in her slightly parted legs. She was in pain still, aching from what he did to her, even if her face revealed no hint of her discomfort. Gaara found that strangely satisfying, the knowledge that he could claim her like that, could leave an imprint on her body that would force her to think of him. It excited him in a way that was entirely different from watching countless bodies torn apart by his sand.

Special. She was special. It was over a week now since he had said that to her, but the words still lingered in his mind. He wasn’t sure whether it was seeing her obliterate an opponent almost as ruthlessly as he himself could’ve done, or the knowledge that she enjoyed the feeling of blood staining her skin, or the fact that she didn’t shrink from him when he showed her just how much he appreciated what she did for him. Or perhaps it was something that had been there all along and he simply never noticed. Something defined by the very fact that she truly was his sister, his own flesh and blood, living proof that despite everything on some level he too was human.

He wondered not for the first time if that was what made him crave her blood so much more than anyone else’s, that made it look so different when it stained her skin, so much more beautiful. Because it was his blood in her veins, his pain when he made her scream, his hate and anger and hopelessness when he saw surrender in her eyes.

It made it alright that he had used her, shamelessly, uncaringly; was still using her to fill the empty void inside him that was never entirely satisfied with blood and death which were his only escape. He had made her into his own personal salvation, their twisted relationship his closest approximation of something vaguely resembling normality, as if her touch could make him feel less of a monster, as if he could feel human by crawling inside her skin, feel alive if only for a moment. The pain and scars she exhibited now were testament to that.

She was his sister, she was his, and he had done nothing more than claim something that belonged to him already. The fact that she offered it willingly, that she enjoyed being in his presence, being touched by him, only made it that much more exciting. There was something about seeing her acceptance, feeling her reaction to him, hearing those words from her lips – words that he still could not truly understand but found somehow affecting. Something so… special.

He might have killed her if she had refused him, might still kill her now, if only to know that there was nothing he couldn’t take from her. And it might be special too, all that blood, her life seeping through his hands.

But the memory of her whispers in his ear, her skin against his, her warmth… that would always mean something.

Gaara supposed that was why the current situation aroused any kind of reaction in him at all. It wasn’t quite irritation that he felt as he listened to his siblings’ rapidly escalating argument, their voices rising a pitch with each verbal jab at each other. Still… he felt something, some vague hint of discomfort at the thought that he was the cause of their fight, the reason for that pained look on his sister’s face.

The argument was reaching its inevitable peak and Gaara found himself wondering what his siblings were going to do. It was Temari that finally broke, her voice trembling in a way that made Gaara frown as she turned away from Kankuro.

“Fine then, just leave,” she bit out spitefully, hands curled into fists and her entire body shaking with barely controlled anger. “Join another team. Go live with the Kazekage if you care about him so much.”

“Temari, you know that’s not…”

Kankuro’s suddenly panicked retort was cut short as his sister launched a kunai under her arm in his direction. The puppeteer ducked expertly, even as his eyes went wide at this unexpected attack. The blade sank into the wooden fence behind him, sending vibrations of dull sound through the still night air, punctuating the silence that now fell between them. Temari didn’t turn around to see the fearful, hurt look on her brother’s face as she jumped up fluidly onto the fence, pausing with one hand resting on the sharpened wood posts.

“Don’t follow me.”

Her quiet voice seemed to linger in the air even after she disappeared, whirls of sand settling on the ground where she had been standing. Kankuro stared after her for several long minutes, seeming at a loss for what to do, until his eyes finally lifted to his younger brother, still sitting unmoving on the roof, his expression composed into a perfect blank mask. He met the puppeteer’s eyes and saw his brother shudder under his cold, unforgiving gaze.

Kankuro was afraid of him. Just as his sister. Just as everybody else in the village. Gaara felt simultaneous satisfaction and resentment in response to this reaction. They should be afraid of him, he would have no less from them. He wanted them to know his power, to know that he could destroy them if he so chose and to harbor no misguided thoughts of ever being able to overpower him or control him. Still, the fact that even he – the one who was supposed to be his brother, his family – feared him like everybody else was proof that Gaara truly was a monster, that he was not like the others around him and he could never, never be accepted.

“Gaara.” Kankuro’s voice was unusually soft, melancholy. “You understand, don’t you? I would never want you to be hurt. I just… I can’t imagine deserting this place, being a traitor.”

The jinchuuriki said nothing, seeing no point in answering that question. Kankuro’s reasons held no significance for him. The puppeteer had no real obligation to follow him, no ties that held them together beyond that of a team – ties that were meaningless and easily broken. Gaara expected nothing from Kankuro and didn’t understand why he felt the need to make excuses for his decision. He knew full well that nobody would ever willing remain by his side and it was only natural that given the choice Kankuro wanted to leave.

“Shit, Gaara,” Kankuro muttered, seemingly frustrated by the lack of response. He pulled off his hood and ran a hand through unruly brown hair. “If it was down to a fight… I would die to protect you. But this…”

This made Gaara pause, only the slight widening of his eyes indicating his surprise. He had heard Kankuro say something similar before, but he assumed at the time it was only for Temari’s benefit. However, nobody was listening to them now, and he couldn’t fathom the puppeteer’s reason for claiming that he might risk his own life to protect his unwanted brother. Gaara searched Kankuro’s face for signs of a lie, but found nothing – no increase in his heart rate, no aversion of his eyes, no heat coloring his face. He frowned, head tilting to the side as he tried to comprehend what the older sibling was trying to tell him.

“Why?” he asked finally, voice flat and indifferent despite his inner confusion.

“You’re my little brother,” Kankuro responded with a helpless shrug.

The words held a finality that suggested the statement should explain everything. It didn’t. Gaara’s frown deepened, hairless brows pulling together in frustration. Kankuro wasn’t making any sense and it was rapidly beginning to make Gaara angry. Sure, they were brothers, he had known that in the most basic, biological sense. But that fact meant very little and he didn’t see how it should make Kankuro feel any obligation towards him, especially since it never had in the past.

“I never thought of you as a brother.”

The response was so habitual that Gaara gave it no thought before the words left his lips. It was automatic, a natural defense, an impenetrable emotional wall that kept others away as surely as the sand that shielded him from attacks. The statement seemed to cause no reaction in Kankuro either, aside from a quite sigh that resonated unnaturally in the silence.

The puppeteer hesitated for several moments before seeming to come to a sudden decision, his body steeling with determination as his hands curled into fists. Gaara’s face remained impassive while he assessed the change in Kankuro’s attitude and inwardly prepared himself for an attack. When Kankuro jumped up on the roof in front of him, the jinchuuriki almost lashed out with his sand before he realized that the puppeteer was not holding any weapons or poised for battle. Gaara frowned again, his eyes drifting up to his brother’s face, irritation in his expression.

“Look, Gaara,” Kankuro began before the youngest sibling had a chance to utter the death threat that was already written on his face. “Whatever you may think, we’re a family. I know I haven’t acted like it since… well, ever. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”

Though there was no outward change in the youngest sibling’s appearance, Kankuro’s words took him by surprise. He wasn’t sure what to make of his older brother’s sudden attempt at familial affection and years of betrayal and mistrust put him instantly on guard, looking for the trap behind Kankuro’s unusual kindness. His brother had never treated him with anything but hate and fear for as long as Gaara could remember and he could see no reason why his attitude should change now, save to lure him into a false sense of security before betraying him like everybody else.

The suspicion and disbelief must’ve shown in his eyes because Kankuro suddenly sighed and, after dropping his puppet unceremoniously on the roof, sat down beside his little brother. Gaara stiffened immediately, the sand scattered around him shifting in agitation, but he forced himself to remain still. Whatever Kankuro was planning, he could never truly hurt him, and Gaara wanted to know what else his older brother might say.

“I know you don’t believe me,” Kankuro said quietly, his eyes averted to the distant sky. “I don’t blame you. If I was in your position, I probably wouldn’t trust anyone either.”

Gaara made no response, seeing no real point in Kankuro’s words. It was nothing more than the obvious. He would’ve openly admitted that he never trusted anyone – to do anything else would be foolish and weak. Kankuro sighed again, heavy with dread and uncertainty.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Gaara.” His voice was subdued, an uncharacteristic sadness in his tone. “This whole situation is a mess. I would never want to leave you and Temari. I just…”

He broke off, as if not sure how to finish the sentence, a frustrated groan escaping his lips. His fingers wound into his messy hair, pulling at the brown locks with irritation. Gaara was unmoved, only a slight shift of his eyes in his brother’s direction indicating that he was paying attention at all. He didn’t trust Kankuro’s agitation any more than his previous words and chose to do nothing to either alleviate or encourage it.

A sudden movement from the puppeteer caused the sand around Gaara to rise up in thin swirls and when Kankuro’s fist slammed down onto the roof the jinchuuriki had to concentrate on keeping the sand from attacking his brother. He turned to face him slowly, a frown of irritation and warning curving his lips.

“Fuck!” Kankuro breathed out in impassioned fury, seeming oblivious to his younger brother’s displeasure at his behavior.

Gaara observed him silently, the sand held in check as it shifted restlessly around them both, his eyes focusing on his older brother’s trembling form. Kankuro seemed genuinely upset and this confused Gaara. It wasn’t the fear that he was accustomed to, that he could understand and recognize in anyone. It was a strange sort of state of distress, of desperation… It reminded him too much of their sister.

The jinchuuriki stood up abruptly, face turned away from his brother as the sand rushed up to form the gourd on his back. Kankuro started at his sudden movement, jerking away before he could restrain the instinctive reaction.

“Where are you going?” he asked quickly to cover up his retreat.

Gaara’s eyes shot to him with clear malice reflected in their cold depths. No one dared question him and Kankuro, who had endured years under the same roof with the little monster, should have known better. There was fear in the puppeteer’s eyes again and he held up his hands in his usual gesture of surrender, clearly anticipating that Gaara would at the very least hurt him for his boldness. The youngest sibling tilted his head to the side slightly, arms folded casually over his chest, his face a familiar mask of cold indifference.

“To find Temari,” he replied calmly, and he could see the surprise unhidden on his brother’s face.

He turned away without waiting to see what else his brother might say or do, two fingers rising to his lips and eyes sliding shut as he allowed the sand to engulf him in its cocoon of safety and carry him away.

********************

It took almost no time to find his sister. All he had to do was send his chakra through the sand that surrounded him, feeling for her familiar signature until he discovered her. As long as she was in the desert, she could never hide from him. The thought brought a vague smirk to his lips as he made his way along the rooftops in her direction.

Temari was sitting beside a lone tree in an otherwise barren part of the village, an area where there were no houses or artificial lights to mask the harshness of the desert. Her back was against the trunk of the tree, her fan resting on the ground beside her, one hand idly stroking the deadly weapon as if it were a pet. Her head was tilted back as she gazed up at the moon that shone nearly crimson in the dark sky.

Gaara appeared before her in a sharp whirlwind of sand, giving her no warning and no time to escape. She was too good of a ninja to show her surprise, but he still noticed the tightening of her muscles as she stopped herself from jumping and the instant shift of her eyes to where he now stood. He glared down at her, hiding nothing of his irritation, his annoyance with this pointless argument that his siblings were determined to drag him in the middle of. Temari arched an eyebrow, her face remaining carefully impassive even as he saw a trace of fear in her eyes.

“Well?” she asked icily. “I suppose you have something to say about all this?”

He shrugged, giving her hostility no acknowledgement. It was nothing more than a show and there was no point in indulging it. “I have already decided,” he replied in a bored monotone. “You will do what I tell you, and it makes no difference to me what Kankuro does.”

He saw the immediate spark of rebellion in her eyes and his lips curved in a smirk at this reaction. It amused him how she could still fight, still claim some ownership of her life when they both knew that he controlled her completely. After a moment she rolled her eyes in a gesture that was becoming familiar to him and averted her gaze back to the moon.

“You really are a brat sometimes, Gaara,” she muttered, almost as if to herself. “You should know by know you don’t have to order me to follow you.”

The younger sibling said nothing in response, watching silently as Temari resumed the slow movement of her fingers over her folded fan, seeming oddly content in his presence. It was something he still could not get used to, her acceptance, her desire for his company. He had the sudden urge to pull her hand away from her weapon and make her touch him instead, but he suppressed it immediately. That wasn’t why he had come. He wanted to know why she had gotten mad at Kankuro, why Kankuro was upset, why this situation mattered so much to both of them. He was about to demand her explanation when she turned back to him suddenly, a soft smile on her lips that made him pause for a moment.

“Come here,” she murmured, extending her hand out to him.

Gaara glared at her, frowning in response to her blatant command. Every instinct told him to punish her for this daring, to show her that no matter how much she might mean to him she would never have power over him. That insistent presence in the back of his mind instantly provided a myriad of images showing exactly what he should do to her, how much happier he would be if only he allowed himself to tear her apart.

He scowled at Shukaku’s interference and took a step towards Temari, earning an angry hiss from the bijuu accompanied by a spike of demonic chakra that sent a surge of pain through his head. Gaara ignored it, giving no outward sign of his internal struggle as he approached his sister. She was the only one who ever asked for him to come closer instead of running away, the only one that smiled when she saw him, the only one that wanted him. And it didn’t matter that the Ichibi screamed that she was lying to him, didn’t matter that she acted as if she was in control, because the look on her face when he kneeled in front of her and brushed his fingers along her cheek was worth everything.

And she was doing what he had wanted her to without being forced, her hand leaving her fan to run calloused fingers along his chest. Touching him willingly, caressing him in a way that he had never imagined possible, gentle even as he felt the strength in her muscles, saw the promise of danger in her dark eyes. She was the only one that came even close to matching his cold brutality, his sheer force and ruthlessness on the battlefield. She was deadly and unforgiving like him, and he saw a reflection of himself in her eyes. It was as if she was a part of him, his mirror image, his sister, and somehow that made the feel of her in his arms so much more exciting.

Her hands wound in the straps crossing his chest and pulled him closer, until their lips met in a breathless kiss and slick caress of tongues, sharp teeth tainting her taste with familiar copper, so much sweeter than anything he had known before. He felt more than heard her soft moan and his arms slipped behind her back, drawing her to him, pressing the soft warmth of her breasts against his chest, feeling the rapid beating of her heart against his own. She was his, and she wanted him, and the thrill that knowledge sent through his body was enough to subdue the mad whispers of Shukaku, enough even to reach his own insanity and his own twisted mind to make him hope for something he dared not dream of since he was six.

When Temari pulled back, she was smiling again, her hand lingering on her brother’s face, tracing his pale features. Gaara’s arms remained around her, holding her against him, his fingers stroking her back absently.

“So what have you decided?” she asked quietly.

“I want to kill them,” he replied instantly. “But…”

He broke off, images of the destruction of the village filling his mind. He could picture with frightening clarity buildings cut down by torrents of sand, bodies torn apart by gusts of wind, blood and entrails coating the ground, the desert absorbing this vast sea of death as the only sound that resonated on the air was the high, inhuman laughter of his bijuu. The image chilled him, brought real fear to his already tortured heart.

He wanted all that blood and death, wanted to bring unending misery to the village that hated him, wanted to know that he could make each one of them suffer before they died at his hands. But the price he might have to pay for all this violence terrified him. He could already sense Shukaku’s excitement at the thought, could recognize his consciousness rising and trying to overcome his own, could feel claws and teeth inside his body that wanted nothing more than to get out. If he did this, if he lost himself in so much death, so much horror and screams and lives absorbed in the sand, he wondered if there would be anything of him left. The Ichibi could erase his mind, could overtake his body and his consciousness, could destroy his existence more completely than any assassin.

And this scared Gaara, more than any shinobi that had ever threatened his life, more than the hate and rejection of the world, more even than loneliness and that never-ending ache in his chest that he pretended wasn’t there. If he destroyed the village, if he turned so completely to acting like the monster that he was, would he be destroying himself along with it?

“I will leave,” he said finally, explaining none of his reasoning to his sister. “But I want to destroy the Kazekage before I disappear. I want him to pay for this.”

Temari nodded slowly, seemingly not surprised but this response. “Do you know how we can do that?”

Gaara paused momentarily at the way she instantly included herself in his plans, but said nothing about it. He had intended to bring her with him, and she was smart enough to understand that. There was no point to pretend there was a decision involved.

“I want him disgraced,” he said coldly. “I want Suna to know about his plans. I want them to know everything he was hiding from them. I want them to see that he was never a leader, that he never cared about them, that he never did anything except for his own benefit.”

Temari nodded again, her face grave. “We’ll have to collect all the documents we can. No one will believe us, we’ll need evidence.”

“We have two weeks before the mission,” Gaara responded. “That’s enough time to ruin him.”

“What about Kankuro?” she asked, her voice suddenly turning sad.

He shrugged, indifferent. “He was… upset.”

“I shouldn’t have said what I did,” Temari muttered, turning away, her gaze downcast. “I can’t blame him for not wanting to betray everything he knows.”

“Why does it matter to you?” Gaara asked, his voice impassive.

She kept her gaze focused somewhere on the ground, a soft sigh escaping her lips as her fingers absently traced the collar of his shirt. He noted a reflection of Kankuro’s distress on her face now and it was strangely disturbing to him.

“Doesn’t it matter to you?” she asked, avoiding his question. “Would you really not care if Kankuro left us? It’s always been the three of us, together. We’ve always been a team, no matter how messed up things might’ve been between us. I can’t imagine it being any other way.”

The words rang strangely true and it surprised Gaara. He had never really considered the strained camaraderie between himself and his siblings. He had taken them for granted, always there, always flanking him as silent sentinels. He had never imagined what it might be like without them, never truly considered that as a possibility. They were his brother and sister, as much as he had never thought of them as such, they were inseparable from him by their very nature. The sudden revelation made him frown, not sure what to make of this knowledge.

He was spared from voicing any of his thoughts when he felt a distant flare of familiar chakra, moving rapidly in their direction. His arms tightened briefly around Temari as he leaned down to whisper in her ear.

“He’s coming.”

Temari nodded, slipping her hand into his as they both rose to their feet. They stood together, waiting, ready for the rejection of the only other person in the world who ever cared for them, ready for their tiny broken family to finally be torn completely and irreparably apart.

Beyond Blood - Chapter 9

2008-09-13T11:21:59Z

Chapter 9 – Guilt

Washing the blood out of her hair proved to be more difficult than Temari imagined and she wondered how often Gaara had to do this. He certainly did not show any revulsion or displeasure as he stood in front of her in the shower, running his fingers through his crimson locks to wash away the last remnants of the dead assassin. The sand armor saved most of his body from coming into contact with the blood, while it took Temari a considerable amount of time to scrub her skin clean.

He was watching her now and her hands instinctively pressed over her lower stomach, fingers rubbing at the lingering ache inside her. It wasn’t until after she tried to walk that she realized the extent of the damage, each movement sending a shock of pain through her body. She said nothing about it to Gaara, but the smirk on his face suggested that he knew exactly what she was going through and was enjoying seeing the suffering in her eyes. That smirk was playing on his lips again now as he took a step towards her and Temari scowled at him, backing up against the shower wall.

“Don’t,” she said quietly. “I have to see the medic tomorrow. It’s going to be bad enough as it is.”

“Then it doesn’t matter if I make it worse,” he responded, completely undeterred.

She frowned as he stepped closer, his hands on the wall on either side of her body, head lowered slightly as he looked up at her. The expression was familiar to her, a cold, devious light in his eyes that she had come to recognize both in battle and during sex. She supposed the fact that both things elicited a similar reaction in him was quite telling.

“And I suppose you’re going to explain to the medic what happened to me?” Temari asked scathingly.

Gaara shrugged. “If you want,” he answered indifferently.

“Fuck,” she swore under her breath.

He leaned into her, his body radiating heat and contrasting sharply with the cold tile behind her. Water continued to beat on his back, trickling over his shoulders into the synapse between them, making the contact of skin against skin frictionless and slick. One hand separated from the wall to brush lithe fingers along her side, casually caressing her breast before gliding lower. Temari observed him silently, brows furrowed slightly as if in agitation, arms tense at her side as if she hadn’t quite decided if she should push him away or embrace him. His hand paused to caress her hip and glide slowly down her thigh before slipping between her parted legs, making her gasp as fingertips touched the already tender flesh.

The caress was soft in the absence of sand, his movements slow and careful as if he really was afraid to inflict any pain. Her lips parted in a soft sigh as Gaara’s gentle touch elicited a host of sparks inside her, the tightening of her stomach doing nothing to alleviate her fear of what he intended to do. He continued to brush his fingers deliberately and precisely over the spot that made her melt, her arms winding around his waist without any conscious decision from her, her body sagging against the wall as her legs began to grow weak.

He saw surrender in her eyes, as so many times before. She was afraid, uncertain if she could handle what he was doing, but she wouldn’t tell him no – because she failed him so many times, because she was all he had in this world. He frowned, brows pulling together slightly, the ghost of the familiar haunted look entering his eyes as his fingers paused.

“Tell me you want it,” he demanded quietly.

“You know I do,” Temari whispered breathlessly.

Gaara closed the distance between them, lips brushing hers for a moment before he buried his face against the mark he left on her neck, tongue flicking out to capture the water droplets collected there. His fingertips were like an electric current against her even as they remained still, his breath like the whisper of death across her skin. He slid his free hand to her thigh, one firm nudge forcing her to spread her legs wider, propping one foot up on the edge of the tub.

“Temari,” he murmured against her neck. “I need you.”

“You have me,” she replied softly, her arms tightening around him.

“I know.”

His hiss lingered in her ear as he trailed light kisses along the edge of her jaw, pulling back until he was looking into her eyes once more. Her lids were lowered, her cheeks flushed a soft pink, her expression a mixture of need and apprehension. He allowed his fingers to move again, slowly gliding along the slick flesh until they were pressed at her entrance. Temari winced when two fingers slid inside her, a sharp gasp escaping her clenched teeth despite his tenderness. She saw the spark of desire intensify in Gaara’s eyes in response and allowed a soft whimper to fall off her lips at the feeling of skin grating against exposed flesh.

His thumb moved against her in sync with his fingers, making her moan despite the pain that grew with each careful stroke. Her eyes squeezed shut, head falling back against the tiles, but she could still feel the weight of his gaze, watching every emotion that flitted across her face. She stopped herself from dragging her nails across his back, afraid to see how the sand would react in the presence of water.

Gaara’s hand caressed his sister’s thigh while his fingers continued to move inside her, her teeth sinking into her already tortured lip to stop her soft cries of pain mixed with pleasure from resounding in the room. The heat that continued to build between her legs was almost unbearable and she could feel the tremble in her legs as she struggled to hold herself upright.

He stopped just when she was about to yield to the persistent sensation and she couldn’t contain a choked cry as his fingers withdrew from her. Her eyes snapped open and she saw the glimmer of blood on his skin as he brought his hand up to his lips. The familiar cold, sadistic smirk twisted his mouth as he trailed his tongue over his fingers and Temari swallowed audibly, eyes wide with trepidation. He lowered his hand and brought it to her waist, pinning her in place while he still held her thigh secure in his grasp.

The evidence of his arousal against the inside of her thigh jarred her out of her state of shock, made her press her back firmer against the tile in a vain attempt to recoil from him. His only response was the shift of his smirk into a full grin, teeth bared in a feral show of dominance, a return to their old game of predator and prey.

“Wait,” she gasped as she felt him press against her. He paused, muscles taut as if the restraint took more effort than he was willing to show. “Tell me why. Did you feel anything through the sand or was it just to hurt me?”

She didn’t mind being owned by him. She didn’t mind the pain, the cruel, inhuman treatment that she received at his hands. She didn’t mind that her suffering excited him more than all the affection and love she could offer. She didn’t mind that he only saw her as beautiful when she was covered in blood, whether her own or someone else’s. But she needed something in return. Some indication that there was hope beyond all the insanity, that he really saw her and not just a demented image of his fetish come to life, that she was more to him than simply flesh that bled and submitted at his will.

The twist of Gaara’s lips as he leaned in to close the distance between them could’ve almost been a smile, if not for the sarcastic glint in his eyes making a mockery of the gesture. He pressed his forehead against hers as she looked down at him, breath warming her face and the slight brush of fingers against her thigh making her shudder.

“Both.”

His voice held a hollow warmth, a sick parody of affection. As if he wanted to comfort her. As if he wasn’t admitting that he enjoyed torturing her almost to the breaking point. As if he wasn’t preparing to do it all over again.

He gave her no more opportunities to argue as he slid into her in one smooth stroke, slick and effortless with the coating of blood. Temari screamed out before he was even fully inside her, the contact causing one continuous spasm of pain that hit her with a wave of dizziness, her vision blurring and nearly fading to black. The sound reverberated off the walls, seeming even more panicked in the small room and drowning out the persistent noise of the shower. Gaara hissed in response, his hand leaving her thigh and moving to place his palm firmly over her mouth, stifling her cries and making her eyes widen in another bout of fear.

Tears trickled down her cheeks without her realizing it. If he hadn’t covered her mouth, she would have begged him to stop. She wasn’t sure if it was his cruelty or the sheer intensity of the pain that was making her cry, but the hunger in his eyes only intensified at the evidence of her suffering.

Still, he paused, he waited as she trembled against him, clinging to him desperately as if he was her last hope for salvation. When it became apparent that her panic would not subside as long as he was inside her, he wrapped one arm around her waist, keeping the other firmly over her mouth as he shifted slowly away from the wall. Her legs wrapped around him automatically, securing her against him as he slid her down until she was lying at the bottom of the tub with him on top of her, water beating on his back and cascading down onto her.

When he moved again it brought another muffled cry from Temari, her face twisting into a grimace of pain that made Gaara draw in a sharp breath. This time he didn’t stop, though his movements were slow, each thrust careful and calculated, skin gliding over torn flesh in a twisted imitation of intimacy. Tears mingled with water on her cheeks and he watched her, cold and merciless, savoring every agonized moan and whimper, every shudder that passed through her body, every vain attempt to stop him with the tightening of her legs around him and her fingers digging into the muscles of his back.

She wondered vaguely if he would be happy if he finally broke her, if she lost the last fragile bit of sanity she was still clinging to. Maybe then they would really be the same, united in their insanity, able to truly understand each other. Once upon a time she had wanted to save him, help bring him back from the brink of despair. Now, all she could do was descend into the pit of madness with him and stand by his side when the rest of the world condemned them both. He was her brother and she couldn’t deny him, no matter how far she had to fall.

She forced her eyes to remain open, to watch him as he moved above her, even as his image wavered and blurred through the film of tears. She could no longer feel each motion of his body, the pain growing into one continuous throb of agony, like fire burning from the inside. She didn’t bother trying to hide how much he was hurting her, knowing that seeing it would only excite him more, would make this end sooner.

His thumb caressed her skin below the hand that covered her mouth, the gesture deceptively soothing. His lips were slightly parted, short bursts of breath warming her skin. His movements became increasingly more harsh, until he was driving into her with brutal force that made her bones ache and her vision explode in brilliant stars. Each thrust brought another shudder from her body, muscles tightening against the offense, her flesh still fighting despite her surrender. She wondered with strange detachment what this felt like for him, what sensation the friction of exposed flesh caused on his skin, if the blood seeping from her wounds created unnatural warmth when he slid inside her.

The movement of his lips made her realize that he was whispering something and she wasn’t sure if she really couldn’t hear him or if her brain refused to comprehend the dark images that his words were weaving. Her arms tightened around him and she could feel tension in every muscle of his body, a slight shaking as if he was restraining himself even now, as if being inside her was still not enough until he could tear her apart and see the beating of her heart pumping blood through her shredded veins.

“Temari.”

The word was a strange mixture of a cry and a hiss, a desperate plea filled with malice and promises of blood and death. She felt his movements become stilted and sharp, his eyes narrowed and his bared teeth clenched together in a grimace that reminded her of what lay inside him. A growl sounded low in his throat, feral and menacing, and he gave one final rough thrust before stilling inside her, small tremors passing through his body as he looked down at her, eyes burning with something she wasn’t sure was affection or murderous intent.

She could do nothing more than stare up at her little brother, his hand still over her mouth, his breathing shallow and labored as he seemed to struggle to regain some measure of control. She could almost see the shadow behind his eyes, that other consciousness that told him not to stop, to keep going until her body was reduced to a mass of blood and torn flesh.

Minutes passed before Gaara finally moved his hand, allowing Temari to gasp in a desperate breath, her lower lip trembling with the effort after being restrained for so long. Her eyes were wide, hands shaking against his back, her mind reeling at the thought of how close she may have come to dying tonight, how close she might still be. The look in Gaara’s eyes was still haunted, unstable, and she wasn’t sure what was going on inside his head while he remained unmoving above her, body raised just enough to maintain only minimal contact while he was still inside her.

“Gaara,” she murmured uncertainly. “Say something.”

“What would you like me to say?” he inquired quietly, no inflection whatsoever in his words.

“I don’t know,” she replied, her voice slightly shaky. “What are you thinking?”

He said nothing, his expression never changing as his fingertips brushed along her cheek, making her arch an eyebrow in surprise. He remained silent as he pulled away from her, moving back under the stream of the shower, forcing her arms to slide away from him and fall limp at her sides. His eyes traveled slowly over her body, fingers trailing down along her skin, the touch strangely light, impersonal in its weightlessness. The exploration stopped with his hand at her stomach and gaze focused somewhere below, and she knew without looking that he would see a steady trickle of blood mixing with the water and flowing in a diluted scarlet stream towards the drain.

He seemed fixated on the macabre scene in front of him, fascinated as he often was with what anyone else would’ve found horrifying. His eyes held an unusual tenderness, even as the set of his lips remained tight and unyielding, his body tense in its crouch. Temari felt the slow brush of his thumb back and forth over her skin and fought down the instinctive shudder that the gesture elicited.

“Should I apologize… for doing this?”

The sound startled her, his voice empty, devoid of feeling, as if the very gesture of speech was mechanical and held no real meaning to him. His eyes never lifted as he waited for her response and she wondered if he truly expected an honest answer from her. She had a hard time imagining that Gaara could ever apologize for his actions, much less have any real remorse for what he had done to anyone.

“Do you regret doing it?” she asked softly, carefully watching his face for any reaction. “Are you really sorry?”

“No,” he answered simply.

“I don’t want lies from you, Gaara,” she said, her voice sharp this time. “If you don’t mean it, don’t say it.”

He looked up at her finally, a flicker of emotion in his eyes that she could not quite place. He seemed to hesitate briefly before sliding up along her body once more, careful to maintain distance between them with only his fingers brushing her skin. He stopped when he was face to face with her, barely inches apart, gazes locked and his hand cupping her cheek.

“Then what should I say?” he asked again, and there was an odd note of frustration in his words. “Should I tell you that I didn’t want to stop?” He leaned closer to her, nose brushing against hers, fingers slipping into her hair. “Should I tell you how warm you feel when you bleed? Should I tell you how beautiful your pain is? Should I tell you I wanted to hear you beg for me to let you go?” His lips were almost touching hers and her breath caught in her throat, hands curled into fists at her side to stop herself from pulling him closer. “Should I tell you that this… is better than killing?”

He shifted, lips pressed to her cheek instead of her mouth, leaving her gasping and trembling with unfulfilled need. What he was saying was utterly demented, but the sheer passion in his words was enough to make her forget that she should be mad at him, should want him away from her and not be arching to bring her body into contact with his. His lips brushed across her skin until they were pressed at her ear, his soft breath tickling her neck and making her utter an incomprehensible plea.

“Should I tell you how much this means to me?” he whispered, his voice trembling as if he wanted to do so much more than simply tell her but was keeping himself restrained.

His kiss lingered on her cheek even after he pulled back to look at her. Temari’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, this time the emotion having nothing to do with fear or pain. She reached up, fingers trailing down Gaara’s face before settling on his chest, over the soft beating of his heart.

“Tell me it’s not just the sex,” she said quietly. “Tell me you see me for me and not just what I let you do.”

He frowned and she knew he understood exactly what she was asking. His entire life he had been nothing but a tool, something to be used, and he knew better than anyone what that felt like. She wondered for a moment if he would be angry, if her suggestion that he was treating her the way that the village treated him would irritate him or if he would see it as a sort of justice. He remained silent, his fingers drifting slowly through her wet hair, thumb brushing lightly over her skin. When several minutes passed with no answer from Gaara, Temari began to wish she hadn’t spoken at all.

She couldn’t read his expression as he pulled back from her, leaning back enough to turn the taps and stop the flow of water. He stood up abruptly and pulled back the curtain with one sharp tug, not looking at his sister as he stepped out of the tub. She sat up slowly, biting her lip to stop herself from crying out at the stab of pain that shot through her body. Apprehension and worry filled her eyes as she watched Gaara turn back to her, his head tilted to the side as if in contemplation.

He didn’t give her a chance to speak when he suddenly leaned down to her and picked her up in his arms before she could move any further. She was pressed to his naked chest, her head falling against his shoulder, water running in rivulets down their skin. He didn’t bother stopping to get a towel or pick up their discarded clothes before leaving the bathroom and taking his sister to his room. Temari was afraid to look up at him, afraid to find the answer to her question in his eyes, focusing instead on her hand pressed against his chest, the contrast of her fingers against his too-pale skin.

She was vaguely aware of the sand that rose up to shut the door behind them as Gaara carried her into the room. He laid her down in the center of the bed with unusual care, kneeling beside her as he did so, one leg between hers, his hands lingering on her body, caressing along her sides. She finally met his gaze and was surprised to find that there was still some strange frustration in his eyes.

“Temari,” he murmured under his breath, a note of sadness in his voice. “I’ve never wanted this from anyone else. I’ve never seen anyone the way I see you. You’re different… special.”

Her eyes widened at his words, shock displayed on her face before she could mask it. The statement was too close to an admission of real feelings and she couldn’t quite believe that he meant it that way. His words were still cryptic as always and left her question unanswered.

“Gaara,” she said softly, her voice tentative. “Don’t get mad at me for asking. But… can you explain what you mean?”

His brows pulled together, lips curving into a frown. His hands slid over her stomach, fingers drifting across the skin in a gesture that somehow radiated possessiveness. He was touching her as if he owned her, complete familiarity in the soft caress. A quiet sigh escaped him, his eyes travelling along the lines of her body before returning to her face.

“You don’t run from me,” he said finally. “Even when you’re afraid, you always stay. You don’t look at me like everybody else, even when you see what I am and what I can do. You don’t act like they do around me… like I’m something that shouldn’t exist.” He paused then, his eyes closing as if he was deep in thought. His next words were uttered in a barely audible whisper, his voice wavering with emotion restrained for too long. “You say you love me. Do you know how long I wanted to hear someone say that?” His eyes snapped open and pinned her with a penetrating gaze, making her draw in a breath. “How long I wanted to hear you say that?”

A sharp gasp fell off Temari’s lips and she sat up abruptly, forgetting about the injury until another searing pain shot through her insides. She cringed, hand automatically flying to her stomach and pressing Gaara’s fingers into her flesh. A small smirk flitted across his face but disappeared again when her fingers curled around his, replaced by a strangely vulnerable, exposed expression.

“I don’t understand,” she said, shaking her head in frustration, her voice tight with pain. “I thought you didn’t care. When I said it before all this, you never reacted at all.”

“I didn’t believe you,” he replied with a shrug. “I still don’t know if you really mean it. But you want me. I never expected that. I didn’t think you would ever… want to touch me.”

Sadness filled Temari’s eyes at those words, reminding her again that her little brother never received a loving gesture in his entire life, had never gotten so much as a hug until his relationship with her transformed into what it was now. She couldn’t help the guilt that flooded her at the knowledge that this was at least in part her fault, that she never helped, never found a way to change things, that in the end it was he that approached her.

Still, the comment suddenly put everything in perspective. Someone else may have taken the intimacy for granted, may have accepted it as something natural. To Gaara, it was special, because he never thought anyone could ever willing touch him that way, touch him at all. He never imagined he could be trusted or cared for enough by anyone, never believed he could be wanted.

“The first time I touched you,” he continued, glancing away from her, his eyes distant as if he was reliving the memories, “I thought you would run. But you liked it. You can’t imagine what that was like. I almost killed you then, so I could keep you forever, so you would never leave.”

He turned back to his sister, one hand remaining on her stomach, fingers intertwined with hers, the other tracing up along her body. Her free hand slid up his back and came to rest against his shoulder, their arms around each other in a loose approximation of an embrace. She couldn’t stop the shiver that ran up her spine at his touch, a soft sigh escaping her lips, her eyes reflecting all the emotion she was trying to hold in. Silence enveloped the room, broken only by the distant howling of the wind and the scraping of sand against the glass of the windows. Minutes passed before Gaara spoke again, his voice uncharacteristically soft, his expression almost tender.

“It’s not just sex.” He paused, the soft expression disappearing as fast as it came, the look in his eyes transforming into the familiar inhuman glint, his voice turning into a hiss. “I want everything from you.”

Temari opened her mouth to respond, but he placed two fingers over her lips, silencing her. Her eyes widened slightly, but she didn’t move, watching him as his fingertips slowly traced over her lips.

“I don’t know what love is,” he said quietly. “I don’t know what you feel when you say you love me. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to feel it too. But this…” His fingers left her lips to trace lightly along her cheekbone, a feather soft caress that made her draw in a shaky breath. “Means something.”

“Gaara,” she whispered, her hand tightening around his. “I didn’t realize… it meant that much to you.”

He leaned in, hand shifting to hold her in place as his lips descended on hers, stealing her breath as their tongues entwined. Her fingers slid through his hair, holding him against her as she deepened the kiss, a quiet moan resounding in her throat. He pushed her back down to the bed, her wet hair scattering across the pillow, their legs tangled as he lowered himself beside her. Gaara released her hand to wrap her in his embrace before he broke the kiss, teeth scraping along her bottom lip as he pulled back.

“Say it again,” he murmured.

It took Temari a moment to realize what he was referring to, but when she did, a smile crept over her lips, making her face light up with something vaguely resembling happiness.

“I love you, Gaara,” she breathed.

His eyes closed and he edged closer, forehead pressed against hers, fingers tracing absently over her back. For a moment, he seemed almost peaceful. Almost as if he could be asleep. She fought down the instinctive fear that the image aroused and allowed herself to relax in his arms, nestling into the warmth of his body and letting her thoughts melt away into the bleary darkness of unconsciousness.

He held her as she slept, listening to her quiet, rhythmic breathing, feeling the slow rise and fall of her chest. Even in sleep she pressed closer to him, as if she found comfort in his presence. And strangely, the whispers in the back of his mind paled next to the memory of her voice when she spoke the words he had longed to hear for so long.

Beyond Blood - Chapter 8

2008-09-01T08:31:12Z

Chapter 8 – Bloodlust

Temari sat on the edge of the roof, one arm resting on her knee, gazing off into the darkness. Her shoulder brushed against her little brother’s, their hands locked together, fingers intertwined, her thumb tracing back and forth over his skin. He was looking away from her, not talking, but somehow giving off the impression of being strangely content in her presence, almost relaxed.

They had avoided the subject of their upcoming mission since the night of their confrontation a few days ago. Having come up with no better plans, neither of the siblings wanted to face the inevitable. Gaara said nothing about the brief moment they shared that night and Temari and Kankuro had followed his lead in pretending that nothing unusual had happened. It was too much to hope that the one embrace the jinchuuriki allowed them would change anything between them. When the time came for making the decision, Gaara would still do what he wanted and force his siblings to follow him or die.

Temari forced herself not to think about it, not to let the dark images of the future ruin whatever time she had left with Gaara. They were shinobi, an early death was almost guaranteed for them. Dwelling on it would change nothing.

She did allow herself to wonder if Gaara treasured these moments as much as she did. Since finding out about the mission, he seemed reluctant to leave her side. It was a drastic change from his usual alienation from the world and she guessed that it was not easy for him to abandon his habitual solitude. She had compromised by coming with him to his nightly haunts in the secluded areas of the village instead of forcing him to remain in the house that she knew he wanted to escape. Every night he allowed her to rest in his arms and he remained unmoving as she slept, holding her until morning when he would wake her with a soft brush of fingers against her cheek and return her home.

This night was no exception. Gaara had found a rooftop secluded enough that none of the guards would be able to see them and they had been sitting there for over an hour. Temari didn’t prod her little brother about his thoughts. She knew that eventually he would come up with another question he wanted her to answer and she would once again be faced with the impossible task of explaining the intricacies of human emotions and relationships while Gaara struggled to comprehend these alien concepts.

Sometimes when she allowed her thoughts to wander as she did now, it occurred to her that this would all be futile if they were doomed to die within weeks. Would it really matter if her little brother died knowing just a little more about love? Would his death be any easier if he understood what he was losing? Would he resent the knowledge or would he be glad that he had experienced what he did before it was taken away from him? She was afraid to ask, afraid to bring up the subject they had been avoiding. It could wait. For now, while they were together, while Gaara acted as if he wanted nothing more than to spend forever with her, everything else could wait.

“Temari,” the subject of her thoughts said suddenly, breaking her quiet reverie. “Do you remember what you promised in exchange for Baki’s life?”

“Yeah,” she responded, one eyebrow arched in question as she turned to look at Gaara.

He cocked his head to the side, a sly smirk curving his lips before he turned to her, insanity and bloodlust laid bare in his eyes. She suppressed a shudder as their gazes met, the open hunger in his expression making her simultaneously want to run as far away from him as possible and draw recklessly closer. She knew though that she really had no choice at this point. He wouldn’t let her back out now. Besides, he had watched her kill many times before, there was no reason why this should be different. Except that now she could feel Gaara’s desire when he looked at her, could imagine what images played in his mind as he watched her become drenched in the blood of her opponent.

Temari could feel the approaching chakra signature now. The assassin was drawing close. It occurred to her how pointless all these assassination attempts really were, when Gaara could sense the presence of his attackers from such a great distance, when they had no hope of ever getting past the impenetrable sand shield.

She remembered a time long ago, when they were still children, when their Kazekage, the man who would never truly be a father, had first began his attempts to have his youngest child assassinated. She had found Gaara in their house a few days after their uncle’s death, curled up in the corner, crying, true fear in his eyes. There was blood smeared on his clothes and dripping from his hair, and she knew immediately what had happened. She had approached him then, tried to comfort him, soothe his fear. It was the first time he told her he would kill her if she talked to him again. It was the last time she saw him cry.

She wondered if he was still afraid now, if he felt a twinge of panic every time he felt another approaching assassin, or if he was content in the knowledge that he could kill them all with barely a blink of an eye.

Tonight, none of that would matter. Tonight she would stop the assassin before he could ever reach Gaara.

She drew away from her brother slowly, untangling her hand from his and picking up her fan as she stood. She was aware of Gaara standing up behind her as she moved forward and stood ready, one arm leaning casually on her weapon. She could feel his eyes on her back, watching her every move, and it sent a warm prickling sensation down her spine. Her brother – the psychotic little monster, the most feared shinobi in Suna – eager, pleased to witness her murder someone. The thought excited her, even as she realized how fucked up they both must be to be enjoying this.

The assassin came into view, face covered with black fabric as many of them seemed to prefer. Temari wondered fleetingly at the disguise. Surely everyone who took on these missions realized that they had no chance of surviving. Did it really matter if the jinchuuriki saw your face before he destroyed you?

The shinobi halted at the other edge of the roof and Temari grinned as confusion clouded his eyes at the sight of her. He was clearly unprepared to find that the demon of the sand had a bodyguard.

“Temari-san.” The voice was not one she recognized. She arched an eyebrow slightly. “Please stand aside. This does not concern you.”

“I don’t think so,” she said, her grin spreading wider, a feral glint in her eyes. “If you want my brother, you have to go through me.”

“As you wish,” the nin replied curtly, hand already buried in the pouch at his hip, fingers curling around a handful of shuriken.

Temari jumped sideways at the same time as he launched the weapons, the attack a mere diversion for his flash movement and reappearance to Temari’s left, still at the far edge of the roof. She heard more than saw as he instantly threw a set of kunai at her from his new position and she rolled forward to avoid impact. She grinned as she stood again, unfolding her fan to reveal one purple star.

“You’re good,” she said appreciatively. “Must be jounin. Or perhaps ANBU?”

“My rank is of no importance,” came the gruff reply of the assassin before his hands moved lightening quick in a series of seals Temari didn’t recognize.

She was forced to jump sideways again when a bolt of lightning seemed to materialize out of nowhere and strike in her direction. This time her own kunai flew at the attacker before her feet touched the roof again. He avoided the weapons easily but positioned himself in the line of the small whirl of wind that she released from her partially open fan. It was enough to cut shallow lines along the nin’s body and cause him to stumble back, making Temari flash her teeth in a cold, fierce grin.

“Come now, you can do better than that,” she teased, slowly unfolding her fan until a second star could be seen.

Another cloud of shuriken masked the second lightning attack, followed immediately by sickles of wind that Temari easily recognized even as she found herself unable to avoid them completely. Her fan flew through the air, diverting most of the damage but leaving one blade of wind to cut a shallow slice in her thigh. Her high, pitiless laugh rang out in the night air even as she felt the blood running down her leg.

“Oh, I’ll have to make you pay for that,” she said with a smug sneer on her face. “My brother doesn’t like it when other people make me bleed.”

She saw the assassin’s eyes widen in sudden fear before he masked his expression expertly. Even the most skilled shinobi could not withstand the threat of the jinchuuriki without flinching. Of course, she knew that she would be giving her little brother no chance to fight tonight.

Temari chanced a quick glance in Gaara’s direction. He stood in the same spot she had left him, arms folded across his chest, his face the perfect show of indifference. But she knew him enough to recognize the intensity in his gaze, his eyes riveted on her as if he could see the shift of every muscle, the flow of adrenaline through her veins. His hands tightened reflexively on his upper arms, giving away that it was not as easy for him to remain out of this fight as his otherwise cold demeanor would suggest. He was enjoying the show, she had no doubt about that.

A cruel smirk curled her lips as she turned back to the assassin, her fan finally unfolded completely as she stood in a battle ready pose. She waited for the nin to start forming seals once more before she lunged forward, a graceful swipe of her weapon sending a chakra-infused whirlwind at her opponent at the same time as a strike of lightning appear in the spot where she had been standing. The nin jumped sideways a moment later, the reaction too delayed to avoid a barrage of small cuts along his body. Temari laughed again, giving him no pause as she launched another deadly wind in his direction, simultaneously jumping aside to avoid the retaliation of his own wind jutsu.

The shift in their position placed her opposite of Gaara, with the assassin trapped between the two siblings. She could see the sand flowing out of her brother’s gourd and shifting restless at his feet, as if eager to join the fight. His face reflected a mixture of excitement and concentration and she guessed that it was taking all of his self-control to keep the sand from rushing forward. She flashed him a quick grin before abruptly deciding to try a new technique.

A sudden movement of her fan in front of her hid her from view and she used the wind to distort her image as she jumped forward towards the assassin. He was jounin level or higher and Temari knew he would detect her approach, but knowing that close combat had never been her specialty she hoped it would still gain her the element of surprise. He certain should not expect her to appear only inches in front of him, fan folded at her side and a solitary kunai pressed into his abdomen.

Temari savored the look of shock in the assassin’s eyes as she sank the blade into his flesh until the hilt was pressed against his vest, pain reaching his expression only after she forced a sharp upward jerk. His arms moved to bring his hands together for another set of seals, the response sluggish as blood poured from his fresh wound. Temari grinned, withdrawing the kunai with a cruel twist, her movements flash quick as adrenaline pumped through her veins. Two precisely aimed swipes had the kunai slicing through the man’s wrists, sharp accuracy in each cut severing the ambulatory muscles and leaving his hands a useless, bloody mess.

The assassin staggered, arms flailing desperately and covering Temari in a spray of blood. She took advantage of his weakened state, using her fan to swipe at the back of his knees as she pushed on his shoulder and brought him crashing down. She landed on top of him without hesitation, the fan dropping beside her, her knees pinning his legs and the kunai pressed against his throat. His breath came in sharp, ragged gasps, his eyes becoming unfocused and his body beginning to shake subtly. His arms lay limp at his sides, hands dead and unmoving.

Her free hand trailed across the wound in his stomach, pressing down to make him wince, a quiet grunt escaping him as she imagined he was clenching his teeth to keep from crying out. She knew that if she lifted the man’s shirt, she would see intestine bulging out from between the ragged edged of the cut. It was not a killing blow, but she knew it hurt like hell, and if she left him there, eventually he would bleed to death.

Temari glanced up to see that Gaara had approached them, standing barely a step away from where the assassin’s head was pressed into the rooftop. Her eyes stayed on her little brother’s face as she pressed the kunai a fraction into the man’s neck, drawing out a small trickle of blood. She couldn’t help grinning appreciatively at the way the nin concealed his pain, not bothering to cry or plead for his life as many lesser man would have done. She supposed he knew his death was inevitable now and he accepted it graceful, as a true shinobi.

Gaara lowered himself down, a slow, languid movement, until he was crouching in front of Temari, their gazes never breaking from each other. His eyes sparkled with excitement, the corner of his mouth curved upwards slightly in a suggestive smirk, full of promise of what exactly he would do to her when she was finished. It made the breath catch in her throat and things low in her body tighten with need. She leaned towards him, her free hand on the assassin’s chest, the kunai grating against the man’s neck carelessly. A sick cough escaped the assassin’s lips, riveting her attention back to him. She leaned down to him, no remorse, no compassion in her eyes.

“That’s what you get for going against my brother,” she said with cold ruthlessness. “And now you die.”

The shinobi at her mercy didn’t bother responding, merely giving a brief nod to indicate he understood, his expression resigned even as she saw the inevitable panic in his eyes. He was prepared to die, as every ninja is taught to be, but that didn’t mean that the knowledge that he was on the brink of death did not elicit fear.

Her gaze lifted back up to her little brother, noticing that he had leaned closer towards her, his hands now on the roof to support himself. Temari watched the gourd on his back dissolve into sand and spread around the assassin’s body, absorbing the blood that had leaked out. She reached over with her free hand, her fingers fisting in the fabric of Gaara’s shirt as she pulled him closer, her mouth barely an inch from his, her lips parted slightly. The warmth of her breath caressed his face, her heart rate speeding up as she saw her own desire reflected in his eyes. She got some sick satisfaction from the knowledge that the man she was about to kill was watching them as she closed the distance between herself and her brother, crushing her lips to his, her skin grating against the sand armor that she assumed he put on before the fight.

“So it’s true,” the assassin breathed, his words breaking off on another wet cough. “You’re together.”

Neither of the siblings responded as Temari pulled back just enough to look down at where the kunai pressed into the nin’s neck. One precise movement of her hand brought the blade sharply across the man’s throat, cutting deep into the windpipe and severing the arteries in a gush of dark crimson blood that covered both her and Gaara.

The assassin’s raspy, dying gasps punctuated the silence as Gaara’s lips descended on Temari’s once more. His arms encircled her waist, pulling her sideways and off the other man’s body, not caring about the growing pool of blood that stained their skin and soaked into their clothes. The kunai dropped with a wet clang, the kiss never breaking as Gaara dragged his sister barely a foot away from the dead man before rolling her over onto her back. His hands travelled along her body and down to her thighs, unceremoniously nudging her legs apart and causing her to moan low in her throat.

He pulled away from her to move between her legs, hands already working at untying her obi as she struggled to remove the straps around his chest. They moved frantically to undress each other, clothes cast aside in moments, leaving only fishnet covering their bodies. There was a desperate need in the way his hands slid over her curves, the grainy roughness of the sand armor still covering his skin. Her breath came in short pants, her fingers scraping along his back even as the sand prevented any real contact.

It was sick and wrong and she knew she shouldn’t press her body into her brother’s with the cooling corpse still within reach and the blood that escaped the sand’s grasp soaking into her back. But she couldn’t stop when his desire consumed her and left no room for anything else, when his hate and need and loneliness tore everything from her, drinking her life one drop at a time, claiming every inch of her as his own.

Gaara growled low in his throat as his mouth closed on Temari’s neck, teeth sinking into the skin and making her cry out in a mixture of pain and arousal. Warm blood mixed with the blood of the dead man as Gaara’s tongue teased along her throbbing vein, eliciting moans and gasps of pleasure.

“Neesan,” he breathed against her ear, making her shudder with anticipation. “I want you.”

“Gaara,” she murmured, her legs wrapping around him in a desperate attempt to bring him closer. “Please.”

She could feel his smirk against her neck as he pressed the length of his body along hers, nothing but sand armor and fishnet separating them from each other. The brush of his erection against her inner thigh was proof that the armor really did cover his entire body and she drew in a sharp breath at the realization of what that meant. He pulled back just enough to grin down at her, a cruel, inhuman glint in his eyes, and she knew that he understood what she was thinking.

“Shit, no,” she hissed, attempting to bring her legs together and succeeding only in pressing Gaara closer to her.

His grin broadened, a flash of teeth full of menace and thoughts too dark to ever be said aloud. He would take what he wanted whether she liked it or not and if she struggled it would only serve to excite him further. Her eyes widened, the bitter taste of fear filling her mouth, short nails digging into the sand covering her brother’s back.

“I want your pain,” he whispered, voice trembling with unsuppressed need. His fingers traced the cut on her thigh, his touch probing as if he wanted to find a way inside. “I want your fear.”

Temari trembled under him, unable to contain her panic even as she spread her legs once more, her back arching despite the sand that grated against her skin. Gaara curved one slender hand around her breast, the other hooking around the back of her thigh, his erection pressed between her legs as she looked up at him with trepidation. His gaze remained on her face as he pushed inside slowly, inch by painful inch, her scream reverberating in the air until he was buried inside her, her breath hitching with each lungful and her body aching from the sharp gritting sand.

He paused then, his features tightly controlled, body rigid as if just one move would send him over the edge. Temari took the opportunity to level her breathing and calm her rapidly increasing heart rate. Her fingers traced carefully down Gaara’s sand-clad back and she wondered absently if he even felt anything through the layers of his armor, if he got any physical gratification from what he was doing or if he was enjoying it only because it hurt her.

When he began to move again she knew that the pause was not long enough to prepare her for what was coming. She could feel every particle of sand as it slid against her, rough and merciless, the friction enough to make her face contort in a grimace of pain and force another series of screams from her lips. Gaara leaned down towards her, his lips brushing against her cheek as she turned her head to the side. She scowled as her eyes fell on the corpse of the assassin and she felt her little brother smirk against her skin, never slowing in his pace, never pausing to ask her if it was too much.

Temari pulled one hand away from his back, the other gripping him tighter as if to make up for the separation, bringing her arm down until her fingers touched the pool of blood under them. A moan escaped her as Gaara’s hand squeezed her breast at the same time as his tongue flicked out to tease along her neck. Her toes traced along the back of his legs as he moved inside her, her eyes finally closing against the burning pain, and she bit her lip to stop the plea before it could form into words.

“Temari,” he murmured, lips and teeth scraping her neck. “Tell me.”

She smiled despite herself at the familiar words, wondering if this was his way of asking if she wanted him to stop. She supposed though if she really asked him to let her go, he would not take it well.

“I want you, Gaara,” she breathed shakily. “Don’t stop.”

His lips slid across her skin before his teeth sank into her shoulder, the pain of protesting muscle not enough to distract from the rough scraping of sand against the flesh inside her. Her fingers dragged through the blood as her screams drowned out Gaara’s quiet pants in her ear. His hands trailed up his sister’s body, slipping under her shoulders to press her closer to him. He held her against him, lips brushing her shoulder and neck, as he drove inside her ruthlessly, each thrust another burst of pain like sandpaper against her skin.

“Neesan.”

The soft whisper of the familial term made Temari tighten her hold on him and she responded with his name falling off her lips in a moan. Her eyes stung with unshed tears, her body trembling in her brother’s arms even as she arched into him, driving him deeper into her with each calculated stroke. She wondered if she was only imagining the warmth of blood inside her, if his movements were really more frictionless than before.

She wasn’t sure when her screams dissolved into moans, when her fingers stopped clawing at the roof, when Gaara’s mouth left her neck to claim her lips instead. She murmured against him wordlessly, incomprehensible encouragements or pleas to stop, she was no longer sure which. His only answer was his tongue brushing against hers, his teeth scraping her lips, his breath mingling with hers. She didn’t notice when his pace slowed, when he stilled altogether, his body rigid against hers even as their tongues continued to entwine, the fire and need in the kiss stealing her breath.

She realized what he was doing only when he separated from her, the kiss breaking as he slid down her body, hands and lips brushing along her skin with each descending inch. Temari gasped quietly, her eyes snapping open as if coming out of a trance, her fingers winding into her brother’s hair as she watched him kiss his way down her bloodstained body. She saw his tongue flick out with each kiss and she wondered if he was tasting her or the dead assassin on her skin.

She gave a sharp, sudden moan as Gaara’s lips descended on the warmth between her legs, her hand clenching into a fist in the pool of blood and back arching reflexively. His tongue traced around her folds, teasing, probing, until finally coming to the spot where she wanted it most and making her utter a muffled profanity. His teeth grazed her as his lips closed around the mound of flesh and her fingers pulled at his hair, instantly making a spiral of sand twine its way around her arm. She paid the sand no attention as she cried out her approval, her head tossing from side to side and sending cascades of blonde locks into the blood.

It took only a few well placed strokes of his tongue before her body was thrashing under him, held down by his hands on her waist, his name a desperate plea on her lips, her nails clawing at his sand coated shoulder. He didn’t stop until he sent her over the peak again and again, until her legs were shaking and her breath catching in her throat, until her hoarse cries became soft whimpers.

When he lifted up, she could see the blood staining his face and she couldn’t remember if it was there before. There was too much of it everywhere to know how much came from her. Temari watched as Gaara moved up level with her, his hand finding hers, fingers intertwining in the cool crimson liquid. Their gazes met, cold, remorseless eyes looking into a darker version of their own. There was no resentment, no regret in her expression. Her lips pulled up into an exhausted smile, her arm draping lightly over his shoulders.

“Temari,” he said quietly, glancing down at their joined hands. “This is why…” He hesitated briefly, as if not sure how to finish the thought, before adding, “You’re different. You liked this.”

Her soft laughter startled him, his gaze shooting back to her face, eyes wide with surprise.

“Is that your way of saying I’m just as fucked up as you?” she asked, arching one eyebrow.

He frowned for a moment, then gave a brief non-committal shrug, the corner of his mouth tugged up into a barely perceptible smirk. She shook her head slightly, the hint of laughter still in her eyes.

“I love you, ototou,” she said in a softer voice.

Gaara gave no response, simply leaning down to press his lips over Temari’s, the kiss metallic with the flavor of blood as their tongues twined around each other. Her breath was a soft sigh when he broke off and rolled over to lie beside her, arm draped across her stomach and chin resting on her shoulder.

“Neesan,” he whispered again, a vague sort of wonder in his voice, as if for the first time he truly believed that she was his sister.

She smiled as she gazed up at the stars above them, her mood strangely light as she contemplated the bizarre pattern of Gaara’s thoughts.

Beyond Blood - Chapter 7

2008-08-23T21:48:15Z

Chapter 7 – Decisions

Temari stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom, her hair dripping onto her naked shoulders as she examined her reflection. The wound on her chest was a ragged line, seeping droplets of blood and mixing with water to run in pale pink streaks down her skin.

Gaara leaned against the wall behind her, arms crossed over his exposed chest, his pants pulled on over the still-wet skin, his damn hair gleaming like blood under the harsh light. His eyes were fixated on Temari’s reflection in the mirror and a glance in his direction showed her that he was looking at the wound rather than at her face. She sighed quietly. She was surprised that he had followed her to the shower after they came home, but she had quickly realized that he did so to watch her wash the blood off her body. Finding the dried blood on her inner thighs had sent a new shock of pain through Temari’s abdomen and Gaara was there to catch her when she stumbled and whisper in her ear that he wanted to do it again.

She shuddered involuntarily at the memory. She had convinced him that there was no time to repeat the experience before they had to leave for training, but she was sure that she would have no excuses tonight. Even though she had told Gaara that what he did to her didn’t bother her, it was beginning to be almost too much.

Even before she saw the torn edges of the cut on her chest, Temari knew that it would never heal properly in a week. And if Gaara continued to treat her the way he had in the desert, the wounds would become too much for her to be able to function properly in her training and the upcoming mission. She unwillingly contemplated if he would consent to cutting her somewhere else and allowing her chest to heal so she could at least resume her regular life without causing herself excruciating pain. At least the cuts he left on her skin were usually shallow and would heal relatively fast.

The thought made her shake her head incredulously, the very idea of what she was considering so deranged that it seemed unreal. She caught Gaara’s gaze through the mirror as his eyes lifted up to her and she drew her face into a blank mask, concealing her thoughts. It would be impossible to explain what she was thinking without offending him and she chose to say simply nothing.

Her eyes lowered at the same time as Gaara pushed away from the wall. She heard the rustle of his pants and the soft sound of his feet on the cold tile as he stepped up behind her, close enough that the sense of his presence made her skin prickle. Temari gripped the edge of the counter in front of her in a gesture that was disturbingly familiar, and the instant flood of memories made her shiver as she recalled the thoughts that ran through her mind when they stood like this all those weeks ago, the way she wondered about what Gaara really wanted from her and how unnatural their encounters were.

What they did now was beyond anything she could’ve imagined then.

Gaara’s arms wrapped around his sister, hands gliding over her stomach and stopping with his fingertips just above the faint line of hair, and Temari let out another soft sigh. She leaned into him instinctively, her back pressing against his chest, her eyes closing to avoid seeing their reflection in the mirror. There was something vaguely disturbing about all this and she didn’t want to see the confirmation of how far she had fallen. It didn’t bother her precisely, but it was still a faint nagging thought in the back of her mind.

“Temari,” he murmured in her ear, his soft breath making goosebumps erupt along her back.

“Yes, Gaara?” she whispered back.

His fingers caressed her lower stomach slowly, a gentle touch that nevertheless sparked the lingering ache inside her body. Temari winced slightly and she felt Gaara’s lips curve into a smirk against her skin. Anyone else would’ve thought it was sick, the way he enjoyed her pain, the way he relished the knowledge that he did this to her, but she found herself unable to be upset about it.

“Do you still regret it?” he asked, his voice low. “Do you still think it’s wrong?”

The question brought back another series of memories, the way she fought against his advances in the beginning, her futile attempts to escape him even as she knew that she never wanted him to leave, her persistent arguments that what they were doing was a sin. It seemed like so long ago that she begged him to stop. She wondered if the same memories were replaying in his mind, if even now her words of rejection could hurt him.

“I don’t regret it,” she breathed in response. “I’m sorry that I ever said I did.”

She knew he wouldn’t miss that she answered only half the question. Even now, she couldn’t deny that everything about their relationship was wrong, unnatural. Gaara was her little brother and she was supposed to be his guardian and not his lover. There was no escaping that fact, even if when she was in his arms she forgot why that mattered. But knowing that it was wrong was not enough to make her stop what they were doing and she saw no point in admitting that she would always be aware of the perversion of their relationship. Gaara wouldn’t understand it anyway. Right and wrong meant nothing to him.

Surprisingly, he didn’t comment on her omission. Temari waited for him to say something else, but he remained silent, his breath whispering across her cheek, the soft thud of his heart against her back somehow comforting despite her unease.

Several minutes passed before Gaara moved again, one hand remaining on her stomach while he reached the other up along the trails of blood running down her chest. She drew in a sharp breath as his fingers brushed her wound, but his touch remained light, capturing the lingering droplets of blood and then moving away. She didn’t need to look to know that he drew his fingers to his mouth to lick off the diluted blood. After a brief pause, she felt him reach across the counter to pick up the roll of bandages she had left there earlier.

Temari kept her eyes closed as he edged back from her slightly, putting just enough distance between them to allow him to start binding the fabric around her chest. She stayed still, her hands resting on the counter, as she waited for him to finish. He pulled away from her without a word when he was done and moved to pick up the rest of his discarded garments, allowing her to get dressed as well.

She opened her eyes only after Gaara stepped back and didn’t look at her brother until she was fully clothed. When she finally turned to look at him, he was only a step away. She reached out towards him slowly, tracing her fingertips lightly along the collar of his shirt. His expression was empty, but he edged closer, leaning into her touch so that her fingers brushed against his skin. She smiled briefly before pulling back and turning for the door.

She heard him exit the bathroom behind her, but he didn’t wait for her as she went into her room to set her hair into its usual pigtails and retrieve her fan. The temporary separation gave her a moment to stop and really look at herself in the mirror. The image was disconcerting, just as she knew it would be. Even fully dressed she still had too many scars visible on her body. Her arms and legs were scattered with cuts that she didn’t even remember getting. She knew that they would heal, but probably not before Gaara added new wounds to mark her body. She sighed softly, wondering idly what people thought when they looked at her. Did she look like she had just come back from battle, or did everyone guess at the truth, now that her relationship with Gaara was out in the open?

It occurred to her that she should be bothered by it, she should be angry, should even hate him for what he was doing. He treated her as a toy, using her in any way he wanted without once giving thought to how it might affect her life. Maybe it was the knowledge that despite that, Gaara did truly care about her that stopped her from feeling mistreated. She couldn’t fault his selfish actions when he had never known anything else in his life. He simply didn’t understand what it meant to be concerned for someone else.

She shook her head, ridding herself of the troubling thoughts, before picking up her weapon and heading downstairs to join her brothers.

********************

The siblings didn’t talk until their training was over for the day. They gave no hint that they suspected anything about the upcoming mission and Baki left them at the training grounds again as soon as they were finished.

Temari and Kankuro came to Gaara’s side once they were alone and he led them away silently, heading to one of the village’s secluded spots instead of going to their house. They followed him without question, the unspoken camaraderie between them a welcome change from the usual atmosphere of terror and hate.

Several minutes later he stopped in a deserted area, among sand dunes and half-destroyed houses, turning to face his siblings as they stopped behind him, arms folded over his chest and a frown on his face.

“Are there any guards around?” Kankuro asked quietly, seemingly not bothered at all by the knowledge that Gaara’s skills by far outranked his.

“No,” Gaara answered in a flat voice.

“Alright. So, what’s up?” Kankuro asked, one eye closing as he looked at his little brother in anticipation. “You have any ideas?”

Gaara glanced up at Temari, meeting her gaze for a brief moment, before turning back to the puppeteer. His lips formed into a tight line, the look in his eyes hardening almost into a glare. Kankuro wasn’t sure if the anger was directed at him but it made him flinch nevertheless.

“I don’t know,” the jinchuuriki said stiffly. “I can kill the Kazekage, but the council will probably come up with another plan to eliminate me. I could kill all of them, but then…” he hesitated, the look in his eyes uncertain, as if he wasn’t sure if he could trust his siblings with his thoughts. After a brief pause he added in a subdued tone, “That would probably destroy the village.”

“Do you care?” Kankuro asked automatically.

Temari smacked his arm at the same time as Gaara hissed through clenched teeth.

“Shut up, Kankuro,” she said sharply.

“I don’t care,” Gaara interrupted whatever she was going to say. “I was simply stating the facts.”

“Fine, fine,” the puppeteer said quickly, holding up his hands in a gesture of peace. “Starting war with the village is probably not the best option. Even if we win, we’ll be left with nothing. What other options do we have?”

They fell silent, each seeming to withdraw into their own thoughts, the hopelessness of their situation weighing down on them. The sand swirled around them as it was picked up by the wind and thrown against their bodies, scratching their dry skin and burrowing into the folds of their clothes. The darkness was almost tangible around them, a silent threat, as if at any moment assassins might jump from the shadows and end their struggle.

“We could confront the Kazekage,” Temari said finally. “If we threaten to reveal his plan to the villagers, he won’t be able to carry it through and claim that he wasn’t involved.”

“Even if we did that,” Kankuro said in a dull voice, “would anyone believe us?”

“We could steal the letters between him and Otogakure for evidence,” she pointed out.

“They’d probably say we fabricated them,” he replied with a shrug.

She glanced at Gaara, eyebrows raised as if asking silently if he had something to say about this. His cold, unblinking gaze did nothing to encourage her as he looked back at her, no comfort in his expression, only the desolation of someone who knows that death is inevitable.

“Well, shit,” Temari swore angrily under her breath, before snapping her head back to look at Kankuro and adding, “Maybe we could warn Konoha. They might believe us.”

“That wouldn’t help, Temari,” the puppeteer said, shaking his head. “We’d be betraying Suna, and then they would really have a reason to kill us.”

Temari frowned, her brow creasing as she struggled to find a hole in his reasoning. Her hands curled into fists, anger flaring in her eyes.

“The Kazekage is risking the alliance with Konoha just to kill us,” she ground through clenched teeth. “He doesn’t care about the danger he puts his people in. He sacrifices us all without thought. He doesn’t deserve our allegiance.”

“So, what, you’d run to Konoha and ask them to take us in?” Kankuro asked with unconcealed scorn.

She scowled at him. “Don’t be stupid, you know that’s not what I mean.”

“Then what?” he asked.

She had no answer to that and fell silent once more, eyes downcast, watching the sand swirling around their feet. Kankuro glowered at her, seeming still offended by her suggestion, but he said nothing farther about it. Gaara’s gaze was directed away from his siblings, concentrated resolutely on the sand dunes surrounding them, as if by looking away he could pretend they weren’t there.

“Even if we ruin his plan this time,” the jinchuuriki said quietly, “there will be others. He won’t stop until I’m dead.”

Temari reached out to him tentatively, her fingers brushing lightly against his shoulder, the soft squeeze of her hand a vain reassurance. She wanted to tell him that it would be alright, that they would protect him, that in the end it would all work out. But they couldn’t even begin to formulate a plan that had at least a faint hope of getting them out of this alive. Any comfort she could offer him now would be a lie. They would die with him if it came down to it, and that was the best they could offer.

“What do you think we should do, Gaara?” she asked softly.

He turned to her, the glint of his eyes in the darkness highlighting the hollow void raging inside him. It was the look that made everyone shrink away from him, the look that made children run screaming at the sight of him.

“You already know, Temari,” he answered coldly. “This won’t end as long as I’m here.”

“You think we should leave,” she whispered.

He moved one shoulder in a vague shrug, as if he didn’t want to admit that there was only one way out of this situation.

“No,” Kankuro gasped, his eyes wide as he took a step back from his siblings. “We would be traitors. Missing-nin. I would rather die.”

Temari’s head snapped around to face the puppeteer, the concern in her eyes mixing with anger. Her hand remained on Gaara’s shoulder and she drew closer to him without realizing it, as if finding support in his ruthlessness.

“We will die if we stay,” she said harshly.

“Shut up,” Gaara hissed suddenly, pushing Temari away roughly and taking a step towards his brother. “I know better than anyone what it would mean to do this. I stayed in Suna when everyone wanted me dead. I didn’t kill the Kazekage even when he tried to kill me. I didn’t leave this team even though you never wanted me. Did it ever occur to you why?”

Kankuro froze with a dumbfounded expression on his face, his mouth hanging open slightly as he gazed at his younger brother with shock and incomprehension in his eyes. Logically, he always knew that Gaara was hurt by the way the villagers treated him, that he resented the hate and fear of strangers, the rejection of his own family. But he never truly thought about Gaara as someone who could have feelings, never saw him as a human being and not just a killing machine.

In truth, he had never considered why Gaara didn’t simply leave the village, why he didn’t massacre everyone around him and claim the remaining wasteland as his home. The terror of Gaara’s potential was too overwhelming and Kankuro never got past fearing what his little brother might do long enough to wonder why he didn’t. The realization made him feel suddenly guilty and he wished that he had words to apologize for all the years that he treated Gaara just like everybody else in the village, all the years that he avoided him and ran from him, all the years that they could’ve been a family.

“You didn’t want to be a traitor,” Kankuro muttered, his words coming out as a question more than a statement.

“I’m a monster,” Gaara said in a hollow voice. “A failure. I’m something they all want to get rid of. But at least they can’t say that I’m a coward, that I ran away. If I die, if my existence is to disappear, it will be because someone was stronger than me, not because I gave up.”

“So what about now?” the older brother asked, shock still clear in his voice. “What will you do?”

“I would rather destroy the village than run,” he replied sharply.

Temari moved closer to her brothers, making sure to stay out of Gaara’s reach this time. Kankuro turned to face her abruptly, his face hopeful, as if sure that she would somehow fix all this. Gaara ignored her completely, his eyes fixated on his older brother with a mixture of resentment and scorn.

“Gaara,” Temari said softly, her voice carefully neutral. “The villagers don’t deserve to die. This plan is the Kazekage’s doing, not theirs. We can’t kill them just to save ourselves.”

He tilted his head in her direction, not quite looking at her, rather gazing somewhere into the distance. She noticed the slight tremble of his hands before she saw his face twist into the familiar inhuman grin, the white of his teeth gleaming in the darkness as his tongue flicked out to trail along his lips.

“But I want to,” he breathed, a hiss at the end of each word.

Temari shuddered at the same time as Kankuro took an involuntary step back from their deranged little brother. That tone in his voice was too familiar, eliciting too many memories of pain and bloodshed. It was the voice of the monster, of the jinchuuriki who had no concern for human life and lived only to kill all those around him.

“And what then?” Temari asked, fighting off the tremble in her voice. “We’d still be traitors. The other hidden villages would probably hunt us down and kill us after something like that.”

“Yeah,” Gaara said, his voice strangely excited. “And I could kill them all. So many lives… So much blood…”

He issued a dry chuckle that sent a cold chill down Temari’s spine and made Kankuro retreat even further. A soft hissing sound punctuated the sudden swirling of chakra-enriched sand around Gaara’s feet and his hands stretched outward, as if calling to the sand. His gaze fell downward, focusing on the spiraling lines spinning through the air, the look in his eyes growing distant and cryptic.

It took all Temari’s courage to take a step forward and reach out to Gaara once more, her hand shaking as she hesitated before allowing her fingers to brush against his arm. He seemed unaware of her presence, only a slight shift in his gaze indicating that he saw her approach him. She felt the sand armor under her fingertips stirring slowly, as if responding to Gaara’s craving for blood with an eagerness of its own.

“Gaara, stop it,” she said desperately, her hand squeezing his arm. “If you do this, you’ll be proving them all right. Only a monster would destroy an entire village like that.”

He turned to her so suddenly that she didn’t even see him move, his fingers curving expertly around her neck. Before she could do anything more than gasp in surprise, he pushed her down, crouching over her legs and pinning her to the ground with his body. She grasped at his upper arms automatically, not sure if she was trying to hold him or push him away. The expression in her wide eyes was frantic as she gazed up at him, a silent plea for him not to lose control.

“Gaara!” Kankuro screamed, moving towards his siblings swiftly but stopping just out of reach.

“I told you I’m a monster, Temari,” Gaara hissed, completely ignoring his brother.

“Don’t. Don’t do this… ototou,” she whispered, reverting to the familiar term again, as if it could somehow pacify him. “It won’t help anything. It won’t change how the world sees you. It will only make it worse.”

Gaara froze on top of her, hand clenched around her neck at the point just before stealing her breath. His brows furrowed slightly, a crease forming between his eyes, as if he was trying to concentrate on her words. For a moment, he seemed almost confused.

“They hate me,” he breathed, voice barely audible. “They all want me dead. Everyone. Why should I let them live?”

“We don’t hate you, Gaara,” Kankuro said quietly from behind them. “Doesn’t that matter to you at all?”

Gaara didn’t move from his position, just staring at Temari while his fingers continued to constrain around her neck, her heart thrumming frantically in her veins. They were enveloped in a silence so heavy that it seemed to press down on them, the elder siblings waiting with trepidation for Gaara’s response. Temari remembered asking him the same question a long time ago and she didn’t want to hear him repeat the answer he had given her then.

Seconds ticked by in which the only sound remained the restless churning of the sand around them, the wind rushing past their ears and rustling their clothes. Gaara said nothing and it was Kankuro that finally moved, taking the remaining step towards his siblings. His movements were slow, uncertain, a slight tremble in his hand as he reached out tentatively, leaning down until his fingers brushed Gaara’s shoulder much as Temari had done minutes earlier.

Temari stiffened immediately, bracing herself for the violent retaliation she was sure was coming. But Gaara’s reaction surprised both siblings. He lowered his head slowly, strands of his messy hair brushing against Temari’s face, his hand slipping away from her neck to rest on the ground beside her body. Temari and Kankuro froze for a moment, unsure what to make of Gaara’s actions, before exchanging a brief questioning glance. Temari moved her shoulders in the barest indication of a shrug, as if to say she had no idea what to do either. Kankuro’s eyebrows arched in wonder and he hesitated, his fingers barely touching Gaara’s shirt as he seemed to contemplate his options.

Finally, the puppeteer moved closer, cautiously placing both hands on his little brother’s shoulders, the touch so light that he wasn’t sure Gaara would even feel it. When he still gained no reaction from the jinchuuriki, Kankuro wrapped his arms around him loosely and gently pulled him back from their sister.

Temari remained on the ground, her breath held and hands curled into fists as she watched Kankuro kneel down and pull Gaara into a stiff approximation of a hug against his chest. The youngest sibling’s gaze remained downcast, his arms hanging limp at his sides, not fighting his brother’s embrace but doing nothing to show that it was welcome either. Kankuro looked terrified, as if he had just placed both hands into the mouth of a tiger, but he resolutely held his position, his body at least giving away nothing of his fear.

The scene was too strange, too unexpected, and it seemed that none of them knew what to do next. The elder siblings were afraid to even so much as breathe too loud for fear of spooking the jinchuuriki, while Gaara’s thoughts remained elusive as ever, his face a blank mask that revealed nothing of the inner struggle he was undoubtedly going through.

Minutes passed before Temari finally moved, sitting up with her legs still pinned under Gaara while Kankuro watched her warily, muscles tensed as he waited for Gaara’s reaction. The younger brother did nothing as Temari reached for him, her hands gliding shaking along the front of his shirt, eyes trained cagily on his face. Her arms wrapped finally around his waist, her head bowing to press her forehead against his shoulder, trapping him between herself and Kankuro. There was still no reaction from the jinchuuriki, even when Temari shivered against him as his breath caressed her neck or when Kankuro began to run his hands slowly up and down along his arms, as if trying to comfort him.

“We have time, Gaara,” Temari whispered without looking up. “We don’t have to decide this now.”

She felt the barest nod of his head, his cheek brushing against the spikes of her hair, and she sighed against him softly. For now it didn’t have to matter that this decision might tear their family apart. For now, he was with them, for the first time allowing them to bond as they had always dreamed of. Even if soon they would all die in a bloody massacre, at least they would always have this moment.

Beyond Blood - Chapter 6

2008-08-16T22:32:33Z

Chapter 6 – Through Deranged Eyes

Temari was vaguely aware of the sand that began to slowly crawl up over her legs as she kneeled in front of Gaara, staring into his cold eyes as if she could truly see through to the emotions hidden behind his indifferent mask. He showed no intention of letting her go, his arms locked behind her back, fingers tracing idly along her spine. There was an odd sort of detachment to his gestures, as if he was not really paying attention to what he was doing, as if he was thinking about something entirely different than the feel of his sister in his arms.

She struggled not to recoil under his alien gaze, directed at her even if he wasn’t really seeing her. She couldn’t help wondering what he saw when he looked at her like that, what images played in his mind when his eyes looked into a world she couldn’t see. Her hands played absently along the empty straps behind his back, a vain reassurance of the absence of the gourd – as if he didn’t have enough sand around him to bury her so deep that she would never draw breath again. His assurance that he wanted her, that he would always want her, was only a vague comfort when she knew that it was not always him that decided his actions. How much control could he really have when he was as upset as he was now? How hard would he try to escape the clutches of Shukaku when the bijuu offered him salvation from the pain?

Temari felt sand wrap around her knees and slide under the veil of her dress, and a thin thread of panic threatened to choke her as she wondered if Gaara was even aware of what he was doing. Would he notice if the sand started cutting through her skin? Would he snap out of whatever trance he was in if he smelled fresh blood on her body?

She edged away from her brother, almost subconsciously, but it drew no outward reaction him. The motion caused his hands to slide over her back, slipping down to her waist, a roughness to his grasp, as if he meant to restrain her rather than embrace her. But the look in his eyes never wavered, remaining focused on her face, intent yet unseeing, looking beyond her, into her.

The sand began moving along her inner thighs, creeping closer and closer to the point between her legs, concealed only by a thin layer of silk. Temari squeezed her legs together automatically to shield herself from the intrusion, but instead of stopping the advance, the pressure caused the granules of sand to dig into her skin, cutting shallow rivulets along her legs on their way upwards. She drew in a sharp breath, the sensation of a million crawling entities on her skin not so much painful as distinctively unpleasant, and she couldn’t keep a shudder from passing along her body.

“Do you want to leave?” Gaara breathed, barely audible above the desert wind.

His voice startled her, making her jump and cling to him instinctively, irrationally. She felt the sand halt in its progress, not quite stopping but rather moving in place like thousands of miniscule ants. She shuddered again but forced herself to remain otherwise still. Gaara’s expression revealed nothing and if the change in the sand’s behavior hadn’t indicated that he was aware of the situation she would’ve thought that she had only imagined hearing him speak.

“What’s wrong, Gaara?” she asked quietly, ignoring his question.

“Wrong?” he echoed in a hollow voice. “You already know everything, Temari.”

She frowned slightly. She supposed it was a stupid question, there were many things wrong at the moment. Still, his response didn’t provide her the answer she wanted.

“What are you thinking?” she tried again.

“I’m not,” he muttered, seeming barely aware of his words. “Just… listening.”

This time Temari stopped herself before the shudder could shake her body, but she was sure the horror still showed in her eyes. Gaara appeared indifferent to her reaction, perhaps not even noticing it. He seemed to accept her lack of response as a sign that she did not want to leave, and his fingers began to stroke her waist lightly, his hold on the sand retracting and allowing it to continue working its way further up her thighs.

“What does he want?” Temari whispered shakily.

“Blood,” Gaara responded quietly. “Always.”

The answer was predictable, confirming what she already knew. He was listening to the Ichibi’s desire for violence while holding her in his arms. It was not a comforting thought. The sand had reached its target and was scratching against the smooth fabric of her underwear, and for one fleeting moment she wondered if he would really let her leave if she wanted to. But instead of moving away from him, she leaned forward, erasing the distance between them and placing her lips lightly over his. Gaara didn’t respond, allowing her to kiss him while he remained still except for the continuous motion of his fingers against the small of her back.

“Tell me what he’s saying,” she murmured against his lips.

“I can’t,” he said with a brief shake of his head, forcing her to move back from him. “It’s like… images, feelings, whispers that don’t really form into words. I would have to…” he seemed to struggle for the word, “translate.”

“Is it about me?” she asked in a smaller voice.

“Yes,” Gaara hissed. “He’s giving me… suggestions. He thinks it would be funny if I killed you… accidentally. It would make him… happy.”

The words seemed to evoke a response from Shukaku, causing Gaara to grit his teeth together as his fingers dug painfully into Temari’s back. She remained motionless, barely breathing as she watched her little brother struggle with his bijuu, the cold grip of fear enveloping her as she waited for his eyes to turn golden. But his gaze remained dead as before, so distant that she might’ve thought he was unconscious if he wasn’t talking. His hands didn’t relax, but he drew in a slow breath, and she guessed that whatever pain Shukaku was causing him was receding.

“Does that happen a lot?” Temari asked under her breath.

“Always,” he responded. “That’s why…” He paused, as if he didn’t want to finish the sentence. “Sometimes it’s just easier to give in,” he said instead.

Temari nodded slowly, not sure what to say in response. She wondered unwillingly how often when she was with him he was listening to the ideas that the Ichibi planted in his head, how often he followed that advice. The thought was more than disconcerting. But then, she had always known that the thoughts in Gaara’s mind were not always his own. He had even demonstrated some of Shukaku’s “suggestions” the first time they were together.

The sensation of sand rubbing against her finally became too much to ignore and she shivered in his arms. She saw a brief flicker of emotion in his eyes, the impassive mask fading just a little, but before she had time to analyze it he moved suddenly, abruptly pushing her down on the ground and hovering above her with his hands on either side of her body. Her legs spread automatically to accommodate his position and the motion forced her dress to ride up nearly to her waist. The roughness of the sand became a sharper pressure against her skin through the soft fabric of her underwear as his weight pressed down between her legs. She moaned involuntarily, her hands grasping at the material behind his back for support.

“Are you afraid?” he murmured, looking down at her with unblinking eyes.

“Yes,” she breathed, her eyes locked on his.

He leaned down towards her, slowly, inch by inch until the length of his body was pressed against hers. She let out a small pained sound as the wound on her chest protested to the pressure and she saw a spark of desire in Gaara’s eyes in response. His lips were nearly against hers, breath shuddering in whispers against her face. She felt the brush of his fingers against the sides of her breasts at the same time as the granules of sand began slipping under the fabric of her panties.

“Do you want to leave?” he asked again, a note of longing in his voice now, his fingers never stopping their movement.

“No,” she gasped in response. “Don’t stop.”

She felt his hands move, slipping between their bodies to start undoing the clasps on the front of her dress. He parted the fabric as soon as it was free, revealing more and more of the black fishnet and the bandaging covering her breasts with each hook until he was finally able to push the garment to the sides. His hands lingered on the back of her thighs as she wrapped her legs around his. She felt the slow movement of the sand beneath her undergarment, gliding along the skin without dipping lower, leaving her simultaneously wishing for more and fearing the pain of its roughness.

“Would you let me kill you, Temari?” Gaara asked through barely parted lips. “Will you stay here and let me tear you apart until you drown in your own blood?”

“I would rather die than leave you,” she whispered breathlessly. “Don’t stop,” she repeated. “Please.”

She reached up her hands, her fingers winding into his hair, tugging lightly at the soft locks in an attempt to bring him closer. His nails dug into her thighs in retaliation and with one sharp motion he sliced upwards over her hips, stopping at the line of her underwear. He was still watching her, his lips just a breath away from hers, small sounds of need escaping her as she arched her back to press closer to him. She felt his fingertips slip under the thin band of her panties and she whimpered softly.

His fingers remained still and Temari let out a frustrated groan. She released his hair and slid her hands around his body, sightlessly finding the clasps and ties of the straps around his chest and beginning to remove them. He did nothing to stop her, simply watching her as she cast aside the strips of fabric and pushed him away slightly to allow her to tug at his shirt. He moved obediently, letting her slide the garment off his body before leaning back down to press his naked skin against her fishnet covered breasts. Her hands moved between their bodies and she managed to undo the fastenings on his pants and slide them down enough to expose his undergarment before he took hold of both her wrists and with one swift movement trapped them above her head. The motion caused her to let out a sharp hiss as pain shot through her chest and Gaara pressed his lips over hers suddenly, as if capturing the sound.

She could feel his arousal pressed against her, separated only by the thin material of their undergarments, and she moved her hips in frustration. His only response was to press her wrists deeper into the ground, as if warning her to stay still. His mouth was still over hers as his free hand found her panties once more, fingers hooking into the side and tugging slowly until the fabric began to dig into her skin.

The anticipation of his next move did not make the sting any less painful when with one sharp pull he ripped the panties from her body, leaving a scorching red mark on her skin. Her scream was swallowed in his mouth, his teeth biting into her lip to add to her pain, the blood that began instantly dripping over her tongue giving a metallic taste to their kiss.

There was still sand between their bodies and she wondered what the sensation felt like for him, if he even noticed it after years of wearing the sand armor. The thought was fleeting as she felt him slowly slide down his own underwear, leaving no more barriers between them as he pressed against her, the warmth of his skin against the wetness between her legs making her moan low in her throat. He paused then, breaking away from the kiss, blood glistening on his lips as his eyes searched her face. He trailed his free hand along her side, nails grating through the fishnet and scratching across her skin.

“Please,” she murmured again.

A barely visible smirk tugged at the corner of Gaara’s lips, a shadow of his usual sadistic grin, and she knew that he was still only partially in control, that he could still hear Shukaku’s thoughts in the back of his mind. His hand slipped down to her waist, holding her down as he pulled her arms as far above her head as he could, forcing another explosion of pain in her chest. She cried out softly and without giving her time to adjust, he pushed inside her in one smooth, forceful motion, making her instinctively arch and putting even more strain on her wound.

Temari’s eyes closed as she screamed again, the feeling of wet warmth against her chest a brief distraction from the pressure of her brother’s body inside her. He began moving without pause, sliding in and out of her as her muscles still strained against him, prolonging her cry of pain as she struggled to relax under him. The blood continued to soak into her bandaging and she didn’t need to see Gaara’s face to know the satisfaction in his expression at the sight of the stark red stain against the white fabric. The layer of sand remained between their bodies, still moving erratically against her skin just above the line between her legs, the movement of Gaara’s body pressing the granules deeper into her in a way that she was sure was making her bleed from hundreds of tiny punctures.

Her legs wrapped tightly around his hips, pressing him deeper into her, her back arching towards him with each thrust and another cry falling off her lips each time he buried himself inside her. She could feel his shallow breaths against her face, far enough back that his lips didn’t touch her but close enough that the warmth of his skin radiated through her. Small beads of sweat formed on her forehead, her head tossing to the side so that her neck was exposed to him. He leaned down towards her without breaking his rhythm, his lips closing over the pulsing line of her vein, teeth pressing just enough to let her know that he could rip the flesh that kept her blood from spilling out of her body with each frantic beat of her heart.

She felt another flash of panic at the realization that he restrained her so completely that she could not move, that with all of her ninja skills she had no way out of this position unless he decided to release her. The throbbing of her blood under his teeth accelerated, her life flow beating in a desperate plea, and she felt his lips curve into a smirk against her skin. He pushed harder into her, the force of his movement against her enough to bruise, making her screams echo endlessly in the silence around them.

The irresistible instinct to struggle forced her to shift her arms pointless against his grip on her wrists, succeeding only in making his nails grate against her skin. The fluttering panic inside her mixed with the arousal, her helpless position fueling her desire, the knowledge of how easily he could kill her only making her cry for more. She felt his teeth move away from the vital spot before they sank into her neck with enough force to send a stream of blood down his throat. He hissed against her skin, his tongue teasing the open wound and making her squirm under him, her hands curling into fists as if grasping desperately at the empty air.

His name fell off her lips in a scream, the plea in that sound making him increase the speed of his movements, each ruthless push of his body into hers causing a brilliant explosion of pain in her abdomen and her chest. The sting in her eyes made her blink against the tears falling down her face and she turned her head at the same time as he released her neck, their gazes meeting with a raw need before their lips locked together. The hand at her waist grasped her harder, nails digging into her flesh and forcing small droplets of blood into the sand. She felt the sand around her lapping at her exposed skin, caressing her with the soft brush like that of thousands of grainy fingers, and she heard Gaara growl low in his throat.

Every muscle in Temari’s body protested to the abuse, her arms shaking under the strain of their position, everything from her abdomen to her chest turning into one burning line of pain, and still he never lessened the force of his thrusts, the roughness of his movements into her. She didn’t bother trying to restrain the tears now, and when he pulled back from the kiss she saw the eager light in his eyes as he watched her pain. Each cry made his lips part in a soundless breath of gratification, each anguished grimace on her face made him press his nails deeper into her skin as if to prolong the torture.

But despite all the pain, she could still feel the pleasure building inside her with each slide of his body against hers, the flinching of her muscles in protest to the agony making her tighten around him. The growing warmth of ecstasy mixed oddly with the stabbing ache in her abdomen until she could no longer distinguish one sensation from the other. Gaara watched his sister’s face as her screams of pain intermingled with deep moans, her body surrendering to the pleasure an inch at a time until finally she was engulfed in currents of rapture, forgetting her wounds and arching into him heedlessly, sending a fresh stream of blood through her bandaging to flow simultaneously down her chest and over her neck.

His body responded to her release, his low hiss drowned in her scream of his name, his rhythm lost in the last few desperate thrusts, his body merging with hers until he stopped, buried as deep inside her as he could go, his weight pressed against her even as he still held her restrained to the ground. She panted through half-parted lips after he stilled, each rise of her chest bringing a renewed shock of pain. He remained on top of her, his face buried into her neck, until her breath leveled and the thud of her heart against his chest was no longer frantic and desperate.

Gaara moved back slowly, lifting himself up just enough to see Temari’s tear-streaked face. He hesitated for a moment, as if contemplating some decision, before he released her wrists, his hands planted on the ground again as he separated from her and drew back to kneel between her legs. She watched him silently, moving only enough to untangle her legs from around him and lower her stiff and aching arms to rest along her body. He seemed almost relaxed, the look in his eyes no longer haunted as it was earlier. She allowed a small smile to curve her lips, the knowledge that she was able to take away his pain like this – even if it was through giving him pain of her own – making her feel elated, something close to happiness.

Several moments passed before Temari noticed that the sky was now a lighter shade, a barely perceptible change that nevertheless hinted at the approaching dawn. Her smile faded into a frown as she remembered that Kankuro was undoubtedly waiting for them this entire time, that he might even now be thinking the worst about their continuous absence, and she cursed herself inwardly for forgetting about him. Gaara arched a hairless eyebrow in response to her expression.

“We should get back,” she said quietly, omitting the rest of her thoughts.

He glanced away from her into the endless desert, away from the direction where their village lay, away from the hopeless fate that awaited them. His hands brushed against her legs lightly as he dug his fingers into the sand.

“Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to leave the village forever,” he muttered.

Her eyes widened, his words arousing instant fear, just the thought of him leaving enough to make her want to beg for him to stay. But he wouldn’t leave without her, she knew him enough to understand that much. He would kill her rather than allow her to stay behind and lead a life without him. The statement wasn’t a threat, it was an admission of how much it still bothered him to know that he wasn’t wanted by his own village. Temari sat up sharply, the abrupt movement making her hiss a pained breath through clenched teeth. She touched her hands, still trembling from the strained muscles, to his bare chest, the feather light caress against his skin making him shiver almost imperceptibly.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, her voice laced with the pain of regret. “I wish it could’ve been easier for you. But I’m glad you stayed. I’m glad you’re with me now.”

Gaara turned back to look at her, his brow creasing in a small frown. His fingers curved around her calves and she responded by wrapping her arms around his neck.

“If I left before all this,” he said, his voice utterly indifferent, “you would’ve been happy, like everybody else.”

“No, Gaara,” she said firmly. “I never wanted you gone. Even when you hated me…” She hesitated, the memory of those years of terror and pain stinging her eyes. “I would never have been able to just let you disappear. I used to stay up at night and wait for you when you were gone. I think if you ever really left, I would’ve followed you, even if you killed me for it.”

He was quiet for several moments, his eyes travelling over her face, seeming to study her features, and she wondered if he was remembering it too. Dinners that she left for him every night, new clothes outside his bedroom door every few months, books that only he would read appearing in the living room, even money that he probably never used shoved under his door before he started accepting his own missions. Never anything personal, never anything to show him that she loved him – and she could regret it now, knowing that perhaps it would have made a difference.

“Does it still hurt?” Gaara asked quietly, one hand reaching up to brush from her stomach upwards to her chest.

The question startled Temari as much as the gesture, the sudden prickling of goosebumps along her spine making her jerk and instantly wince in pain. She frowned at him, wondering if he was changing topics because he didn’t believe her, but the smirk on his face in response to her reaction made her reluctant to press the subject. Arguing would only irritate him, and if he was willing to drop the conversation about him leaving, she could for the moment give up her battle to earn his trust.

“Yeah,” she murmured, glancing down to see the thin trickle of blood running down her stomach from under her bandaging.

“I wonder,” he breathed, leaning closer to her, “how much more pain you can handle.”

Temari arched an eyebrow, a small shiver passing through her body as Gaara’s fingers traced the blood trail over her stomach, smearing crimson across her skin.

“I’m sure you’ll find out,” she responded, suppressing the urge to roll her eyes and settling for the usual smug expression.

His fingers edged upwards, gliding across her bandaged chest until they found the hidden wound, fingertips pressing lightly but making her cry out nevertheless. He smirked again, the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes, before pulling back from her smoothly and forcing her arms to fall back from him. He said nothing as he picked up his discarded shirt from the ground and pulled it on effortlessly before standing up and readjusting his pants.

He didn’t offer her a hand this time, instead watching as she struggled to her feet, wincing with each movement. He continued to watch her while he reattached the straps around his chest, his eyes following the motion of her fingers as she fastened the clasps on her dress and retied her obi loosely, keeping the fabric away from the growing blood stain on her chest. Her hand slid across the binding behind her back, her expression fretful for a moment, as if she missed the presence of her weapon there.

Gaara stepped up to his sister while she still fiddled with her obi, capturing her wrists and holding them behind her back as he wrapped his arms around her. His mouth sealed over hers before she could say anything and Temari relaxed against him, parting her lips in a silent sigh and allowing her tongue to brush against his. She heard the rustle of a small whirlwind of sand as the gourd reformed on his back while he continued to kiss her, the precise control of manipulating his element seeming to require no effort whatsoever on his part. He released her only after the gourd was complete, taking a step back and watching as she reached for him before dropping her hands to her side.

“Still want to go back?” he asked, his expressionless face hiding the arrogance in his words.

“No,” she replied with a frown. “But we have to.”

She could almost see the first rays of the sun on the horizon now. They would barely have enough time to get home to allow her to change and get her fan before they had to leave for training. Still, she allowed herself to wonder what Gaara would do if she wanted to stay in the desert, if he would skip training and all their pretenses at being normal to remain here with her, if he would truly abandon the village if she asked him to leave with her.

The thought of Kankuro brought Temari back to reality, reminded her that they couldn’t simply run away from their problems. Even if it hurt Gaara every time he was forced to walk back through the gates of Suna, she couldn’t leave Kankuro to face what was coming alone, couldn’t let him suffer and die in their stead.

Gaara was still watching her and she imagined he could see the conflicting emotions fleeting across her face. Whether he understood what she was thinking or not, he turned without another word, arms folded across his chest almost as if to draw away from her, and began walking in the direction of the village. She hastened to follow him, walking close by his side, eyes downcast to watch the sand that still seemed to crawl unnaturally under his feet. He was calmer now, not quite as close to the edge as he was when he brought her out here, but she knew that the bijuu inside him was never truly quiet.

Temari couldn’t help wondering if even now Shukaku whispered to him of the destruction of the village, of how much easier it would be to simply wipe away everything in his path and give Suna no chance to ever hurt him again. It was better not to ask, better not to know how much he wanted to listen to the Ichibi, if he was already forming plans for bloody massacres in his mind. She didn’t want to hear him say that he didn’t consider himself human, that it wouldn’t bother him to obliterate everything he knew, that he could stand over the village and laugh as he watched everyone he grew up around disappear into an endless sea of sand.

She remained silent beside him, giving away nothing of her thoughts. She knew what he was, she had always known what he might do. And if it really came down to war between him and the world, she knew that both she and Kankuro would fight with him against everyone they might have once loved, against everyone that raised them and trained them and gave them a home, to stand by the brother that never wanted them.

Beyond Blood - Chapter 5

2008-08-12T03:09:58Z

Chapter 5 – The Mission

Some time before midnight Gaara pulled away from Temari and left the house without a word. Neither of the siblings told him that they would wait for him or offered to help. Gaara didn’t seem to care and it was easier to remain silent than hear his rejection one more time.

Temari stayed on the couch, her knees pulled up to her chest, as she watched Kankuro work on his puppet with hazy eyes, as if she wasn’t really seeing anything in front of her. She couldn’t make herself stop thinking about Gaara’s words, couldn’t erase the memory of the indifferent look on his face after he told her the one thing that he knew would hurt more than anything else in the world. She wanted to be angry at Kankuro for bringing up the entire conversation, but she realized it would be childish. He had done nothing more than make Gaara admit the truth.

Truth cut deeper than any lies. She knew it before, but to have him say it so coldly, as if it didn’t matter to him whatsoever, stung even more. He cared about her, she knew that much, but he cared only as much as he was capable of. And for Gaara, that was still very little. He wanted her with him, he wanted her to love him, he wanted her alive because he didn’t want to lose her. But beyond that, her feelings, her happiness, meant little to him. The concept of compassion, of being concerned for someone because they were important to you, was still beyond him, and perhaps always would be. His attitude towards their relationship was the same way as it was towards everything else in his life – completely and utterly selfish.

None of this was really a surprise to Temari. After all, she knew that Gaara enjoyed her pain, emotional as much as physical. That very idea meant that he was not particularly concerned with whether or not he was making her happy. As long as she wanted him, the rest didn’t really matter. But despite this knowledge, his words remained a nagging thought in the back of her mind no matter how much she tried to divert her attention to something else.

Time passed in near silence as Temari ignored Kankuro’s attempts to talk, answering his questions with the bare minimum until he finally gave up. He tactfully avoided the subject that he knew she was thinking of. Any comfort he could offer now would be a lie. Temari understood Gaara better than Kankuro did and he wouldn’t be able to tell her anything she didn’t already know.

They both kept shooting furtive glances at the clock, counting the minutes since their little brother’s departure. It was an odd feeling, waiting for him like this, knowing that they were in this together, whether Gaara liked it or not. If they survived this, then maybe, just maybe he would accept that they could truly be a team, that being siblings meant something more than just sharing the blood that ran in their veins.

********************

It was past two in the morning when Gaara materialized in the living room in a rush of sand, startling his siblings with the sound as much as the abrupt flow of chakra that was nearly suffocating as it rolled over them. They could tell he was angry even before he spoke, the spikes of power in the air carrying an unmistakable call for blood and violence that was all too familiar to them. It had to be bad for him to react this way. The siblings turned to Gaara in unison, the first shock on their faces replaced by cold anticipation. Soldiers waiting for the call to battle.

He stood in the middle of the room, glaring at them both without really seeing them, arms crossed over his chest and hands flexing as he seemed to struggle for control. The sand reacted to his agitation, swirling around his feet and crawling along the floor in threatening coils, waiting for his command to attack.

“I found documents on the mission,” he said after several moments, his voice distorted with the bijuu’s craving for blood, an inhuman sound that made both his siblings shudder in unison. He seemed unwilling to say anything else and silence enveloped them again, heavy and dangerous, a calm before the storm. Seconds ticked by, flowing into minutes, the tension growing with each passing breath as Temari and Kankuro watched him cautiously.

“What did they say?” Temari asked finally.

“The Kazekage has been speaking to someone from Otogakure,” Gaara said slowly, hollow and almost metallic tones to his voice. “They want Suna to join them in attacking Konoha during the chuunin exams. They want me for a distraction, to cause as much damage as possible and allow the other shinobi to invade the village.”

He paused, his eyes focusing on his sister’s face, locking on her concerned gaze. The aura of anger flared even stronger around him and he clenched his teeth as he continued to talk, the sound coming out muffled yet with a clear threat in his voice.

“The Kazekage agreed to send only our team,” he said with obvious strain. “But he made it clear that he will deny all knowledge of this. He will make it look like I attacked on my own with no orders. He expects us to be taken down by the Konoha shinobi to bear no witness to his involvement.”

“So it’s a double benefit for him,” Kankuro said, his voice unusually calm. “He earns the favor of Otokagure while keeping Suna’s reputation clean and at the same time eliminates us with no mess on his hands.”

“Shit,” Temari said quietly. “That’s a pretty solid plan. If we go, we’re fucked, they’ll kill us. If we try to decline the mission, he’ll call it treason. Even if we go and survive, he’ll claim we acted on our own and hand us over to Konoha for punishment.”

Gaara nodded and took a step towards Temari, the sand at his feet slithering along beside him like a faithful swarm of snakes. The hostility in his eyes made her shudder and she had to fight the instinctive urge to flee.

“There was a reason he wanted you to see me transform,” Gaara said quietly. “He wanted you to be prepared so you don’t run. To cause enough of a distraction, he will want me to let Shukaku out. He believes that if the Konoha shinobi don’t kill you, I will.”

“And when your chakra is depleted from the transformation, he thinks the Konoha nins will be able to kill you without us interfering,” she finished for him.

He nodded again, still looking at her with anger in his eyes. She realized suddenly why he was so angry. This was not just another assassination attempt. The Kazekage was trying to use him to kill his own siblings, to kill her. And Gaara was angry because it bothered him, he was angry at her because he did not want to kill her.

“You can control it, can’t you?” Kankuro asked, making Gaara’s head snap around to face him.

“No,” he said, nearly in a hiss. “If Shukaku is out, he does what he wants. And he will kill anyone within range.”

“I see,” the puppeteer answered, his face paling slightly as a small tremor passed through his body.

“Gaara,” Temari said softly, turning his attention back to her. “We’ll find a way out of this.”

He hissed wordlessly, an angry, spiteful sound. But she knew him enough to see the pain behind it. Their father wanted them to kill each other. He couldn’t convince Temari and Kankuro to kill their little brother, so he was making him kill them instead. He was using Gaara as nothing more than a weapon, letting him self-destruct and take down everyone around him. Gaara had never cared about killing people, he never felt remorse or pity for his victims. Only hours ago he had made a point of showing that he could still kill his siblings just as easily as anyone else. But being put in a position where no matter what he did his mere existence would cause their death cut him in a way that only a jinchuuriki could understand. It reminded him that no matter what, he would always be a monster and there was nothing he could do to change it.

Temari stood up slowly and took a careful step towards her little brother. He was glaring at her, his eyes narrowed and lips drawn into a tight frown, that expression that usually meant death to whoever was on the receiving end. She had a fleeting moment of wondering if he would kill her now, kill her on his own terms, before he was forced to do it in a way that he could not even enjoy her death as he had wanted to for so long.

Gaara closed the distance between them before she could say or do anything else. His arms wrapped around her in a movement so fast that she couldn’t suppress a quiet gasp. A sharp wind accompanied the sudden sensation of sand gliding along her body and before Temari had a chance to do anything more than place her hands against Gaara’s chest they were transported away from the house.

She looked past the settling sand to find that they were standing in an empty street. She didn’t have a chance to figure out where exactly they were before Gaara released her from his hold, instead capturing one of her hands in his and abruptly pulling her along with him.

He wasn’t holding her hand as much as keeping her restrained, tugging to make sure she followed as he walked along the sand-covered street. Temari remained half a step behind, allowing him to lead her, afraid to ask what he was doing or where he was taking her. It took a few minutes for her to realize that he was heading towards the village gate. The panic inside her spiked and she struggled to suppress it. He was taking her to the desert, alone, when his mood was dangerous enough that she truly thought that he might kill her. But beneath all that, he was hurt, and no matter what he planned to do, she wouldn’t leave him alone.

When the gate came into view, it took all her willpower to force herself to continue walking and not struggle to make Gaara let her go. The two guards lounging at their station stood up abruptly when the siblings approached, the looks on their faces horror-stricken and panicked. The way their gazes lingered on her and Gaara’s joined hands didn’t escaped Temari’s notice and she smirked slightly.

“Gaara-sama, Temari-san,” one of the guards stammered uncertainly as the siblings came level with the guard station.

Gaara halted in his tracks, making Temari stop abruptly beside him. He turned a cold glare to the shinobi, the blatant threat in his eyes making the guard’s eyes widen as he took an involuntary step backwards, bumping into the chair behind him. Neither of the guards said anything else, and Gaara turned away from them, dismissing them as if they weren’t even there.

“Let’s go,” he said quietly, the hiss of his words making both of the nins at the guard station shudder.

Gaara’s hand fell away from Temari’s, releasing her as he began to walk through the gate. She wondered for a moment if he was giving her a choice, allowing her to leave if she wanted. She couldn’t help wondering what he planned to do with her if he thought it necessary to give her a chance to escape. He didn’t look back to see if she followed, but she was sure he could sense her brief hesitation before she started to walk behind him.

She came level with him as they exited the village, the cold wind of the desert swirling around them and throwing sand into their faces. Temari could sense the shift in Gaara’s mood almost immediately, as if just the feel of this false freedom made him instantly relax. He was home, and this was as close as he ever got to being content, even as she knew Shukaku begged more than ever to be released from his confines. Gaara paused a few steps away from the gate, his eyes searching the darkness around him, the weight of his thoughts reflecting in eyes that were too old for his age.

This time it was Temari that slipped her hand into Gaara’s. He didn’t fight her as she interlocked their fingers, holding on to him as if he was her safety and not the reason for her terror. She followed him silently as he began to walk deeper into the desert, the sand shifting around their feet and rising up to lick at their legs in a way that could not be natural. Temari fought not to shudder, not to let him know that she was afraid – even if he could sense it in the speeding of her pulse, in her shallow breaths.

She counted steps as they walked, keeping track of every time Gaara changed direction. His wandering through the desert may have been random, but he would always be able to find his way back, no matter how far he went. When the sand itself responded to his call, there was nothing that could harm him in the desert. Some part of her was aware that if he decided to leave her behind, he could probably make certain that she wouldn’t find her way back. The counting was nothing more than a false sense of security, as if she could be sure of her location and have a way to escape with the god of the desert beside her. As if she would ever truly run from him.

It seemed like hours later when Gaara finally stopped, but the thick darkness around them told her that it could not have been that long. He pulled his hand free of her hold and sat down on the ground without a word, the gourd on his back falling apart into grains of sand and leaving the leather straps hanging free around his torso. His gaze was directed somewhere into the distance, looking away from her as if she was not even there. It was too familiar, this denial, this rejection of her closeness. Temari’s heart clenched at the sight of him like this, so cold, cruel, and yet beneath that, raw pain.

She sat down beside him quietly, laying a tentative hand on his knee. She meant the gesture to be comforting, but the hateful look he turned to her made her instantly regret it. He was hurt, and that made him angry. She wasn’t sure if the anger was directed at her because he blamed her for this situation or if she was simply the nearest target, but to him it probably didn’t matter.

“You’re scared,” he said, the distaste in his tone indicating that this time he wasn’t happy about it.

“I’m wondering what you’re going to do,” Temari said cautiously.

“You think I would kill you?” he asked calmly. “You think that’s why I brought you here?”

“It occurred to me,” she answered with a shrug, knowing it would be pointless to lie.

Gaara scowled and turned away from her, his gaze drifting upwards to look at the moon shining in the clear, nearly black sky. Something in his expression bothered Temari. It was a look too strange on his face and she couldn’t quite place it. Yet it seemed somehow familiar at the same time.

“You didn’t have to come,” Gaara said quietly.

“I wouldn’t leave you, you know that,” she answered softly.

“Do I?” he intoned dully. She opened her mouth to answer him when he cut her off with a sharp, “Don’t.”

Temari watched with wide eyes as sand rose up to crawl over his legs, curling around him in haphazard spirals. His hand lowered to brush over the rough tendrils gliding along his thigh, the look in his eyes distant, as if he was listening to voices nobody else could hear.

“You won’t leave only because I won’t let you,” he said after several moments. “I can’t trust you. I will never be able to trust you. I won’t give you a chance to show whether you would leave or not.”

“Why can’t you trust me?” she asked gently.

“Because I will always be a monster,” Gaara answered under his breath. “I’m just a tool, a weapon of war. This,” he gestured with his hand towards her without looking in her direction, “is not something I’m capable of.”

He paused, almost as if giving her time to digest the full meaning of his words. Temari’s eyes widened slowly and she had to blink back the veil of tears, his comments of several hours ago surfacing in her mind. She realized he must’ve been thinking about this even then. He didn’t think he could love her, that he would ever be able to have a real relationship with her. She fought to control her rising panic, afraid to hear what he would say next. He turned to her slowly, his eyes sparking with the reflected moonlight.

“But I want it,” he said with a hiss.

“Then what does this all mean?” she asked breathlessly.

Gaara tilted his head to the side slightly, looking at her with that distant expression that made her want to shake him and scream at him to come back to reality, to stop listening to the voice inside his head and just stay with her. He moved towards her with fluid grace, his hands grasping at her upper arms, holding her down as if afraid that she would try to run.

“They used to say I was an experiment,” he breathed, his tone strangely intimate. “I was the village’s greatest weapon. I always knew I was a tool to be used and nothing more. But I was important, I had meaning.”

He paused and a shudder passed through his body. Temari reached up, her hands locking over his arms, so they were holding onto each other, almost desperately. She felt the fine tremble of his muscles under her grasp and realized with a shock that he was shaking. His eyes were focused on hers with such raw need that it made her tighten her hold on him. It was that look that made her suddenly understand the expression on his face, and that left her gasping into the still night air, almost unable to accept what she was seeing.

His expression had changed over the years and no amount of emotion could change the cold, inhuman look in his eyes. But even through that, she could see the child of so many years ago, crying because he was always alone, crying because nobody wanted him. There were no tears on his face now, but the eyes still reflected a vague hint of that lost, desperate look, forever searching for somebody who would accept him. He was hurt, truly hurt down to the core. But more than that, he was scared, a primal fear beyond that of concern for one’s own life. He was afraid that his life was meaningless, that he may as well have been dead because it would never matter. It was a fear he hasn’t shown anyone since the day he was forced to kill his own uncle.

“Then they started to call me failure,” Gaara continued in a hollow voice. “I was unnecessary, a hindrance to the village. And even now, when they want nothing more than to get rid of me, they still use me.”

He stopped again, edging closer, the warmth of his breath caressing Temari’s face. Her eyes were still wide with shock, the fear replaced by the pain his words were bringing. She was his sister. She should’ve been there, she should’ve helped him, should’ve stopped all this from happening. But she abandoned him like everybody else, ran away when he threatened her.

“I used to think that I could’ve been human,” he whispered. “But there was never anything human in me. I was created to be this. I was made to be used. And they hate me for it.”

The last words were spoken with such desperation that it drew a small sound from Temari. She tried to move closer, but his hands on her arms stopped her from closing the distance between them. He held her firmly in place, his eyes searching hers, the fear reflected in his expression as if he thought she would tell him to go away.

“Gaara,” she murmured, her voice sad. “I don’t know what I can say to help. You’re a jinchuuriki, that makes you different, and I can’t change that. But I want you to know that I never saw you that way. You’re important to me because you’re my brother, because I love you more than a brother.”

“I don’t understand, Temari,” he hissed. “I don’t know what it means to be anything but a weapon.”

Temari untangled one hand from his arm, carefully bringing it up until her fingers brushed against his cheek, smoothing back and forth over the skin, gentle strokes as if trying to comfort a child.

“I’m sorry, Gaara,” she said softly. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you were younger. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to show you what it means to be loved and not used. I’m sorry I can’t make the villagers see you for the person you are and not the bijuu inside you. I can’t fix the past, but I can promise you that I will stay with you for as long as we have left in this life, and I will do everything I can to prove to you that you’re not just a monster.”

She leaned in towards him, and this time he allowed her to move closer until her lips brushed against his. She saw something in his expression crumble, some barrier falling down, and she wrapped her arms around him carefully, holding him against her. He buried his face against her shoulder, still clinging to her arms as if afraid to let her go.

“I won’t let you leave me,” he murmured against her shoulder. “I won’t let you go. I need you, Temari.”

“And I love you,” she responded gently.

“If I loved you,” he breathed, moving so his lips were against her ear, “would it stop hurting?”

“I don’t know,” she answered quietly, hands gliding slowly along his back. “Maybe not. But it would make the pain less important.”

Gaara’s arms wound around his sister, pressing her to him almost painfully. His breath tickled along her neck and a small shiver ran up along her spine. She sighed softly into his hair, relaxing against him even as his hold on her remained desperate.

“Temari,” he whispered. “I can’t let him use me. Not for this.” He paused before adding in a nearly inaudible undertone, “I can’t lose you.”

“We’ll figure something out, Gaara,” she muttered, then pulled back to look into his eyes, her expression fierce. “We’re in this together. We’ll escape together, or we’ll die together, but it won’t be by his rules.”

He nodded, seeming to accept her reasoning, the haunted look in his eyes diminishing as his fingers traced along the bandaging hidden beneath Temari’s dress. She arched an eyebrow in question, but he turned away from her, gazing into the distance as if he didn’t want her to see the expression in his eyes.

“Everyone has always been afraid of me,” he said quietly. “They run because they don’t want me near them. Every time I come out here, I know that if I never came back, they would all be happy.”

He paused, a quiet sigh escaping his lips. His nails dug into Temari’s back through the dress, making her shift slightly to alleviate the pressure.

“But you…” he continued after several moments of silence. “You’re afraid that I will leave. It hurts you when I say I don’t love you.” He turned to her then, his eyes full of longing. “I like it,” he breathed.

Temari frowned, struggling to suppress the instinctive flash of anger in response to his words. She realized that he purposefully said things that he knew would hurt her just because he enjoyed seeing the pain he could cause her. She couldn’t help but be angry. But in some way, his motivation actually made sense. Pain was the only thing he really understood. He didn’t understand that he could make her happy, he didn’t believe that she simply wanted to be with him and not use him. But seeing her pain when he threatened to leave showed him that she cared about him more than anything else she could have done. She sighed quietly.

“I guess I understand,” she said with resignation. “I’m still afraid that you will leave me, so I can’t really expect you to believe that I won’t.”

Gaara nodded briefly, his eyes never leaving hers. He leaned towards her slowly until his lips brushed lightly against hers. Her eyes slid shut as he moved to the side, trailing his lips along the edge of her jaw until he came to her neck, eliciting a soft moan from his sister. He dragged his tongue slowly over the line of her vein, moving upwards to press his lips gently to her earlobe.

“I didn’t lie, Temari,” he breathed against her. “I may never be able to love you. I may never be able to do this the way that you want. But I can’t leave you. I will always want you with me.”

“You don’t know that,” Temari said stubbornly, fighting the instinctively response in her body that made her want to forget all her arguments and surrender to the sensation of his lips on her skin. “You don’t know that one day you won’t want somebody else.”

Gaara snorted. “And you imagine somebody else would want me?” he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

He pulled back to look at her and Temari arched an eyebrow at that statement, willing her eyes to show nothing but the cold mask of indifference. The answer stung more than anything she had expected. She realized that if the only reason he was with her was because he had no other options, she did not want to know about it. But she couldn’t ignore what he said.

“And what if someone did?” she asked, arrogance in her voice.

Gaara’s lips twisted into a cold smirk, his expression infuriatingly calm, her distress serving only to amuse him.

“Temari,” he said slowly. “I have no interest in anyone but you.”

She was unable to contain her gasp, his response catching her completely by surprise. There was an earnestness to his words that almost made her forget why she was afraid to believe him.

“Why me?” she blurted out without thinking.

He tilted his head to the side slightly, considering her with cold eyes devoid of any human emotion. There was an undeniable otherness to him, a detachment from the world around him. She knew that the thoughts that ran behind the hollow depths of his eyes were too alien for her to understand, perhaps always would be.

“You are my sister,” he said finally. “You belong to me.”

Temari smiled suddenly, remembering her conversation with Baki and her own explanation for why she had chosen Gaara. Even if he didn’t return her feelings, even if she did not understand the logic that led him to that answer, he seemed to view the bond between them the same way as she did. She couldn’t help but believe him then, couldn’t help thinking that he really wouldn’t leave her. It was inevitable, in a way. By some sick twist of fate they were meant for each other, and it didn’t matter that they were siblings, didn’t matter how fucked up they both were, didn’t matter if they were hated and if the entire world stood between them. For them, there could be nobody else, and nothing short of death could truly separate them from each other.

Beyond Blood - Chapter 4

2008-07-28T00:22:21Z

Chapter 4 – Waiting

The siblings had finished their dinner and Temari set aside the cleaned dishes to dry on the rack. She walked out into the living room to find Kankuro sitting cross-legged on the floor, his book abandoned in favor of the puppet spread out in front of him. She smirked slightly before her eyes drifted over to Gaara who was sitting on the couch, looking at his older brother apprehensively, as if unsure of the reason for his presence there.

Temari crossed the room silently and sat down beside Gaara. He glanced up at her, his expression conveying the unspoken question. She rolled her eyes – this was beginning to be a habit around Gaara.

“We’re going to wait for you, obviously,” she stated calmly.

“I was thinking more of going along actually,” Kankuro muttered without looking up from his work.

“I don’t need help,” Gaara hissed through clenched teeth.

He seemed defensive, on guard, as if just the idea of accepting his siblings’ support made him vulnerable. Temari wanted to argue, but the look in his eyes told her that it would only make him lash out. He would likely leave just to prove he didn’t need them.

“You’re probably right this time,” she muttered grudgingly. “But that doesn’t mean we’re not going to at least stand by in case you need something.”

Gaara said nothing and Temari sighed softly. Pressing the issue would mean a fight and it would be pointless. Gaara would never admit to needing or even wanting their help, especially in the presence of Kankuro. All they could do was remain by him despite his apparent discomfort with their presence.

It was still only a little past eight. They had hours to wait. Temari knew that Kankuro wouldn’t let them out of his sight, afraid to be left out in case something did happen. She couldn’t remember if there was ever a time when the three of them were in a room together for so long. Perhaps when they were children, under the watchful eyes of guards to ensure that Gaara did not slaughter his siblings. Or maybe simply to prevent them from ever becoming a true family. Temari sighed again, unable to conceal the sadness in her eyes as she watched Kankuro practically radiating fear in Gaara’s presence, his posture tense as if ready for a fight.

Gaara’s eyes flitted to his brother momentarily before returning to Temari. His expression was speculative, seeming to analyze her. The look was familiar to her.

“What?” Temari questioned.

“You’re afraid of me,” Gaara said, his neutral voice giving away nothing of what he felt.

She forced herself not to roll her eyes again and gave a non-committal shrug. That single sentence seemed to be his favorite phrase. Still, it wasn’t entirely wrong. Sitting with him like this, in a room with Kankuro, knowing that she had no way of predicting what Gaara might do, was unnerving. She wanted to deny it, to prove to him that she could face him as a brother, a human being, and not something to be feared, but she knew that lying to him was pointless. It was Kankuro that finally broke the silence, and what came out of his mouth made Temari cringe.

“Who in their right mind wouldn’t be afraid of you, Gaara?”

He spoke without looking up, but Temari was sure he could feel the weight of Gaara’s gaze as his eyes shot to the puppeteer immediately. It wasn’t quite glaring, but it was close – an unspoken challenge in his eyes. Kankuro continued to adjust parts of his puppet as if nothing unusual was happening. After several moments, Gaara smirked, making Temari’s eyes widen in surprise. It wasn’t the reaction she was expecting and she had to force herself to relax from the tense posture she had been in, ready to throw herself between her brothers and stop the fight with any means necessary.

Gaara turned back to Temari wordlessly, a spark of amusement in his eyes. She wasn’t sure why Kankuro’s admittance of fear entertained him, but it was better than the violent reaction she had been anticipating so she wasn’t going to question it. Taking advantage of Gaara’s apparent good mood, she edged towards him, her hand resting over his as she leaned in until her lips brushed against his. His teeth were almost instantly against her bottom lip, pressing into the soft skin slowly until the punctures were deep enough to bleed. She made a soft sound in the back of her throat as blood mingled in their kiss, her fingers wrapping around his hand as if for support. He pulled back first, eyes focused on her mouth where a small trickle of blood ran down her chin.

Temari wiped the blood away with her free hand, running her tongue along her bottom lip to capture any remaining droplets. Gaara’s mouth was pressed in that unreadable line, his eyes intense yet conveying nothing of what he was thinking. She stared at him for several moments, contemplating. Then she slipped her hand through his arm carefully, leaning towards him until she was pressed against his shoulder, capturing his hand in both of hers.

She could feel the immediate tension in Gaara’s body as she relaxed against him and she knew that he wasn’t comfortable with it. He was fine with gestures of affection as long as they came from him and showed that he was in control. Temari sensed that what she was doing now was crossing a line – relationship instead of ownership, love instead of lust. But it was what he said he wanted and she would not back down.

Gaara was looking at her with a strained expression, as if he was fighting the urge to push her away. His hand clenched into a fist in her grip, fingers curling around hers almost painfully. She remained still, eyes locked on his, waiting. He would either accept it or he would do something violent, hurt her just to show that he was still the dominant one, that she still held no power over him. There was nothing she could do to sway him one way or the other besides remain still and leave the choice to him.

It felt longer than it really was, but eventually his hand relaxed under hers, fingers interlocking with hers after a brief hesitation. Temari smiled at her little brother, settling against him with a little more ease even as he remained tense. She knew it would probably take years for him to really trust her, but at least he was trying, and for now that was all she could ask.

She squeezed his hand gently before slowly averting her gaze to Kankuro. The puppeteer looked up at his siblings briefly, a disdainful scowl appearing on his face before he turned back to his work. Temari didn’t miss the way his eyes focused on her lip where small blood droplets were still forming. She smirked but said nothing about it.

“So if it is a trap,” Temari said into the room, addressing no one in particular, “what are we going to do about it?”

“No point talking about it until we know,” Kankuro answered with a shrug, his eyes never leaving the puppet in front of him.

“Even if we don’t find anything, we can still assume it’s a trap,” she countered.

Silence fell between them again, punctuated by sharp noises as Kankuro’s tools hit against the wood and metal of the puppet. A small frown appeared on his face, as if he was contemplating the statement. Gaara was looking away from them both, face utterly blank, seeming disinterested in the conversation. If the situation was uncomfortable to him, or if he was even thinking about it at all, his expression did not show it.

“We can’t refuse to go,” Kankuro mused after several moments. “If it’s a mission, we have no choice.”

“We could at least prepare,” Temari answered with a frown. “There has to be a way out of it.”

“We can’t do much without more information,” the puppeteer stated grimly.

She sighed. The conversation really did seem pointless. She let her fingers play over the back of Gaara’s hand absently, lost in thought. If it really was a trap and they weren’t willing to walk into it, they only had one option – treason. Whatever route they took to avoid their fate, it would ultimately mean defying the Kazekage and betraying everything that they were taught to protect. Temari stowed that thought away for later examination, when she was more prepared to deal with all the consequences of what that implied.

“If it’s a trap,” Gaara said quietly, his voice startling both siblings and making him pause. Temari knew that if he turned to her now, she would see a fleeting look of pain on his face. He may enjoy being feared, but he couldn’t hide the fact that the alienation still stung, and so much more when it was from his own siblings. He went on without commenting on their reaction, allowing them all to pretend that it didn’t happen. “It’s probably meant only for me.”

Kankuro snorted, his eyes remaining on his work, as if he did not wish to dignify that comment with a response. Temari shifted in an attempt to catch Gaara’s gaze and he turned to her obligingly, though seeing his face revealed little of what she wanted to know. His eyes were empty of emotion, his thoughts hidden behind the usual dispassionate mask. She frowned.

“We’re a team, Gaara,” she said sternly. “If they want you, they have to go through us.”

“I never protected you,” he responded immediately, voice flat, as if he was talking about something that held no significance whatsoever.

She shrugged and sighed softly. “That doesn’t change how we feel.”

She wanted to say that he would protect her now, that she was certain that after everything that happened, things would be different. But she wasn’t certain. With Gaara, she probably could never be sure that there wouldn’t come a time when he simply decided that her death would be more interesting to him than her life and kill her just to fulfill that morbid fantasy that he had confessed to her more times than she could count. Would he protect her from others because he didn’t want her hurt by anyone but him? Maybe. Or perhaps he would blame her for any harm that she allowed on herself and never consider the possibility of interfering. In truth she did not know if he was even capable of protecting somebody during a battle, if he could separate his mind from the bijuu long enough to control the bloodlust and see something besides the victims laid out in front of him.

None of these things were something Temari wanted to tell him and she left her comment at that, refusing to elaborate. Gaara continued to watch her silently, his head tilted to the side slightly, his fingertips gliding lightly along the skin of her hand, bringing small shivers up her back. She wasn’t sure what he was thinking, but since she didn’t want to share her own thoughts, she decided it best not to prod. After several moments, Gaara simply turned away from her without a word, as if dismissing the whole subject.

“I was thinking,” Kankuro said suddenly. “If it is a trap, and if we still go but manage to get out and come back alive, that would really piss the Kazekage off.”

He turned to his siblings with a cocky grin, his face the mask of a skilled puppeteer, a soldier eager for a challenge. He wasn’t scared, Temari realized. None of them were. It occurred to her that this probably indicated how messed up their lives really were. They were children still, her brothers especially, but the threat of death, the possibility of the entire village betraying them and throwing them to their fate didn’t frighten them. Perhaps because the only thing that they were truly afraid of, the only thing that would terrify them for the rest of their lives, was in the room with them already.

“Yeah, that’s true,” Temari answered, her lips curving into a smirk. “And he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it if we complete the mission.”

She felt Gaara’s hand suddenly freeze under her grasp, an unnatural stillness. A chill that she could not explain ran up Temari’s spine as she turned to face him. He was looking way, refusing to meet her gaze.

“What?” she asked quietly.

“Your mission might be to kill me,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper.

“He knows better than to attempt that,” she answered harshly.

“Why?” Gaara questioned without looking at her.

“He tried it once,” Kankuro replied instead of her. “A couple of years ago, he attempted to assign us a mission to kill you.”

He paused, turning to his younger brother. Gaara met his gaze, pain and hate veiled behind the cold depths of his eyes. His eyes held the glint of insanity like no human eyes ever could. They were the eyes of a jinchuuriki, eyes that showed a consciousness of something that should’ve been human twisted with the power of the bijuu. Eyes that knew solitude like no one else in the world. He waited for his brother to finish, expectant, unsurprised to find out that his siblings were meant to be his assassins, ready to know that there was no one in the world that wanted him.

“He was too much of a coward to say it to our face,” Kankuro continued, his voice going grave. “He sent a messenger.”

“We sent what was left of his body back in a box,” Temari finished, her eyes alight with a raw savagery that almost mirrored Gaara’s bloodlust.

He turned to her, slowly, a movement too calculated to be anything but terrifying. She saw the power flare in his eyes, the demonic chakra flowing over her in waves. She met his gaze unflinching, a cold smile playing on her lips, her hands squeezing his, forcing his nails to break the surface of her skin and causing small crimson droplets to appear on the back of her hand. She knew if the answer had been different, he would’ve killed them both, torn them apart like all the others that attempted to take his life. If she turned on him, even if it was in the past, he would destroy her without a second thought, no matter what she might mean to him now. She knew too that it was not trust that made him believe what they told him, it was simply the knowledge that he would sense it if she lied to him, would know if she had truly ever even contemplated attempting to kill him.

She nodded to him, a silent moment of understanding. Being his lover granted her no mercy, no special treatment. He would not forgive her any mistakes, and he would punish her more than anyone if she betrayed him. Because she had gotten closer to him than anyone in his entire life, because she was the only one who was truly able to hurt him. He trusted her less than anybody else, because despite all his efforts she had power over him, and no matter what he did he would never be able to take back that control.

Minutes passed in silence before Gaara finally nodded in response. He pulled away his blood-stained hand, the crimson droplets lingering on his fingers as he brought them up to his lips. His tongue trailed along his skin slowly, capturing his sister’s taste, drawing in the blood that bound them together.

She was vaguely aware of Kankuro still watching them, his eyes following the movement of Gaara’s tongue along his fingers before he brought up Temari’s hand to lick off the blood that shone on her skin as well. It should’ve stopped her to know that one brother was watching her as she leaned towards the other brother to make their lips meet and spread that metallic taste over her tongue. But somehow, as Gaara’s hand rested against her neck, it became strangely unimportant that they weren’t alone. She allowed herself to melt into the kiss, allowed Gaara to explore her mouth and tease her already wounded lip, until he finally drew back and left her breathless, her eyes sparkling with a glimmer of desire that was like a vague echo of his bloodlust.

Kankuro was still watching. There was no accusation in his face when Temari turned to face him as she caught Gaara’s hand between hers once more. The puppeteer’s expression revealed only resignation, and a vague hint of regret. Temari almost arched an eyebrow before she stopped herself. Did he regret that he allowed this relationship to happen, did he blame himself for not stopping it? Would he have stopped it if he could? Or was it simply that regret that they all held – the regret of their wasted childhood, of what should have been a family but never was, of all the things that would have been possible if only life had dealt them a different hand? She didn’t really want to know the answer, so she said nothing. It was always easier to pretend.

“Since you won’t ask, I’m going to,” Kankuro said suddenly, turning from Temari to Gaara and meeting the blatant hostility of his younger brother’s gaze. Temari’s eyes widened, seeming almost scared, afraid of what the puppeteer might say. “You know we have to train as a team, Gaara. Whether it’s for this mission or not. And that means protecting each other. Temari and I have always protected each other. You already know that we stood up for you, and we would protect you, if you ever needed it. We need to know if you would protect us. Because if you won’t, then we’ll never truly be a team.”

It was exactly what Temari was afraid he would say and she drew in a breath, fighting not to tremble beside Gaara as she waited for his answer. The jinchuuriki cocked his head to the side, seeming to actually contemplate everything that Kankuro said. He was still guarded, nothing but the usual cold anger showing through his gaze.

“Why should I?” he said finally, his voice almost bored. “Why should I care about any of this?”

“Nobody can tell you what you should or shouldn’t care about, Gaara,” Kankuro said solemnly, the unusually wise words making Temari’s eyebrow arch in surprise. “You either care or you don’t. But if you’re not going to cover our back, we need to know. If we can’t rely on you for this, we can’t rely on you at all.”

Again Gaara paused as if processing this information. He was silent for several moments and the tension level in the room seemed to grow with each passing second. He turned to Temari slowly, almost uncertainly, and whatever he saw in her face must’ve made him angry because he pulled his hand sharply out of her grasp and stood up with a sudden swirl of sand around his legs. Temari remained seated and fought the urge to reach for him, letting him instead step back and turn to face away from his siblings.

“I don’t know if I can.”

His voice came subdued, dull somehow, lifeless. It made Temari frown and want to say something to comfort him, to tell him that it didn’t matter, that they would accept him anyway. But Kankuro interrupted her before she could say anything, his tone still that calm authority that sounded strangely parental.

“You either will or you won’t, Gaara,” he said simply. “And if you’re not sure, we have to assume that you won’t.”

The jinchuuriki turned around abruptly, his gaze suddenly murderous, the dangerous aura radiating from him as if to warn everyone within its radius to stay away. There was nothing human in his expression in that moment, nothing that could be reasoned with.

“Assume what you want,” he hissed from between clenched teeth, his hands curling into fists at his side. “I don’t need you. I don’t need a team. I fight only for myself.”

“Gaara,” Temari said softly in her quiet, pacifying voice that she used so often with her little brother. “He doesn’t mean any offense. We just want the truth, one way or another.”

“I told you the truth,” he replied in a growl, his glare turning to his sister.

“What?”

She stood up when he remained silent and took one uncertain step towards him. Gaara did nothing and she approached him cautiously until she was standing in front of him. But as soon as she was within reach, his hand shot out immediately, fingers encircling her neck, pressing in just enough to make her gasp. She heard Kankuro shift behind her and assumed he was standing too, but he didn’t come any closer.

“I only know death,” Gaara breathed as he leaned into her, his lips almost touching hers. “I only know how to kill.”

“We can teach you,” she responded quietly.

He smirked then, a curve of lips that had nothing to do with humor and everything to do with violence. His eyes sparkled with the demonic gleam of the Ichibi inside him, showing that consciousness that was so far from human that it reminded Temari that she had no hope of ever truly understanding him.

“You said you would die for me,” he murmured, his fingertips caressing the straining tendons in her neck even as he began to slowly rob her of breath. “I would not die for you.”

Temari struggled to find something intelligent to say, something to tell him that she didn’t expect it even though she knew that this was exactly what they had asked. Risk your life for us as we have done for you. His answer was the reason why she did not want to ask him this. She didn’t want to know that she was not important enough to him to make that sacrifice, that he didn’t care about her as much as she cared about him.

“If I die,” he continued when she remained silent for too long, his voice cold with an edge of threat, “I will take you with me. You cannot escape me.”

“And could you escape me?” Temari whispered, her eyes locked on his.

The sly smirk remained on Gaara’s lips, the sadistic spark in his eyes making her breath catch in her throat. His fingers dug just a little further into her throat, making her gasp involuntarily. Her hand gripped at the front of his shirt instinctively, a vain effort to find some support.

“No,” he hissed against her, his lips just a breath away, close enough to kiss. “But I can kill you. I can watch you die and enjoy it.”

A shiver ran through Temari’s body in response to the intensity in his voice and his lips spread in an inhuman grin that spoke only of blood and torture. She knew he meant it; she could almost picture him imagining her death, his hands playing with her blood-stained and cooling body as he allowed his sand to tear her apart. It was an answer to Temari and Kankuro’s question as much as a threat. He accepted them as a team, but if they expected too much from him, if they crossed him in any way, he would kill them without regret. He would kill even her no matter how much it may hurt him, because in death she would still be his. Her blood would stain his sand forever, keeping her with him even years after she would be gone.

But for her, he would not allow the same luxury. If he died, he would not let her live without him. One last thread of control, of dominance. He owned her completely, in life and in death. He could control her in a way that she could never control him.

Temari nodded again and Gaara’s lips sealed over hers, her mouth dry with the taste of fear, the threat of death tangible with the rush of blood in her veins, the thud of her heart against his chest as he released her neck and pressed her against him. When they broke apart, his eyes still reflected a coldness that almost made her flinch. He was far away from her, even standing this close, out of her reach, wrapped forever in the clutches of Shukaku even as she held him in her arms.

“Does that answer your question?” he hissed in that same inhuman voice, his eyes falling behind her to Kankuro.

“Yeah,” Kankuro answered and Temari could hear the thread of anger in his voice.

“Don’t worry about it, Gaara,” Temari said softly, finally breaking under that distant look on his face and saying what they would all know was not true. “We’re a team no matter what. We’ll work it out.”

He turned back to her, his eyes following the movement of her lips, as if trying to concentrate on the words she was saying. When she fell silent, he said nothing for several moments until his gaze finally lifted to meet her eyes. He was unreadable, like a closed book, and in that moment she wasn’t sure that he even understood what she said.

“You don’t really believe that,” Gaara said finally, his voice flat, emotionless. “You don’t believe anything will change.” He leaned into her until his lips were at her ear, whispering so low that if Kankuro, standing a couple of steps behind, was not a shinobi, he would’ve never heard him. “Maybe I will never love you.”

Temari was unable to stop herself from gasping at those words, to conceal the pain that showed in her eyes. Gaara pulled back to look at her, his eyes watching her face, reading the hurt expression there. She didn’t expect him to talk about this, not now, not in front of someone else. She didn’t know if he was trying to hurt her on purpose because of everything that was said, or if it was simply what he was thinking.

“You can’t love someone,” Kankuro said from behind them, his voice quiet with a soft determination, “unless you are willing to give your life for them.”

Temari wished he hadn’t said anything, wished he would’ve just left it alone. Saying anything else would make it worse. She drew in a breath, expecting Gaara to retaliate, but he only smirked, as if Kankuro had just proven his point. He was amused by her pain, and it hurt even more to see that he didn’t seem to care about this. She almost wanted to ask him if he changed his mind, if he didn’t want her anymore the way that he said he did.

Before she could say anything, he pried her hand off from his shirt and intertwined his fingers with hers. He turned her back towards the couch and led her behind him without a word. She sat down beside him, almost numb with shock from his words. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her to him, holding her against him as his fingers began to play absently with her hair. She was still tense, unable to relax when she didn’t know why he was doing it, if he truly wanted her there or if he was simply doing it as another show of dominance, or maybe just to pass the time. Temari registered vaguely the sound of Kankuro sitting down on the floor again and resuming his work on the puppet, but it seemed distant and unimportant.

The only thing that mattered was Gaara’s words. He didn’t love her, he may never love her. Whether he said it in spite or because it was true, it stung just as much, and she couldn’t bring herself to ask what he really felt because she was afraid the answer would be even worse.

Beyond Blood - Chapter 3

2008-07-20T09:40:55Z

Chapter 3 – Bonds

Temari woke up to find Gaara lying beside her in her bed, his arm draped over her waist, her hand tangled in the front of his shirt, their legs intertwined under the sheets. His eyes were open, observing her with a vague hint of irritation. She arched an eyebrow slightly but chose to remain silent as she leaned forward to kiss him. He responded immediately, arm instinctively tightening around her to press her closer, lips locking with hers almost desperately – starving for the affection that had been denied him for so long. She smiled against him, hand moving up to stroke his cheek gently before she slowly pulled back from him.

He remained in bed as she stood up, shifting so he was leaning on his elbow and observing her as she went to the dresser to retrieve her clothes. She wore only a long t-shirt, her hair falling haphazardly over her shoulders. Gaara noted the thin line of red on the front of her shirt before she turned away and he smirked slightly. She hadn’t bothered wrapping the bandages over her chest after she showered yesterday, and he assumed she had reopened the wound again during the night.

“It bothers you, doesn’t it?” Temari asked suddenly, disrupting his thoughts as she turned back towards him, clutching the clothes she had pulled out in her hand. “That I can sleep?”

Gaara hesitated, the corners of his mouth pulling down into a frown, seeming reluctant to answer the question.

“It annoys me,” he said after a moment, adding nothing else to elaborate.

“You don’t have to watch me, you know,” she said softly. “It’s not really fair for me to make you stay with me all night when you can’t sleep.”

His frown deepened and he sat up in her bed, pushing the covers away from his body.

“You don’t want me to stay?” he asked quietly.

She rolled her eyes. It was amazing how someone so arrogant could be so insecure. “I always want you to stay, Gaara. But if it upsets you…”

Temari trailed off as he stood up from the bed in one fluid motion and moved towards her. She didn’t resist as he pushed her back against the wardrobe, his hands on her waist as he pressed her body against his.

“It’s better than being alone,” Gaara whispered, his breath shuddering against her face.

She wasn’t sure if he meant to repeat the words she told him when she was trying to justify the need for love or if he was simply articulating his fears of abandonment. She settled for merely nodding in response, unable to find any suitable words to acknowledge the statement. He remained in front of her and she wrapped one arm around him as she still clung to her clothes with the other. His lips were against hers again, tongues brushing against each other, a soft moan echoing in the back of Temari’s throat. She broke off breathless, her eyes sparkling with desire.

“You’re bleeding,” he said quietly, his face barely an inch away from hers.

“I’m always bleeding when you’re around,” she muttered reflexively.

A brief flash of worry in her eyes indicated that she instantly regretted her words, but Gaara merely smirked. He pulled away from her, allowing her to move back towards the bed and set the clothes down on the tangled sheets. When she turned around, she saw that he was standing by the desk and clutching a roll of bandages in his hand. She frowned instantly. Being dependent on someone else, even for something as minor as a bandage change, was something Temari was never comfortable with. Nevertheless, she said nothing about it as she discarded her shirt and approached him obediently.

Gaara’s eyes fell to the wound on Temari’s chest, focusing on the droplets of blood that were slowly seeping through the parted skin. He seemed absorbed in the sight of it as he placed one hand on her waist and slowly leaned down towards her, his mouth over the wound as his tongue trailed along the cut. She let out a soft sigh, her hand slipping into his hair, eyes closing for a moment before he pulled back from her.

Her hand found the ointment given to her by the medic that rested on her desk and she picked it up before he could begin to dress the wound. He kept his hand on her waist as he watched her unscrew the top of the little tube, wrinkling his nose in distaste at the smell of the antiseptic.

“Sorry,” Temari said with a hint of a smile. “Do you want me to leave it?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he answered indifferently, the hand that still clutched the bandages reaching up to brush his knuckles along a shallow wound on her upper arm. “I can always cut you again.”

She smirked and rolled her eyes again, proceeding to apply the ointment to the wound on her chest. The mixture stung in the open cut and she bit on the inside of her mouth to stop herself from whimpering. Gaara observed her silently.

“Does it bother you?” he asked when she put the medicine down. “That I still hurt you? That I still want your pain?”

“No,” she answered, still smirking. “Like I said before, I don’t want you to change.”

“Explain,” he demanded, frowning slightly.

Temari sighed, her fingers absently trailing over the hand that rested on her waist and gliding up along his arm. His eyes remained on hers as he began to slowly wrap the bandages around her chest, the fabric layering over itself perfectly despite his lack of attention.

“Do we have to do this now?” she muttered.

Gaara’s frown deepened and she knew that he wouldn’t allow her to avoid the question, even temporarily.

“I’m not going to say love is unconditional,” she said slowly, trying to pick her words carefully. “That’s never really true. But if I expected you to change, it wouldn’t be love at all.” She paused, seeing the frustration in Gaara’s eyes. He didn’t understand. She smiled slightly. “I love you for who you are, Gaara. Everything that you are.”

He remained silent as he continued to wrap her chest until the bandages covered the wound completely. He ripped off the end of the binding and tucked it into the top layer without taking his eyes off her face. The roll was dropped onto the table without a second consideration as he placed both hands on her waist. He leaned closer towards her, the strange intensity in her eyes making her wonder what he was thinking. She threw her arms around his shoulders carefully, watching as he cocked his head to the side slightly, the familiar scrutiny in his expression almost making her squirm.

“You mean… what I am,” he hissed, eyes narrowing slightly.

She rolled her eyes again. “If you prefer,” she answered calmly, shrugging with indifference. “It doesn’t really matter to me what term of reference you use, as long as it’s you.”

Gaara didn’t answer, his brow creasing as he glanced away from her, seeming lost in thought. Temari could tell he still didn’t entirely understand what she meant, but she could find no better way to explain these concepts. His arms wrapped around her to press her against his chest, fingers idly tracing up along her back, and she took advantage of his contemplative state, leaning in and brushing her lips against his neck lightly.

“As it happens,” Temari whispered, “I don’t mind that you hurt me. It’s rather… exciting.”

“Why?” he asked immediately, his eyes guarded as she pulled back to look at him.

“Probably because you enjoy it,” she replied, smirking again. Then she shrugged. “Pain never did bother me much.”

He lifted a nonexistent eyebrow fractionally but said nothing. After another moment, she pulled away from him carefully, returning to the bed and beginning to slowly pull on her assorted garments. Gaara turned away as she began clasping the hooks on her dress and moved to the corner where his gourd was resting on the floor. His eyes drifted back to his sister as he slowly pulled it on and proceeded to secure the straps and sash around his torso.

“What does it mean, not unconditional?” he said slowly, making Temari turn to him again.

She frowned slightly, busying herself with tying the final loop on her obi before turning to him. She approached until she was standing in front of him, separated by less than a step.

“There’s always something a person can do to make others feel differently about them,” she answered finally.

“Like what?” Gaara asked immediately.

She knew it wasn’t a hypothetical question this time. He wanted to know what could change the way she felt about him, what could make her stop loving him. She sighed softly.

“With you, there’s very little,” she answered quietly. “And I think you already know the one thing I couldn’t handle.”

He tilted his head to the side, arms folded across his chest, his eyes studying her face.

“If I kill Kankuro.” It was a statement more than a question. She nodded.

Gaara stared at her for so long that Temari began to fidget. His face was an expressionless mask and she had no idea what he was thinking. She fought to keep her eyes equally indifferent, hiding her fear at his reaction. He could get angry, he could lash out at her for caring about someone else, he could kill Kankuro just to eliminate what he might consider competition.

He did nothing. He just nodded, acknowledging that he understood but revealing nothing of his opinion of it. She supposed he didn’t trust her enough to say anything. If it really bothered him, or if he was willing to spare Kankuro’s life because it meant that much to her, the knowledge would give her leverage. She could use it against him. No matter how much their relationship may have changed in the last few days, he was not prepared to give her power. She was his to control, not the other way around.

“Let’s go,” she said evenly, deciding to put a stop to this conversation. “I have to make breakfast.”

********************

Three people in a silent room with nothing to distract them from each other was almost always an uncomfortable setting. For the siblings, silence was customary. Years of experience showed that it was better to say nothing than risk the anger of the jinchuuriki for reasons that they may never understand. This habit was not easily broken. They ate breakfast without a word to each other, without even meeting each other’s eyes more than strictly necessary.

The silence was not broken until they were outside the house, Kankuro falling back to lock the door while Gaara and Temari walked ahead. Gaara halted at the end of the short path to their house, turning to his sister and cocking his head to the side, as if debating something.

“What?” she asked.

“If I kill the Kazekage?” he questioned, as if there hadn’t been nearly an hour long interruption in their conversation. Temari rolled her eyes for what felt like the hundredth time.

“We would both thank you,” Kankuro answered instead of her as he caught up to them, seeming to not care that he was missing the actual question.

Gaara waited for Temari to nod her agreement. “I killed mom,” he continued in a flat voice. “And…” - he gritted his teeth before he forced himself to say the name again - “Yashamaru.”

“You didn’t kill mom,” she said immediately. “That wasn’t your choice. And Yashamaru was an asshole. I would’ve killed him myself if I knew what he was going to do.”

Gaara said nothing, his face still unreadable. He continued to stare at her, as if waiting for something more. Over his shoulder, she could see Kankuro looking at her impatiently, clearly waiting for this to be over so they could get going.

“Are you done interrogating me?” she inquired casually.

“For now,” Gaara replied calmly.

She heard Kankuro stifle a laugh and glared at him. Gaara ignored this and turned to walk away, his siblings immediately following him. It was different walking with him now. In the past he always walked slightly ahead, the clear leader of the group, while they flanked him on each side, half a step behind, looking almost like bodyguards, but acting as nothing more than followers.

Now Temari walked beside him, too close again, making it obvious that they were more than siblings. Kankuro refused to remain behind alone and walked level with them, although he kept a safe distance – if there was ever such a thing with the jinchuuriki – between himself and his little brother.

They remained silent as they walked down the street, quickly leaving the seclusion of their house and finding themselves among the villagers. The citizens of Suna parted as always to put distance between themselves and the siblings, but out of the corner of her eye Temari could see them whisper behind their hands and shoot furtive glances in their direction. It wasn’t really anything new, but there were looks of shock and confusion added to the usual hate-filled, fearful glares they sent towards Gaara. It seemed that she was right, the rumors about her relationship with her brother had spread, and their proximity as they walked was not helping the situation.

She glanced over to see Kankuro grinning. He seemed to find the situation comical, and she was sure if he wasn’t afraid of Gaara’s reaction he would be laughing full-out. She glared at him, but he paid her no attention.

Gaara, meanwhile, had his head lowered as he walked, seeming to not really look at where he was going despite being in the lead. Temari would’ve thought he was mad if she hadn’t noticed the small smirk playing on his lips. She lifted her eyebrows questioningly.

“You can hear them, can’t you?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah,” he answered without looking at her. Kankuro snickered and Temari shot him another warning glance before turning back to Gaara.

“What are they saying?” she prodded, seeing that he wasn’t going to say anything else.

“Most of them think I’m forcing you,” Gaara replied calmly, seeming completely undisturbed by this assessment. “They can’t imagine why anyone would ever touch a monster like me.”

“Idiots,” Temari hissed.

She turned her head slowly to look at the crowd of people around them, noting the expressions of disgust and disbelief. It hadn’t even occurred to her that people would be more shocked by the fact that Gaara was with someone, rather than the incestuous nature of their relationship. She glared at the nearby people, hoping that they could sense the full extent of her hate through her eyes.

“Some of them have rather creative thoughts,” Gaara said suddenly after several moments of silence.

“Do I even want to know?” Temari asked with a sigh.

“I don’t,” Kankuro interjected, the grin abruptly falling from his face, clearly not pleased with the idea of any kind of sexual description of his siblings.

“They aren’t far from the truth,” Gaara answered, ignoring his brother. He turned his head fractionally, his lips pulled into a half-smirk as he look over at Temari. “They are speculating about how much I hurt you.”

Kankuro groaned, putting his hands up over his ears to block out the words that he already heard. Temari stared back at Gaara, a look of disbelief on her face, wondering why he didn’t seem at all bothered by the villagers’ talk. She was about to ask him when it suddenly occurred to her that what they were saying now was probably a lot better than what he usually heard from them.

“Must be annoying,” Temari said quietly. “Knowing that they’re always talking about you.”

“I’m used to it,” he replied indifferently.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Kankuro fall back slightly, giving them the illusion of privacy. She didn’t know if it was for their benefit or because he didn’t want to risk hearing anything else, but she was grateful nonetheless.

“For what?” Gaara questioned, still emotionless.

“For not being there for you, before, when we were younger.”

He shrugged, but gave no response. She knew he wouldn’t forgive her. There was too much pain there to simply erase the past. But she realized also that he didn’t blame her for it, thinking it only natural that his siblings had acted the way they did around him when they were growing up. And somehow, that was even worse.

“We wanted to, you know,” she said quietly. “But they never let us near you when you were younger. And then…”

Temari broke off, not sure what to say. Silence stretched between them and she looked away from him, unable to look at the cold indifference in his face. He hadn’t even glanced in her direction as she spoke. When she was almost sure that he would not respond, his voice broke through her inner turmoil.

“And then I wouldn’t let you,” he finished for her.

He touched her hand briefly, lingering a fraction of a second before pulling back, and when she glanced at him she barely caught the fleeting look of regret in his eyes.

“I know, Temari,” Gaara continued quietly. “I wanted you to talk to me. But if you had tried, I would’ve killed you.”

The statement didn’t make sense, but Temari understood exactly what he meant. He was afraid that allowing someone to get close would end the same way it had with their uncle. And loneliness was still better than betrayal. So he had watched his siblings from afar, wishing that he could be part of the family that didn’t want him, but rejecting any invitation that he might get. If he hadn’t allowed himself to slip as he did with her, getting involved beyond all levels of precaution, he would still be as distant and unreachable as ever and would probably remain that way for the rest of his life.

“I should’ve tried,” Temari muttered, looking down at her feet as she walked forward blindly.

“Then I wouldn’t have you now,” he replied so softly that she wasn’t sure she really heard the words.

She said nothing, unable to respond, unable to come up with words that could piece together the shattered fragments of something that should’ve been a family. Their past would always haunt them, hanging over their lives as a black shroud. There was nothing she could do to change it, no way she could atone for the sins. But they were together now, and in the end, that was all that mattered.

Temari leaned into her brother slightly, allowing her shoulder to brush against his, letting this closeness speak for all the longing and regret that she felt. They walked in silence the rest of the way, Kankuro trailing behind, watching his siblings bond in a way that should never be, but unable to say anything against it because he knew that it was all they had.

********************

At the end of the day, Baki departed from the training grounds as soon as he dismissed the siblings, the expression on his face making it clear that he did not wish to remain in the presence of Gaara and Temari any longer than necessary. Gaara seemed intent on making a show of the fact that he had won, holding Temari in his arms all through the lunch break while she relented to him with a sort of blissful resignation, ignoring Kankuro’s muttered protests at being subjected to this.

After they were left alone, Gaara walked over to where Temari was sitting on the ground and observing her brothers, the look on his face contemplative. She stood up before he reached her, arching an eyebrow in question. Kankuro trailed behind, shaking sand out of his kabuki outfit as he approached his siblings.

“I was thinking about the mission,” Gaara said quietly when Kankuro came closer, though his eyes were directed towards Temari as if he was speaking only to her. “I think it might be a setup. I want to find out more about it.”

“You think he’s going to try to get rid of us?” Temari questioned, her brows furrowing, picking up immediately on what Gaara was implying.

“It would be a good opportunity,” he answered evenly. “The exams are not being held in Suna this time. We will be away and the Kazekage will risk no danger to the village in trying to eliminate us.”

“You’re right,” she said glumly. “But how can we get any more information about this? If that’s really his plan, I’m sure Baki will only tell us whatever the cover-up is.”

They fell silent, Gaara’s eyes falling to the ground, his expression thoughtful. Temari glanced sideways at Kankuro, noting the look of worry on his face. Out of the three of them, he was the one who was the most attached to this village, the one who would take it the hardest if they were betrayed. She sighed softly, unable to think of anything to say to comfort him.

“I can search the Kazekage’s office,” Gaara said after a minute.

“There are probably guards there,” Kankuro said, keeping his voice calm.

“I can eliminate the guards,” the youngest sibling stated coldly.

Temari frowned. He looked up at her, his eyes reflecting a brief confusion before his lips formed into a tight line.

“You don’t want me to?” he questioned.

She caught Kankuro’s look of surprise at Gaara’s show of concern about her opinion but she ignored it. She sighed again.

“I don’t know,” she said softly. “I don’t really care about any of these people, you know that. But they’re our people, Gaara, even if they hate us. They should at least be given the chance to die in battle, not be murdered because they happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Gaara paused, his expression inscrutable. Temari didn’t know if he was honestly considering her words or if he simply didn’t wish to respond to the statement. Kankuro interjected before either of them could say anything else.

“We don’t want to leave evidence, either,” he said reasonably. “Even if you get rid of the bodies, if the guards just disappear, it will be obvious what happened. And I’m sure the Kazekage will guess that we were responsible.”

“What can we do then?” Temari mused. “Neither of us is that good at genjutsu, so that probably won’t work. Knocking them out would also be obvious…”

She trailed off. Gaara was staring at her as if she was missing something obvious.

“What?” she finally asked.

“The guards will be outside the office,” he said quietly. “They won’t expect anyone to teleport in.”

“And you can conceal your chakra to the point that they won’t sense you?” Temari asked skeptically, finding it hard to believe that a chakra like his could be concealed so thoroughly.

Gaara smirked. “Yes.”

“Then why didn’t you say that to begin with?” she asked, irritated now.

He shrugged. “It’s easier to just kill them.”

“Whatever,” she bit back, rolling her eyes. “What’s the plan then?”

“I’ll go in sometime after midnight,” Gaara answered, unmistakable authority of a natural leader in his voice. He paused, then added in a quieter tone, “I won’t kill the guards unless I have to.”

“And what do you want us to do?” Temari questioned.

He cocked his head to the side, as if surprised by the question. She smirked. Clearly teamwork was still a foreign concept to him.

“We could distract the guards or something,” Kankuro offered.

“No,” Gaara answered firmly. “I’ll handle it.”

“Alright,” Temari said, her lips spreading into a smile. “But if you need help, let us know.”

He said nothing in response, not even bothering to acknowledge the statement as he turned away and began walking back towards their house without another word. Temari and Kankuro exchanged a brief glance before following their little brother.

********************

It was only seven pm when they arrived at the house. Temari proceeded directly to the kitchen and Gaara followed her silently, leaning against the kitchen island as he watched her begin to prepare dinner. She heard Kankuro go up the stairs, followed soon after by the sound of water running in the shower.

“Can I ask you a question?” she said, her back turned to Gaara as she placed the ingredients in the pan. A soft sound that did not seem threatening was her only answer and she assumed that to mean assent. “You said having Shukaku has benefits. Besides the sand, is it just that you have more chakra, or is there something else?”

“Why do you want to know?” Gaara inquired impassively.

She shrugged, then finally turned to face him, placing the spatula she was using down on the counter as she leaned against it.

“Just curious, I suppose,” she answered. “You still don’t trust me, do you?”

“No,” he replied in the same level voice. “Trust makes you weak.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Temari sighed. “It just helps to understand you.”

“It’s not anything you can hurt me with,” he answered with a dismissive shrug. “When they were still doing research on me, the medics told me that all my senses are sharper than that of a human.” Temari winced involuntarily at the way he referred to himself as something inhuman, but he ignored her. “I can hear things that are far away. I can see further into the distance. I can distinguish individual scents easily.”

She arched an eyebrow at his words, recalling the time when she was wounded on the mission that seemed to have started this whole thing. She remembered the look on his face then, a sort of indescribable hunger.

“So that time in the desert…” She trailed off, letting him interpret the words. Gaara smirked.

“I could smell your blood,” he confirmed. “That’s why I noticed you. It smelt different from the others. It seemed… warm.”

“I see,” Temari answered, slightly stunned, not sure what to say to such a statement.

“Do you wish you didn’t know?” he asked quietly, a note of sadness in his voice now. He had clearly interpreted her reaction as an aversion to his strangeness. She shook her head instantly, smiling in what she hoped was a reassuring manner.

“No,” she said firmly. “It doesn’t bother me. It’s just surprising. I wonder what it’s like.”

He shrugged. “I don’t know what it’s like any other way, so I can’t tell you how it’s different.”

Temari looked at him in silence for several long moments. Then she turned to stir the simmering food before replacing the spatula on the counter. She crossed the kitchen towards her little brother and placed her hands lightly on his chest as his arms wrapped around her waist acceptingly.

“You said all your senses,” she said slowly, her lips curving into a grin. He nodded. “Then when I touch you…”

She trailed off, letting her hands glide lower, trailing over his stomach until her fingers rested at the waist of his pants. He observed her with a slight smirk, giving no response to her statement except to bring her slightly closer, letting her breasts press against his chest. She leaned in, brushing her lips against his lightly, a soft murmur echoing in her throat.

They pulled apart when the sound of footsteps descending the stairs broke the silence. Temari moved back from Gaara and returned to her cooking as Kankuro entered the kitchen and sat down at the table, opening a book with a picture of a puppet on the cover. She smiled slightly, knowing that he was preparing to wait through the night for Gaara to return. It seemed that in their own messed up way they were finally acting like a family, and it suddenly didn’t matter that the village might be trying to get rid of them, that they might be losing everything else in the world, because what they were gaining was infinitely better.

Beyond Blood - Chapter 2

2008-07-13T06:27:29Z

Chapter 2 – Compromise

They reappeared on a rooftop of an empty building a short distance from their house, Gaara’s sand immediately absorbing the raindrops and falling to the ground in a soggy mess. Despite knowing that this would happen, he frowned, then glared at Temari. She smirked slightly, unwrapping her arms from around his waist and taking both of his hands in hers.

“Don’t worry, you won’t melt,” she said sarcastically.

He scowled, but she ignored him, slipping down to the ground and pulling him with her. He sat down reluctantly, his glare only growing as the rain permeated his clothes and made his hair fall into his eyes. Temari shook out her own loose hair, the wet mass cascading haphazardly down her shoulders. A low hiss rumbled in Gaara’s throat and she tensed instinctively, wondering if he might react to the water more violently than she expected.

“You’re afraid of me,” he said quietly.

Temari moved one shoulder in a vague shrug, her expression distant as her eyes drifted to some obscure point behind him, letting the sound of the raindrops hitting the roof ease her tension. She could still feel his gaze on her. He seemed to be waiting for an answer.

“I’ll always be afraid of you to some extent, Gaara,” she replied after a pause, sighing at the admission. “But it’s worth the risk to be with you.”

Her gaze returned to his face to find him looking at her with an indiscernible expression, leaving her agitated and wondering what he thought about that statement. He said nothing in response, though, watching her with eyes too cold to be human. She released his hands and wrapped her arms around his shoulders carefully.

“Do you trust me?” she asked tentatively.

“No,” Gaara answered immediately.

Temari rolled her eyes. “You know I can’t hurt you.”

“What do you want?” he asked suspiciously.

“Just come here,” she muttered, shaking her head slightly.

Gaara didn’t resist as she pulled him towards her, gently turning him around until his head rested in her lap. His eyes closed against the rain beating on his face as he stretched out in front of her, hands curled into fists at his side as he remained tense. Temari brushed the hair back from her little brother’s face carefully, her lips spreading in a smile as she looked down at him and noted the way his brow creased in a hint of agitation. It made her feel strangely powerful to know that she was making him nervous.

She allowed her fingers to glide gently over his skin, soothing him, coaxing him into relaxation. Minutes passed with nothing but the sound of the rain surrounding them. Gaara’s fists eventually unclenched, his face smoothing under her ministrations, his chest rising in a deep sigh as he allowed the tension to leave his body. She could tell that he was still guarded, prepared to unleash the full extent of his power at any moment, but at least this was a start.

“Does it bother you?” she asked quietly. “That I’m afraid of you?”

“No,” he replied, his lips barely moving to prevent water from entering his mouth. “I like seeing your fear.”

“Would it bother you if I wasn’t afraid then?” Temari asked thoughtfully, fingers tracing the blackness of his eyelids idly.

“I don’t know,” he answered after a moment of hesitation. “Everyone has always been afraid of me. I don’t know what it would be like otherwise.”

She gave no answer to that, fingers faltering briefly as they glided over the mark on his forehead. There were no words that would be enough to respond to that statement. Apologizing for the past was pointless, saying that the future would hold something better would be a lie. She knew that Gaara harbored no delusions about his life. He would be lucky to survive past the teenage years, anything else was too much to hope for. The thought made Temari’s heart clench in a mixture of pain and fear – fear for his fate, fear for what would happen to her if he left her.

“I was thinking,” she said, breaking the silence that had enveloped them once again. “If you really want me to… teach you… what it means to love…” She hesitated on the words, still uncertain about being so open with him, unsure what his reaction would be. “You have to be willing to compromise. You can’t always be completely in control.”

He scowled without opening his eyes. Temari felt a wave of vibrating tension pass through his body, almost as if he was fighting not to pull away from her. She knew that giving up control was what he was afraid of above everything else because it gave her the power to hurt him. But she knew also that if he refused to relinquish anything the relationship would never be more than ownership on his part.

“I want to know if you would be willing to do what I ask you,” she pressed.

Gaara clenched his hands into fists for a moment before relaxing his body one muscle at a time, the effort of it leaving him frowning. He reached up one arm back towards her, curving his hand around her waist, fingers toying with the hem of her shirt idly. She wasn’t sure if the gesture was meant to be comforting or if he was poised ready to cause her pain if she said something else he didn’t like.

“Depends what you asked,” he answered finally, his voice empty, showing none of the emotion the request had aroused. “And you would have to make me understand why I should do it.”

“Then can I have the same consideration when you want something from me?” Temari asked softly.

“Why?” he asked impassively. “You can’t say no.”

She sighed quietly. He was making a show of his power over her again, reminding her that no matter what her opinion was he could simply take what he wanted. She supposed that was his instinctive reaction to her request to relinquish control, letting her know that no matter how much he might play her game, in the end he would always be the one pulling the strings.

“It can’t be one sided, Gaara,” she said after a moment. “I have to understand you to be able to make you understand me. I need to know your reasons, your thoughts.”

“I’ll answer if you ask me,” he said, still emotionless. “I won’t promise anything else.”

“Alright,” Temari replied in a neutral voice. It didn’t escape her notice that he didn’t say he would answer truthfully, but for now she decided to let it go.

The corner of Gaara’s mouth curved upwards in a smirk, as if he understood what she was thinking. His fingers slipped under her shirt, grazing along the chilled skin at the small of her back. His touch was surprisingly warm despite the cold rain spraying over his entire body, and Temari released an involuntary sigh at the contact.

Her eyes followed the motion of her fingers gliding along his skin, tracing the features of his face, tangling in his dripping hair. She leaned into his touch, moving her back slightly under his hand. It seemed somehow peaceful to be with him this way, even with the implicit power struggle in their conversation. It didn’t really matter that they didn’t agree, that they still didn’t truly trust each other, because they were together and no obstacle seemed too big to overcome.

“You don’t hate this that much, do you?” Temari asked quietly, brushing more rain drops from his face.

“It’s not so bad with you,” Gaara admitted grudgingly.

The words made Temari’s heart flutter unreasonably, once again making her wonder if he could really be as attached to her as she was to him, if he might already feel the same way that she did.

“I always liked the rain,” she said absent-mindedly. “It’s nice to have something other than sand floating in the air for a change.”

“Why do you hate sand so much?” Gaara asked in a low voice.

“I don’t hate sand,” Temari answered thoughtfully. “I just hate the monotony. Everything here is always the same. It’s all so… dead.” She frowned. “It gets boring, you know?”

“I see,” he said slowly, brow creasing slightly. “I was wondering… if it was because of me.”

Temari sighed softly, her fingers trailing through his hair, the red strands glistening like blood against her skin. Her other hand moved gently down the side of his neck, her light caress earning a shiver from her brother.

“What’s it going to take to get you to believe I don’t hate you?” she asked softly.

He shrugged, giving no answer and allowing the silence to swallow them again. His fingers continued to stroke her back lightly while her hands brushed gently across his face, spreading the raindrops across his skin. Minutes rolled by unnoticed, neither of them showing any indication of wanting to move. When Gaara finally spoke again, his voice was strangely smooth, almost as if he was really content.

“Tell me why you seem different now,” he said quietly. “You’ve never been so… relaxed… around me.”

“I don’t know,” Temari replied uncertainly. “I guess… I don’t have a reason to be guarded anymore. You already know I love you. I have nothing else to hide.”

“You didn’t want me to know?” he questioned, brows knitting together in confusion.

“I wasn’t sure how you would react,” she answered cautiously. “I was afraid you would… leave me… if you knew.”

She winced involuntarily as the words left her lips, as if just voicing this fear caused her a physical pain. A small smirk flitted across Gaara’s lips but was gone before she could be sure that she really saw it.

“You wanted to talk about Baki,” he said suddenly, changing subjects so fast that Temari had to pause to remember what he was referring to. She wasn’t sure what prompted the sudden change and she didn’t want to ask, afraid to provoke an answer she wouldn’t want to hear.

“Yeah,” she said finally. “I think Kankuro has a point. If you kill Baki, whoever we get to replace him would most likely be worse.”

Gaara fell silent, seeming to consider her words. After a brief hesitation he unwound his arm from around her waist and pulled away from her, turning around to kneel in front of her. His head hung low to shield his face from the rain as he opened his eyes, looking at his sister under lowered brows, his expression cold, dangerous.

“I warned him,” he hissed, making Temari shiver involuntarily at his animalistic tone. “I said I would kill him if he interfered.”

“But he never did report us,” she argued, forcing herself not to flinch under his glare. He clearly didn’t like hearing her defend someone else. “I agree, it wasn’t his right to say anything at all, but at least he never went beyond that.”

“You want him alive,” he nearly growled in accusation.

“I think it would be in our interest to keep him alive,” Temari hedged around the question.

“You care about him,” Gaara persisted, undeterred.

“I respect him,” she countered. He scowled, evidently not appreciating that answer. “Look, Gaara, if I care about someone, that doesn’t lessen what I feel for you. It’s different.”

She frowned as he continued to glare at her. This conversation was something she never expected to have with Gaara. It seemed insane for him to feel jealousy. But at the same time it made perfect sense. He was insecure beyond anything she could imagine, and he did not truly understand what it meant to care about someone. He probably could not distinguish the bonds of friendship or family from those of love. She supposed that was why the taboo of incest held no significance for him.

“How is it different?” he asked through clenched teeth, confirming what she was thinking.

“It just is,” she replied with a hint of frustration, taking his hand despite the way he bared his teeth in a scowl. “Yes, I care about Baki, and I care about Kankuro. But it’s nothing like what I feel for you.”

Gaara’s eyes narrowed, his expression skeptical. He seemed unconvinced. Before Temari could say anything more, he suddenly leaned towards her, his lips barely away from hers, his free arm wrapping around her waist and trapping her in place.

“But I only care about you,” he breathed, his gaze locked on hers with an intensity that made her forget to breathe.

The statement took her by surprise. Even though he had admitted it before, he hadn’t said it in so many words, and hearing it made her react with a warm feeling of elation despite the dangerous turn that the conversation was taking. She opened her mouth to say something, but promptly closed it again when she realized she had no response to that.

“If I choose to kill Baki,” Gaara hissed, ignoring her attempt to speak. “What would you do then? Whose side would you take?”

“I would never fight against you, Gaara,” she replied with a frown, hurt by the question. “I’m always on your side. I always have been.”

“And what about Kankuro?” he continued, lips curving into a cold smirk. “What if I killed him?”

Temari froze, a chill running through her body at his words. The way Gaara had been acting in the last couple of days made it easy for her to forget just how cruel he could be. He didn’t care about Kankuro any more than ever before and he would have no problem killing him.

“I still wouldn’t fight you,” she whispered, her eyes filling with sadness. “But you would have to kill me first.”

“You would give your life for him?” Gaara questioned, his voice a mixture of irritation and wonder.

“I’d give my life for either of you,” Temari replied fervently. “You two are the only family I have.”

“Then how is it different?” he intoned, a sharp edge to each word, his arm tightening around her waist to press her against him.

She frowned, wishing that this conversation could just end, wishing that she didn’t have to defend one brother from another. She couldn’t stop the sick feeling in her stomach at the realization that Gaara could carry out his threat simply to see what she would do.

“It’s hard to explain how it’s different,” she said after a brief pause, her free arm carefully dropping around his shoulders. “It’s even harder because… Well, we’re family. But Kankuro will never be anything more than a brother. You… I want you. I need you with me.”

Temari could still read nothing in his expression but before she could say anything else, his mouth suddenly closed over hers, catching her by surprise as she stared at him wide-eyed. He pulled back just as quickly and abruptly untangled his hand from hers before pushing her down onto her back with one easy nudge. She gasped softly as she uncrossed her legs automatically, allowing him to slide between them and hover over her body, shielding her from the rain. Their gazes locked and he smirked, the malice and irritation seeming to have vanished from his eyes. She didn’t know if that meant he accepted her answer but she wasn’t going to push it further.

“I love you, Gaara,” she murmured, one hand reaching up to place her palm lightly against his cheek.

He said nothing in response but the flicker of emotion in his eyes was enough to tell her that the words still surprised him, that they still meant as much as when she said it the first time. He leaned closer, his tongue flicking out to trail along her parted lips before she flung her arms around his neck and pulled him to her, drawing him into a deep kiss. She ignored the stab of pain that shot through her chest as he allowed his weight to descend on her body, pinning her to the ground, his hands roaming over her curves as his tongue entwined with hers. She moaned against his lips, fingers winding their way into his hair, holding him against her as if afraid that he might disappear. He pulled back reluctantly and she gasped to catch her breath as he leveled her with another calculating look.

“You want me to leave Baki alive,” he stated again, making Temari frown at the abrupt return to the original topic. His thoughts were too hectic for her to follow effectively.

“I think that would be best,” she replied cautiously, her hands still toying with his hair absently. “The consequences would not be worth it. Personally, I don’t want to deal with someone new. Although,” she added with a grin, “I wouldn’t be opposed to you scaring Baki enough to make sure he won’t repeat this again.”

“And if I do this for you,” Gaara said thoughtfully, his hand absently tracing along her side, “what will you give me in return?”

Temari quirked an eyebrow at this. She didn’t expect him to respond to her request to compromise so immediately or so easily.

“What do you want?” she asked suspiciously. His lips curved into a smirk, the devious light in his eyes making Temari suddenly nervous.

“I want you to kill the next assassin,” he breathed, a note of lust in his voice now. “I want to watch you.”

She grinned, the nervousness vanishing immediately. Some part of her registered the fact that Gaara’s insanity must be poisoning her for her to be as excited about this idea as he seemed to be. Her eyes sparkled with intensity, reflecting the inhuman glint in his gaze.

“Deal,” she agreed, her voice quavering with anticipation.

His lips met hers eagerly, but before she could respond to the kiss he was already pulling back. Temari groaned in frustration, her hands grasping at the front of his shirt to keep him from standing up. Her eyes squinted as rain fell in her face again. Gaara smirked at her reaction, halting with palms planted on either side of her hips.

“Baki is already at our house,” he said calmly. “If you want to hear what he has to say, we have to go.”

“How can you sense him from here?” Temari asked with a hint of irritation, her hands dropping from Gaara’s shirt and allowing him to pull back into a crouch in front of her.

“Having Shukaku does have some benefits,” he replied with a shrug, his voice giving away nothing.

Temari frowned as she watched Gaara stand while she pulled herself up into a sitting position. Unexpectedly he held out a hand to her. She blinked up at him in surprise before carefully taking his hand and allowing him to pull her to her feet. He released her as soon as she was standing, arms crossed over his chest in the usual show of indifference.

“Want me to kill the guard?” he inquired with slight amusement, nodding his head in the direction where she assumed the shinobi was stationed.

“No,” she answered, scowling at her little brother. “They’re all going to know now anyway. It doesn’t matter.”

He smirked again, then jumped down from the roof without another word, Temari following behind him silently. They began walking down the street towards their house, abandoning Gaara’s preferred method of transportation in the absence of usable sand. The streets were empty due to the rain, but Temari was sure that they were being watched from all the nearby windows. She knew they were too close together for propriety, their shoulders brushing as they walked, and she guessed that this would be enough to confirm all the rumors that no doubt spread after what happened at the hospital.

She still didn’t trust him, not really. She couldn’t say that she believed that he would let Baki live simply because she had asked. But she had to try. If he was willing to compromise, she had to at least pretend that she did not doubt him, even if her insides squirmed at the thought of what might happen if he was lying, or if he simply lost control.

Within minutes, they walked through their front door, dripping water onto the floor. Gaara turned slightly to scowl at Temari as he reached up to brush his soaked hair back from his forehead. She responded with a smile, her eyes carefully neutral, before turning her attention to the two figures in the living room.

Kankuro was sitting on the couch, tension in every line of his body. Baki was leaning against the wall across from him, glaring at the two siblings as he took in their disheveled appearance. Gaara met his gaze with the usual murderous intent flaring in his eyes. He approached Baki with calculated slowness, a predator on the prowl. Temari followed, standing by his side even as he raised his arm towards their sensei, causing sand to rush towards him from an unexplained source and begin spiraling around his legs.

“I warned you,” Gaara hissed without preamble. Temari smirked beside him, showing nothing of her concern. “Don’t interfere.”

Kankuro remained silent behind them but Temari could practically feel his wary, disapproving gaze on her back.

“It was for your own good,” Baki insisted, remaining still as the sand circled him menacingly.

“She is mine,” Gaara said coldly, disregarding his sensei’s words. “There is nothing you can do about it.”

“You know this is wrong,” the older man intoned through his teeth. “How long do you think you can keep doing this?”

Gaara snorted at the familiar argument, his fingers clenching slightly, making the spiraling line of sand constrict and begin brushing against Baki’s clothes. Temari grinned, one hand moving to rest on her hip, knowing already what Gaara’s response would be.

“Right and wrong mean nothing to me,” he answered indifferently. “And I have no intention of letting her go. Ever.”

“Why?” Baki asked with frustration.

“Because I want her,” Gaara replied with a careless shrug, another twitch of his fingers causing the sand to cut jagged lines in Baki’s clothing. “And if you try to interfere again, I will show you exactly how much pain I can inflict before your heart stops from shock.”

Baki’s eyes widened and he gulped audibly. An uncomfortable fidgeting could be heard from Kankuro who remained on the couch. Even Temari could not stop a small shiver from running down her spine, a reaction that evidently did not go unnoticed by Gaara as he cast her a sideways glance and smirked slightly.

“Temari?” Baki asked, averting his gaze from the jinchuuriki who was now glaring at him. He didn’t need to say anything else, she knew what he was asking.

Temari merely smiled, not the bright smile of happiness that she flashed towards her little brother earlier. This was the cold smile of a warrior, a shinobi who lived a life of blood and violence. A smile that let Baki know that he had crossed her and she was not pleased. She inched closer towards Gaara nonchalantly, leaning casually against his side, as if to show how close they really were. They stood together, no matter what the world thought of them.

Baki’s eyes fleeted between the two siblings and it was obvious that he was fighting to keep his face neutral, straining to hold back the fear and disgust at their relationship.

“With Kazekage-sama’s… acceptance,” he said stiffly, distaste in the last word, “there’s nothing I can do. If you choose to continue this, it is out of my hands.”

Temari sneered. He hadn’t apologized, hadn’t shown any remorse for the pain he had caused. He was washing his hands of the whole situation, telling them that any trouble that was caused by this would be theirs to deal with. She hadn’t expected anything else. Incest was a sin and a crime, and Temari had no illusions that her relationship with her little brother would ever be deemed acceptable.

Neither of them responded to the statement. Gaara’s hand was still extended towards Baki, fingers moving in the air, as if he was deciding whether or not to allow the sand to tear the man apart. Baki remained still, waiting, years of training keeping his body from trembling, from showing the strain of muscles kept in check to stop the instinctive urge to attack in self-defense. The silence stretched, tension almost palpable in the air. Kankuro shifted again but said nothing. If Gaara had made the decision to kill, there was nothing any of them could do.

Minutes passed before Gaara finally lowered his arm and allowed the sand to drop to the floor. He smirked briefly as he turned towards the couch, Temari following him. Kankuro moved over, making room for his siblings beside him silently, his expression reserved, revealing nothing of his opinion of what had just occurred. They sat down, disregarding the wetness of their garments that now soaked into the cushions, their shoulders brushing against each other.

“What did you want to tell us?” Gaara inquired, his voice devoid of any emotion as he looked up at their sensei.

“We need to talk about your training,” Baki began, his tone immediately taking on an official edge, no trace of fear in his voice. “You will have a mission to carry out during the chuunin exams. I am not yet at liberty to discuss the details, but the mission hinges on all three of you making it to the last round of the exams. So you need to be prepared.”

He paused, surveying their faces, seeing no trace of fear or apprehension in any of their expressions. They were used to this, covert missions that put their lives in danger, missions that would be swept under the rug if anything went wrong. He knew they understood what he wasn’t saying. If they failed, they would be on their own.

“With your injury, Temari,” he continued, “you will have to take a break from training for the next week. I would like you to still be there to observe. After you have recovered, you will spend another week sparring with each other. The last two weeks, the three of you will practice against another team. Kazekage-sama will be assigning a squad of ANBU for this purpose.”

“Do we know anything about the exams?” Gaara asked impassively, showing no indication of surprise that their genin team was being matched against the high-ranking shinobi of the ANBU.

“Nothing specific,” Baki replied with a frown. “Our spies were intercepted before we could obtain any detailed information.”

“Anything else?” Gaara asked calmly.

“No,” Baki responded shortly. “I expect you at the training grounds at the usual time tomorrow.”

The three siblings nodded in assent as Baki pushed away from the wall and walked out of the house without another word, leaving them to contemplate the mission that they were being assigned.

Beyond Blood - Chapter 1

2008-07-07T16:40:43Z

Chapter 1 – Healing

Temari sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed, her face directed forward even as she watched Gaara out of the corner of her eye. He stood at the window, the blinds open just enough to allow him to look down onto the street in front of their house. He had brought her to his room after spending two days at the hospital never leaving her side. With constant interruptions by the medics and Kankuro this was their first chance to be alone for any length of time since she woke up on the afternoon after the attack.

Gaara was glowering at the rain drops that beat against the glass of the window and turned the sandy ground to mud. Rain in Suna was rare, coming only once or twice a year. But when it came, it was heavy and lasted all day, sometimes even two or three days without break. The moisture would be completely gone the day after the rain ended, leaving the village dry and lifeless as always.

“What’s wrong, Gaara?” Temari asked, breaking the silence.

He froze, seeming surprised by the question, as if he had forgotten her presence. The frown on his face deepened and he hesitated in his answer. She turned to face him, waiting.

“I don’t like water,” he said finally.

His voice was characteristically indifferent, but somehow conveyed the feeling that this was not something he would normally admit. It was an admission of weakness, exposing his vulnerability, however small. She supposed that meant he trusted her enough to believe that she wouldn’t hurt him with this knowledge. Not that his aversion to water was something unpredictable.

“I guess that makes sense,” Temari said with a small smile.

Gaara nodded, snapping the blinds shut abruptly and turning to his sister. He was silent for a moment, as if deliberating something. When he spoke, the look in his eyes gave her the distinct impression that he was still undecided.

“I’m surprised he hasn’t tried that yet,” he said quietly, veiled irritation in his voice belying his calmness. “I doubt it would be hard to find a shinobi with water element attacks.”

It took Temari a moment to realize he was referring to the Kazekage and his numerous assassination attempts. She instantly frowned, realizing that Gaara’s uncertainty about telling her this was due to the fact that he didn’t know if she would relay this information. Something else worried her more though.

“Would it work?” she asked, hoping that he would not misread the edge of worry in her voice.

Gaara seemed to ignore the question as he approached the bed and sat down on the edge beside her. She shifted around to face him fully. His eyes drifted down to where he knew the bandages were hidden under Temari’s shirt. He was still frowning. She was about to clarify her concern when he suddenly smirked and looked up at her.

“No,” he said coldly. “Not if I let Shukaku out.”

Temari couldn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes, her expression smug despite her efforts to keep impassive.

“You should know better than to think I would tell anyone,” she said sharply, unable to keep a note of amusement from her voice. “I think I already proved that I would never want you to be hurt.”

“Why not?” Gaara asked immediately, reaching out and placing two fingers lightly over her wounded chest. “I hurt you.”

She rolled her eyes again. His straight-forward logic really was annoying sometimes. But she supposed it was a valid question, at least for him. He would retaliate against anyone who had hurt him, no matter the relationship or the circumstances. She was sure that he wouldn’t understand the concept of forgiveness. Besides, that wasn’t precisely why his actions didn’t bother her.

“It’s not the same,” she muttered, her brows furrowing as she tried to find a way to explain it. “Your reasons are different.”

“I can kill you,” he pointed out calmly.

“I know,” Temari answered, shrugging with feigned indifference. “You didn’t though.”

Gaara paused, contemplating her determined expression in silence. After a moment, he edged closer and moved his hands to the hem of her shirt. She lifted her arms obediently as he pulled the garment up and over her head, wincing at the pain in her chest that did not quite seem to lessen. With the shirt discarded, Gaara placed one hand at her waist, with the other tracing the bandaging across her chest, his movements slow and cautious, as if he was unsure how to do this without inflicting pain.

“I still want to,” he said, eyes downcast to avoid meeting her gaze. He paused, then finally looked up at her, his hand lingering between her bandaged breasts. “You are beautiful, Temari. Your death would be more beautiful than anything else I can take from this world.”

His words left her breathless, the elegance of his speech surprising her just as much as his earlier descriptions of death. But now it was directed at her, her beauty reflecting in his eyes, and it made her respond with an irrational flutter of butterflies in her stomach and a blush rising in her cheeks despite the death threat twined into his admission.

“I want to be the one to do it,” he breathed, unconsciously leaning towards her. “To be able to take everything from you, to control every aspect of your existence… To know that the last thing you see would be me. If I kill you, you would be mine forever.”

“I’m already yours, Gaara,” she replied in a whisper, mimicking his gesture and leaning forward. “I will always be yours.”

Temari edged closer, her lips pressing against his, drawing him into a soft kiss. It didn’t matter that he was threatening her life, because he wanted her, forever, and that was worth all the threats and all the pain he could inflict.

When she pulled back, his eyes fell down to the bandaging again, fingertips grazing the fabric, a hint of frustration in his expression.

“Does it still hurt?” he asked quietly, gaze meeting hers once more.

“Yeah,” she muttered in response.

He paused, a slight frown creasing his face, the familiar scrutinizing expression appearing in his eyes.

“More than what I did?” Gaara inquired with apparent disinterest.

The question caught Temari off guard. Her eyebrows quirked upwards and after a moment she allowed a smirk to spread across her lips.

“No,” she answered, unhesitant under his intense gaze. “You always hurt me more. Why? Are you jealous?”

“Yes,” he stated, unabashed, taking her by surprise again. “I told you before, I want to be the one to hurt you.”

“That might be a problem when we have a mission,” Temari said sarcastically.

Gaara snorted. “You let yourself get hurt.”

She scowled, but this had no effect on him whatsoever. He continued to observe her with an unwavering gaze, his thumb brushing lightly back and forth over the skin at her waist. She sighed, taking his hand away from her chest and intertwining her fingers with his, letting their joined hands rest in her lap.

“This is weird, you know,” she said quietly. “Being honest about all this.”

“You don’t want to talk to me,” Gaara accused with a frown.

“No, it’s not that,” she replied softly. “It’s not about you actually. It’s just that I’m so used to hiding everything, acting as if nothing matters… It’s hard for me to actually talk about something truthfully.”

“There’s no point in lying to me,” he answered evenly. “I know when you lie.”

“I wonder how,” Temari said thoughtfully. “You seem to be the only one who can see through me so easily.”

“Because I know what it’s like,” he replied, glancing away from her for a moment before looking back into her eyes determinedly.

Temari smiled sadly. That was true, he wore a mask just like her, every day of his life. But it wasn’t because he was afraid of failure, like her. It was because he knew he had failed in everyone’s eyes, and being a monster was still better than simply being nothing.

“Gaara… I love you.”

The words fell off her lips automatically and Gaara froze immediately, unprepared still, unused to the possibility that somebody could actually love him, the monster, the failure, the demon who lived only to kill. He stared at her, as if afraid she was an illusion, tormenting him with the dream that he was sure was still unattainable.

He couldn’t return the words. That emotion was still beyond his understanding. He didn’t know if it would explain what he felt, didn’t even know what it was that he was feeling, unable to separate these sensations that were new and inexplicable from the familiar feelings of bloodlust, anger and pain. They were some long lost semblance of humanity that was a blatant contradiction to everything he believed himself to be. He knew only that it was different and that he didn’t mind it, even with all the irritating confusion and uncertainty, as long as it brought her to him like this, unafraid, willing, accepting.

Gaara’s fingers tightened around her hand instinctively, arm wrapped securely around her, bringing her closer. Temari leaned in, resting her cheek against his shoulder, her fingers idly tracing along his leg. Silence stretched between them, not uncomfortable this time, just quiet, content. His hand moved casually up and down over her back, eliciting a strange sense of comfort in her, a feeling of security that was utterly unnatural in his presence.

“Gaara,” she murmured softly, her eyes focused on their joined hands. “Tell me you won’t leave me.”

He paused, fingertips idly gliding along her spine, the tremor that passed through her body reflecting agitation at the hesitation in his response rather than a reaction to his touch. He sighed quietly, head tilting away from her, staring at the closed door as if finding himself suddenly inside an inescapable trap. His voice carried an uncharacteristic resignation when he finally spoke, even tinged as it was with unjustified accusation and resentment.

“I can’t leave you, Temari.”

She remained silent, letting this information sink in. She didn’t know when this happened or how it could be possible, but she allowed herself to contemplate the notion that Gaara may be as bound to her as she was to him. The thought made her lips spread in a smile of reckless abandon. It was completely irresponsible, disregarding all the rules, not caring that the entire village would soon know that she loved – was in love with – her little brother, not even bothering to consider her own safety in allowing this relationship to progress to such a dangerous level.

But these small confessions of… not love, but something – something beyond the inhuman desire to kill, beyond the claim of ownership over her, beyond even the sadistic bonds of pain, violence and fear that held them together… that made everything else irrelevant.

Even if she could never teach him what it meant to love, even if he could never completely return her feelings, she would still be happy just to have him with her, knowing that he no longer had to remain eternally alone and that she was the one who was able to relieve his suffering, if only a little.

“I know I told you already,” Gaara said suddenly, breaking her out of her reverie and making her straighten to look at him in response to his grave tone. “But I will kill you if you leave. I don’t care about the circumstances. I don’t care if things change… between us. I will never let you go. I thought it would be… fair… for you to know.”

Temari knew she should be worried, not only by the death threat but by the unnatural intensity of his attachment to her. The maturity in these words was startling, mixed impossibly with the completely childish and selfish demand to own her regardless of any other considerations. He was warning her, although it wasn’t much of a warning given that it was too late to change anything. Strangely, Temari found herself completely unafraid, perhaps because she did not see this scenario as a possibility. She grinned, her perfect white teeth sparkling in the sparse light coming from the window.

“So if I stay,” she said slowly, unable to keep her tone quite as serious as his, “you won’t kill me?”

As the words left her lips, she realized this may be pushing her luck. The frown on Gaara’s face confirmed her suspicion.

“Temari,” he said quietly, looking away from her. “You know I can never guarantee that.”

“Oh well,” she replied, entirely too cheerful for responding to such a statement, making Gaara look back at her in surprise. “I guess it would be weird if it was any other way.”

“You really are strange,” he muttered, seemingly to himself.

“You’re not exactly the authority on normal,” Temari responded smugly, finally feeling brave enough to comment on this ridiculous statement.

Gaara merely smirked. His hand drifted upwards over her back to brush across the hair hanging loosely down her neck. His eyes showed no remorse, no concern for the fact that simply remaining in his presence could cost his sister her life. Years of solitude left him unable to act selfless, to feel guilt for decisions that may hurt others. He wanted her with him, and it didn’t matter what price she had to pay.

Temari leaned forward to brush her lips against his, eyes sliding shut instinctively, hand grasping at the front of his shirt to bring him closer. His fingers found their way into her hair as he held her against him, his touch unusually soft, almost gentle. The tenderness of the kiss was broken when his teeth scraped across her bottom lip, not quite enough to puncture the skin but enough to remind her that he was still the same despite whatever may have changed between them. A soft moan resounded in the back of her throat as he coaxed her lips open and allowed the tip of his tongue to glide over hers.

A distant sound somewhere in the house made Gaara break off from her sharply, averting his gaze from her flushed face as she opened hazy eyes to look at him questioningly. He scowled even before the knock on the door broke the silence of the room. Gaara’s arm dropped from around his sister, their hands remaining joined as she twisted slightly in the direction of the sound. He seemed to deliberate for a moment before answering.

“Come in,” he said quietly.

There was a brief moment of hesitation before the door opened, admitting Kankuro into the room. Temari turned to glare at the redhead beside her.

“You could’ve at least let me get dressed,” she said reproachfully, indicating her lack of shirt with a wave of her hand. The bandages still covered her chest, but she was otherwise topless.

“Why?” Gaara asked indifferently, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. “I would just take it off again.”

“I didn’t need to know that,” Kankuro muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes.

Temari’s musical laughter echoed in the room, drawing Gaara’s attention just as it had in the hospital. She smiled at him briefly before turning her attention to the puppeteer who remained standing by the door.

“What did you want, Kankuro?” Temari questioned.

Kankuro didn’t move, seeming uncertain about stepping any further into the room. He had never been in Gaara’s room before and the cold stare his younger brother was directing at him now suggested that he was not particularly welcome. Kankuro briefly entertained the notion that Gaara was allowing his presence for Temari’s benefit, but quickly shook the thought of as something entirely too uncharacteristic for Gaara. He finally settled for leaning casually against the wall, feigning a relaxed atmosphere as he gazed at his two siblings sitting on the bed in a position too compromising to ever be seen.

“I’m relaying a message,” he said nonchalantly, one eye closing in his typical calculating gesture as he deliberated how much to say. After a moment, he added, “From the hospital and from Baki.”

“This should be good,” Temari muttered darkly. “What did they say?”

“Well, the medics are pretty pissed,” Kankuro replied with a smirk. “Apparently they didn’t appreciate being ordered around in their own hospital.” Gaara scowled but Kankuro quickly proceeded, giving him no chance to speak. “That’s not the message though. Sayuri said to tell you to come back in a week for a check-up…”

“She already told me that,” Temari interjected.

“… and also to remind you,” the puppeteer continued as if there had been no interruption, “that you’re not supposed to do anything physically demanding.”

Kankuro grinned at the sneer that appeared on his sister’s face. The corner of Gaara’s mouth quirked upwards in a subtle smirk.

“So she did mean what I thought,” the older brother mused, his voice wavering between amusement and awkwardness. “Well, the second part is even better.”

“Wait,” Temari interrupted him angrily. “Why did she tell you all this?”

“My guess is she just wants to embarrass you,” he answered with a cocky grin. “Like I said, they were all pretty pissed.”

“Fine,” she sighed with resignation. “What else did she say?”

“Well,” Kankuro replied, dragging out the word, obviously enjoying the torture he was putting his sister through. “She said if you want to know about birth control methods, you should come talk to her.”

For a moment Temari looked livid and Kankuro flinched away instinctively, afraid that she would unleash her fury on him. But she quickly composed her face into the usual mask of smug confidence.

“You can tell her I’ve got it covered,” she said coolly.

“Tell her yourself,” Kankuro replied, his voice shaking with a stifled laugh. “I’m not going back there.”

Gaara turned his head slowly to look at his sister, one invisible eyebrow arched in question. Temari glanced over at him, snorting at his confused expression.

“What, you didn’t think I wouldn’t have considered that?” she questioned derisively.

“It didn’t occur to me,” he replied calmly, shrugging with indifference.

She rolled her eyes. “I assumed it wouldn’t.”

“OK, OK,” Kankuro broke in, hands held up in a gesture of surrender, his voice making it clear that he reached his limit with this conversation. “I don’t need to know about your sex life.”

Temari laughed again. Gaara glanced between his siblings, a frown appearing on his face before he pulled his hand sharply out of Temari’s grasp. She rolled her eyes again, refusing to react to this and remaining composed even as he stood up from the bed and moved to stand at the window once again.

“So what did Baki say?” Temari inquired, ignoring Kankuro’s obvious discomfort at Gaara’s abrupt mood shift.

“He just said he’s going to come by later,” Kankuro answered hesitantly. “To discuss the rest of our training and plans for the chuunin exams.”

“When?” Gaara asked from the window without bothering to turn around to face either of his siblings.

“Tonight, I guess,” the puppeteer replied with a shrug.

“Do I have to be there?” Gaara inquired, a slight tremble in his otherwise indifferent voice revealing some underlying emotion.

“You’re still mad at him, aren’t you?” Kankuro guessed.

“Mad?” the jinchuuriki echoed slowly, and from her position on the bed Temari could see his lips curve into the familiar inhuman grin. “No. I simply want to kill him.”

“What did he do?” she questioned, trying to keep her voice calm.

“I warned him to stay out of the way,” the youngest sibling replied, turning to his sister, glaring, as if the anger was directed at her.

“When did you do that?” Temari asked uncertainly, brows knitting together in confusion.

Gaara scowled and turned away, lithe fingers reaching out to part the blinds and stare out into the rain, as if dismissing the other two present in the room. Temari and Kankuro exchanged a silent glance.

“Gaara?” Kankuro prodded, getting no reaction from the younger brother. “You said at the hospital Baki didn’t tell her everything…”

“Shut up,” the jinchuuriki hissed in warning, eyes narrowing into slits even as he avoided looking at his siblings.

“What didn’t he say, Gaara?” Temari questioned with a frown.

His gaze shot to her with renewed fury behind his cold eyes, the loud snap of the blinds as his fingers withdrew making her jump involuntarily. She realized abruptly that the anger really was directed at her and she struggled to figure out what had upset him this time. With Kankuro in the room, she knew that she would have to calm Gaara down quickly, giving the confrontation no chance to escalate.

“It doesn’t matter what he didn’t say,” he shot back before she could speak. “You believed him.”

“He only repeated what you had already told me, Gaara,” she answered reasonably.

This seemed to derail Gaara’s train of thought. He paused, glaring down at her, clearly at a loss for words. For once, his linear logic worked against him. He would have to either admit that he lied or concede that it was only natural for her to believe Baki.

“Tell me what he didn’t say,” Temari said firmly, taking advantage of his momentary uncertainty.

Gaara scowled. His eyes flitted to Kankuro, who remained pressed against the wall as if waiting for inevitable death, then back to Temari, seeming to deliberate whether or not to reveal this information.

“Same thing I told you,” he answered finally, his cold voice making her shudder involuntarily. “I won’t let you go. I told him I would kill anyone who got in the way.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Temari could see Kankuro’s eyes go wide. He stayed frozen, seeming afraid to move for fear of drawing attention to himself.

“I can see why he wouldn’t tell me that,” Temari said slowly, fighting to keep her voice steady and indifferent.

“Yeah,” Gaara replied, lips curving into a sly smirk as he took a step forward. “He said I should leave you… that I’m only hurting you if I stay.”

“Did he?” she said thoughtfully, eyes narrowing, anger flaring in her voice. “He has a lot of opinions for something that doesn’t concern him.”

Gaara moved towards her, the glint in his eyes suggesting that he knew exactly how he would like to fix this problem. Temari locked gazes with him, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth as she contemplated this course of action. Whether it was her annoyance with their sensei or the fact that she had spent so much time with Gaara that she began to see things through his eyes, it was enough to make her consider this option. Kankuro seemed to realize what was going on behind their silent exchange and a sharp intake of breath from him drew their attention back to him.

“I really don’t think killing Baki is a good idea,” Kankuro stated as calmly as possible.

“Your opinion is irrelevant,” Gaara hissed, his lips curving into a snarl.

“Look, just think about it,” the puppeteer responded, holding up his hands again to forestall the death threat that was clearly about to follow. “He is at least remotely on our side. That’s more than anyone else in the village. What he did was stupid, I agree. But you gotta admit, it’s a fucked up situation to deal with. He probably thought he was doing what’s best.”

“He has no right to assume it’s any of his business,” Temari retorted angrily before Gaara had a chance to say anything.

“Temari,” Kankuro said quietly. “He is the closest thing we ever had to a parent.”

She was on her feet before either of her brothers could react, hand reaching for a kunai that wasn’t there. She let out a frustrated growl that could almost rival Gaara’s, sending a chill down Kankuro’s spine.

“Fuck you,” she spat, glaring at her brother. “I’m the closest thing either of you ever had to a parent. He’s not the one who kept this family together through all the bullshit. He did nothing more than what he was forced to. He never wanted this job.” She broke off, taking a step forward, pain leaking through her words as she added, “But if you care about him so much, no one is keeping you here.”

“Temari…” Kankuro breathed, shocked and horrified at her words.

Gaara observed this exchange, curiosity creeping into his expression, seeming uncaring about his sister’s distress. It was what she had always feared – failing her family, being considered insignificant, being cast aside. He wondered if it would break whatever shattered remains of her sanity he left behind.

Disregarding Gaara’s presence completely, Kankuro swiftly closed the distance between himself and Temari and before she could protest enfolded her in his embrace. She pushed against his chest, but his arms only tightened around her, giving her no chance to escape unless she was willing to actually hurt him.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured softly. “I didn’t mean it like that. You know I’d never leave either of you.” He pulled back to look at her, a crooked grin appearing on his face. “No matter how crazy you both are.”

Temari smacked his shoulder half-heartedly, a weak smile pulling at her lips. Kankuro released her carefully, seeming assured that she was stable now, and stepped back to his previous position, his eyes darting to their younger brother to assess his mood. He was scowling but did not seem to be ready to kill anyone, and Kankuro took that as a reluctant acceptance. Temari turned to Gaara as well, meeting his gaze uncertainly.

“Does my opinion count?” she questioned quietly.

The frown on Gaara’s face deepened, his brows knitting together in a mixture of anger and frustration.

“Should it?” he hissed. “I told you, I don’t know…”

He trailed off, and she realized that he was referring to his earlier request to teach him about love. This caught her off guard. She didn’t think that he would actually be willing to change his actions according to what she said. It seemed wrong to dictate him, to take advantage of his trust.

“I would consider your opinion,” Temari said quietly, circumventing a direct answer.

“You would be the first,” he said so low that she barely heard him.

Temari frowned. It was too easy to upset him, too easy to remind him of his inhumanity, his alienation from the rest of the world. But at least now she seemed to be able to alleviate that pain. She stepped towards the bed, grabbed the shirt left there and pulled it on, ignoring the stab of pain that shot through her chest. She walked around to the other side of the bed where Gaara was still standing, unhesitant as she slipped her arms around his waist, pressing herself against him.

“Let’s get out of here,” she whispered in his ear.

“It’s raining,” he pointed out with a frown.

“Nothing will happen,” she breathed, lips brushing against his skin.

Gaara seemed to deliberate this, his arms wrapping around her tentatively, bringing her closer. After a moment of silence, he allowed the sand to encase them both, carrying them from the room and leaving Kankuro behind.

Pain Binds Us - Chapter 26

2008-06-30T00:12:06Z

Title: Pain Binds Us
Fandom: Naruto
Rating: M - Sandcest
Pairing: Gaara / Temari
Summary: He would break her a little more each day. Each night something of who she was would be erased. She wondered if eventually there would be nothing left except what he wanted her to be.
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.
Fanfiction.net link: Pain Binds Us
Note: thanks to Lotos-Eater for beta'ing.

Chapter 26 - Perspective

It was past noon by the time the effects of the drugs finally wore off and Temari woke up. Consciousness came back to her gradually as she slowly became aware of her surroundings and recalled the events of the previous night until her eyes eventually settled on Gaara. He was next to her still, arm draped over her waist, observing her silently. Temari lifted an eyebrow slightly, wondering at his sudden change in demeanor. After years of terror, it was hard to accept that now it could really be something else. Love. He had actually said the word. One emotion that she thought he would never be capable of.

She wasn’t sure what to say to him now. It was easy to say that she would show him what love meant, but when it came down to it she had no idea how to actually do that. Gaara remained unmoving, seeming to wait for her to speak. Temari did the only thing she could think of and leaned forward to press her lips against his. His arm tightened around her slightly, bringing her just a little bit closer.

“Morning,” she murmured against his lips, before pulling back again.

His eyes drifted over to the clock that indicated it was nearly one in the afternoon, and Temari gasped softly as she followed his gaze.

“What the hell did they give me?” she muttered to herself before turning to Gaara with a slight frown. “Wait, why didn’t the medics wake me?”

“I told them to go away,” he answered calmly. “Kankuro was here too. He said to tell you he’ll come back later.”

“You told the medics to go away?” she echoed in disbelief, ignoring his comment about Kankuro. “So they know you were here all night?”

Gaara nodded briefly, his expression revealing nothing of what had happened while she was asleep.

“OK,” Temari said slowly. “Why don’t you tell me what I missed?”

“Nothing important,” he replied dismissively. “Tell me why you said what you did to Baki.”

She paused, sighing deeply as she contemplated how to explain this to him. It was just like him to go straight to the point, not even giving her time to wake up and get her bearings. Her hand instinctively traced up along his arm, fingers gliding over the exposed skin of his forearm before tangling absently in the mesh over his bicep.

“Before I tell you,” she answered slowly, “I want to know that you meant what you said. I want to know that you really want this and you’re not just playing with me.”

Gaara pulled his arm back, Temari’s fingers untangling from his garment before he caught her hand in his. He brought it up, laying her palm flat over his chest, the soft thud of his heart increasing slightly as her eyes widened in response to the gesture.

“I don’t understand, Temari,” he said quietly. “I don’t know what any of this means. But I don’t want to let you go. I…” he paused, his hand grasping at hers almost painfully at the memory of old fears. “I don’t want to be alone.”

She supposed that was as close to an answer as she was going to get. It was strange to see him so lost, confused, unable to articulate his desires.

“I didn’t mean it like it sounded,” Temari said after a moment. “It’s not that I want you to let me go. It’s more that… I can’t leave, even if I wanted to.”

“Naze?” he questioned uncertainly.

“I suppose for the same reason you don’t want to let me go,” she answered with a small shrug. “I can’t really imagine being without you. I don’t think… I could live any other way. The reason I said what I did was because it frustrates me to have so little control.”

“Then do you hate me?” Gaara asked again.

“No,” she replied with a sigh. “I already told you, I love you, no matter what.”

Temari paused, her fingers grasping at the fabric of his shirt over his chest, brows knitting together in a sort of agitation. After another moment, she carefully untangled her hand from his and brought it up to brush the hair back from his forehead. Gaara observed her silently, flinching as if on cue as soon as her fingertips slid over the scar. She ignored his discomfort, tracing the contours of the kanji with two fingers.

“Love… is not always light and happy,” she murmured. “It’s not like in fairytales. It can hurt, it can scar, it can leave you wounded forever. Love can make you strong or it can make you weak. And if you let it, it can destroy you completely.”

“Then why… do people want it?” he asked quietly.

“Because it’s better than being alone,” she whispered in response, leaning forward and brushing her lips over the scarred skin.

His arm wound around her waist once more, bringing her closer, ignoring the way she winced as she twisted onto her side to press her forehead against his.

“Does it hurt you… Temari?” he breathed, his eyes gleaming in the semi-darkness of the room as they locked on hers.

“Hai,” she answered breathlessly. “But… it’s not always just pain. And I wouldn’t want to change it. I don’t want to lose you, whatever it may cost.”

There was a brief moment of silence in which he seemed to contemplate her words. When he spoke again, his voice was thoughtful, a strange note of uncertainty in his words, as if he wasn’t sure how to express himself.

“What you said… hurt,” Gaara said slowly. “I don’t know why. I don’t know how you made me feel… anything. No one, not since…” he paused, hesitation in the next word as if just speaking it could conjure old spirits of suppressed pain, “Yashamaru… has been able to hurt me like that. How… how did you do that?”

Temari shook her head slightly, a vague smile touching her lips. She had no answer to that and chose to remain silent, her arm wrapping around his shoulders and tracing idly along the free straps of the gourds that were still wrapped around his torso.

“He told me once,” Gaara continued after a pause, “that love heals all wounds. How can it heal when it hurts?”

“I’ll show you,” she breathed, leaning into him.

Her lips met his, a brief moment of hesitation before she allowed them to interlock, mouths opened slightly and breath mingling between them. His tongue brushed lightly against hers, eliciting a quiet moan from Temari, his palm flat against the small of her back to press her against him.

“It doesn’t hurt now,” she murmured against his lips.

“If you leave…”

“I won’t,” she interrupted him, knowing already what the rest of the sentence would be.

Temari pulled back, a brief content sigh escaping her lips, her eyes trailing over her little brother’s features, as if attempting to memorize his face.

“Gaara,” she said softly. “What are we going to do? If the Kazekage finds out…”

“He already knows,” he said, cutting across her.

“Nani?” she gasped in surprise.

“He was here last night,” Gaara answered matter-of-factly. “I told him.”

“What, why?” she exclaimed in agitation.

“He asked,” he replied with a careless shrug.

“You shouldn’t have done that, Gaara,” Temari said quietly, trying to keep her voice from sounding panicky. “What’s he going to do now?”

“He said he doesn’t care,” he answered, frowning slightly. “Why don’t you want me to tell anyone?”

She paused, processing this information. Their father didn’t care. It didn’t matter to him that his children were in an incestuous relationship with each other. Of course it wouldn’t. He hadn’t cared about them their entire life. She wanted to ask more, find out exactly what he had said, but Gaara’s question commanded her attention.

“I already told you,” she said with a sigh. “There are laws against this. But… if he doesn’t care… I suppose it doesn’t matter.”

“Are you ashamed to admit it?” Gaara pressed.

“No, Gaara,” Temari answered gently. “I just don’t think we should necessarily advertise it. Even if he won’t use the law against us, people still won’t like it.”

“Temari, I don’t care what they think,” he said with sudden fervor behind his words. “I don’t care about the laws. I don’t care if I have to kill everyone in the village to have you. You’re mine. I won’t let you go.”

She smiled despite the recklessness of his words. He wanted her, wanted her enough to throw away everything else for her. This change from his usual cold denial was enough to make her stomach erupt in butterflies. Still, she could immediately foresee a problem with this.

“Fine,” she said with resignation. “But you know if people find out that you actually… care about me, they’ll try to use me against you.”

“Then I’ll kill them,” he replied dismissively.

Temari laughed softly. Gaara’s eyes traveled to her lips, as if analyzing the sound. He quirked a nonexistent eyebrow. She hadn’t laughed like that before, not in his presence. He had only heard her derisive laughter in battle, never a sound that seemed to speak of something carefree, something that he could only assume reflected true happiness.

“That’s your answer to everything, isn’t it?” she said after a few moments.

“It’s effective,” he replied with a slight smirk.

She was about to say something else when a sharp knock at the door interrupted them. Gaara turned and scowled in the direction of the sound.

“Let them come in this time,” Temari said quickly. “They probably have to check me.”

“Hn,” he muttered as he stood up from the bed abruptly and moved to the door.

She rolled back over onto her back, stifling a quiet yelp at the pain that shot through her chest. Gaara opened the door with clear irritation and glared at the medic nin standing on the other side.

“Gomen, Gaara-sama,” the young woman stammered, her fear evident in her voice. “I have to examine Temari-san.”

Gaara stepped aside without a word, admitting the medic into the room before shutting the door behind her sharply. She trembled as she approached Temari, a fake smile plastered on her lips, Gaara’s gaze lingering on her back.

“Temari-san, my name is Sayuri,” the medic said politely. “I’ll be taking care of you today. How are you?”

“You tell me,” she replied with a shrug, sitting up against the pillows with an obvious effort.

“Well, I have to take a look,” Sayuri said. “We’ll need to change your bandages as well.”

Temari nodded, but the medic didn’t move. Sayuri chanced a glance at Gaara who had moved to lean against the wall across the room from Temari’s bed. Temari smirked, understanding what Sayuri was thinking.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, directing the medic’s attention back to her. “He’s my brother, he’s seen me naked.”

Sayuri’s eyes widened in response to that statement, but she said nothing, maintaining her professional demeanor. Temari exchanged a silent glance with Gaara and he had the distinct impression that she said this on purpose to see the medic’s reaction. He continued to watch as Sayuri pulled the covers down to Temari’s waist and proceeded to remove her gown. The bandages covered Temari’s breasts in much the same way as the usual bindings that she wore around her chest. Gaara felt a pang of jealousy as the medic began unwrapping the strips of fabric and he had to restrain himself from pushing Sayuri away.

In moments the blood-stained bandages were discarded in the nearby trash can, revealing a cut on the side of Temari’s left breast. Sayuri placed her hand over the wound, sending a probing stream of chakra into her body.

“You’re lucky, Temari-san,” she said warmly. “An inch over and it would’ve hit your heart.”

Temari noticed the way Gaara’s hands clenched over his crossed arms, a scowl appearing on his face. She frowned slightly, but remained silent, not wishing to say anything in front of the medic. After another moment, Sayuri pulled back her hand and smiled at Temari.

“Everything seems fine,” she informed her before briefly summarizing what the previous night’s medic had explained.

Temari nodded again as Sayuri began to wrap a new set of bandages around her chest. Gaara took a step forward suddenly, making the medic start in surprise.

“I can do that,” he said with the usual expressionless tone.

Sayuri paused with the bandages held in the air, looking at Gaara with a mixture of fear and confusion.

“It’s fine,” Temari cut in. “He can finish it.”

Gaara ignored the medic’s discomfort as he stepped up to the bed and reached out to take hold of the bandages still in her grasp. Sayuri dropped the roll into Gaara’s hand, as if afraid to be touched by him, and his eyes narrowed at the obvious show of fear. She didn’t step away, however, turning her gaze back to Temari.

“I also need to give you pain medication before I go,” she said with a slight tremble.

“I don’t need any more medication,” Temari replied with a scowl.

“It will be a painful healing process,” Sayuri insisted, concern surfacing on her features.

“I can handle pain,” Temari answered coldly, her eyes falling on her little brother.

Gaara’s lips curved into the familiar smirk as he met her gaze, his fingers flexing over the roll of bandages. Disregarding the medic nin still standing next to him, he slipped down onto the edge of Temari’s bed, his free hand reaching across her body to plant his palm on the mattress next to her hip.

“Can you?” he breathed.

Temari’s eyebrows lifted fractionally at the suggestion in his words and despite the medic’s presence, she felt the familiar aching sensation in the pit of her stomach, a sort of desperate longing. She forced herself to tear her gaze away from him and face Sayuri, who appeared to be struggling to keep the shock from showing on her face with little success.

“Just go,” Temari sighed, addressing the medic.

“As you wish, Temari-san,” Sayuri replied, taking a step back. “If you change your mind, send for me. And I’ll be back to check on you later.”

As Sayuri walked towards the door, Temari’s gaze returned to her brother, whose arm now rested across her waist with no more pretense about the nature of their relationship. With just two layers of bandaging applied to the lower part of her chest, her breasts were exposed and only a few inches separated her skin from Gaara’s body. She heard the door being opened and just as she was about to lean towards him, Sayuri’s voice cut through her thoughts.

“Temari-san, please refrain from any strenuous activity.”

Temari didn’t know whether to be outraged or amused by the medic’s boldness. She settled for displaying a half-grin as her eyes shot back to Sayuri. An idea occurred to her suddenly.

“Can I ask you a question, Sayuri-san?” she called to the retreating medic, putting emphasis on the suffix.

“Of course,” she replied, somewhat stiffly, as she turned back to the two figures on the bed.

“Why is it,” Temari questioned with a honeyed voice, “that you… and everyone else in this village… refer to me with ‘san’, but with my brother, it’s always ‘Gaara-sama’?”

Sayuri visibly blanched, her eyes darting around the room as if hoping to find something to save her engraved on the walls. Gaara’s gaze drifted over to her lazily, seemingly waiting for an answer as well. Moments passed in silence until Sayuri finally faced Temari again, her words so soft that the siblings could barely hear her.

“Because when he was born, we were told that he would be the one to save our village.”

“And what are you told now?” Gaara asked, his voice equally quiet.

Sayuri averted her gaze to the floor, her silence answering more clearly than anything she could’ve said. Gaara turned away and without another word the medic retreated, shutting the door behind her soundlessly. Gaara’s eyes locked on Temari once again, slowly inching closer until he was nearly touching her. A momentary glimmer in his eyes reflected something of his emotion, but it was gone just as soon as it appeared.

“You’re afraid that you’ll fail,” he said quietly, his hand gliding over Temari’s waist and down her hip, pulling away the blanket and the gown still resting across her lap and revealing the lack of underwear underneath. “I know I failed. I’m a failed experiment.”

“We are all failures in his eyes,” she replied, a small shiver passing through her body as her skin was exposed to the cool air of the room. “And I’m glad. He would’ve made you into a machine, responding only to his command. I’m glad he failed. I’m glad you are what you are.”

Gaara’s expression was inscrutable, giving away nothing of his reaction. He moved fully onto the bed, the motion seeming to be almost instinctive, and kneeled between Temari’s legs as she parted them after a slight nudge of his hand on her thigh. The roll of bandages was still held in his grasp and he reached towards her, tracing the fabric wrapped around her with one finger.

“You’re glad I’m a monster?” he asked thoughtfully.

“Gaara…”

A sharp hiss from his parted lips cut off her protest. His hand left her thigh and slipped behind her back, pulling her towards him. Instead of winding the bandages around her torso, he began to the remove the two layers that already covered her.

“I think you’re supposed to put them on, not take them off,” Temari commented with a slight smirk, making no move to stop him.

“Maybe later,” he muttered distractedly.

It took moments to remove the binding and set the fabric aside on the nightstand. Gaara allowed her to rest against the pillows again, hands planted on either side of her, eyes searching hers for an answer to some unspoken question.

“Temari, I’m not human,” he said in a tone devoid of emotion. “I never have been. I was born a monster. You know that.”

There was a hidden meaning behind his words. He wanted something. Her brows furrowed slightly, trying to read his blank expression. What was it? Perhaps the same thing he had wanted his entire life. Understanding, acceptance, love. Was it simply that he wanted to know that she could give him all this without denying his true nature?

“Yeah,” she answered finally. “And I love you.”

The way his expression immediately changed and he made no move to conceal his reaction told her that she had gotten it right. Temari decided that he really was easy to deal with once you figured out just how insecure he actually was underneath the cold mask. It took so little to give him his dream.

“I was there when you were born, Gaara,” she continued, his head cocking to the side, listening intently to every word. “I saw what happened.”

She attempted to bring her arms up to wrap around him, but stopped with a sharp intake of breath as pain shot through her chest. She ignored the subtle smirk on Gaara’s face and settled for leaving her left arm at her side while she encircled his waist with her right. He moved one hand to trace his fingertips lightly down the side of her face, under her chin, until his fingers rested around her neck.

“Do you remember the first time I killed?” he murmured, an ominous note of affection in his voice, fingertips stroking her neck slowly. “When I was five?”

“Yeah,” she said softly. “They made us look at the corpse to show us what you can do.”

“What would you say,” Gaara asked quietly, his breath whispering across her skin as he leaned closer, his free hand suddenly tracing down her side, “if I told you I enjoyed it? I liked it. That last desperate breath, the last frantic beat of the heart before it stops completely, the way the lips form a silent plea as life escapes them, the look of terror frozen forever in the eyes…”

The words had a poetic quality that only Gaara could weave together into images of death, and Temari could almost see it through his eyes, could almost imagine the way he must feel when he kills. Described like this, there really was something undeniably beautiful about it. She allowed her hand to slip under Gaara’s shirt, fingers brushing the warm skin gently, his own hand resting over her hip and stroking her lightly.

“I think I understand,” she replied after a brief pause. “The power of it… to be able to do that to somebody.”

Gaara nodded slowly. His hand slid around her hip and without warning moved between her legs, making Temari let out a small yelp of surprise as his fingers traced her growing wetness. His thumb moved to her clit, familiarity in every touch as he circled it expertly, making her bite her lip to stifle a moan. His fingers pressed against her entrance and she arched towards him, instantly regretting it as another surge of pain shot through her body. Gaara seemed to notice this and a small smirk appeared on his face as he leaned in to run his tongue over her parted lips.

“When I kill now, I think about you,” he hissed.

Her response was drowned in a gasp as his fingers pushed inside her, the motion careful enough not to hurt but deep enough to make a groan resound in the back of her throat. He paused briefly before beginning to move his fingers slowly in sync with his thumb, forcing Temari to sink her teeth deeper into her lip to stop a string of moans from echoing in the room.

“When I see the blood that flows from their wounds, I remember the taste of yours,” he continued, head tilted slightly, lips against hers as if in a kiss. “When I hear their screams, I imagine the sound of your moans. When I feel their bodies crushed under the sand, I can almost…” his fingers twisted inside her at the next words as if for emphasis, mouth curving into a sly smirk, “Feel… you… like this.”

As Gaara’s fingers found a spot inside her that made her arch despite the pain, Temari could no longer contain the moans falling from her lips. He covered her mouth with his, swallowing the sounds made in pleasure and pain, fingers gliding against her slick heat that reminded him so much of blood. His other hand left her neck, gliding down her chest and brushing against the wound. Temari let out a stifled cry, pulling back from the kiss and looking down at the fingertips now tracing the jagged cut.

“Does it hurt?” he inquired with a sadistic undertone that told her he wasn’t asking out of concern.

“Yeah,” she muttered, flinching slightly but making no move to pull away.

His hand suddenly withdrew from between her legs, earning a groan of frustration from Temari as he slipped it instead behind her back and pulled her down from her semi-reclining position to lie on her back. Fingers continued to stroke her wound, the other hand moving to explore the scars scattered across her body.

“Show me,” he breathed, eyes boring into hers with unconcealed need. “I want to know what pain feels like.”

Temari was vaguely aware of the sand that drifted across the floor to lock the door as Gaara’s lips descended on the wound. She allowed her eyes to close, a soft sigh falling off her lips as her little brother’s tongue trailed along the cut on her breast. She attempted to pull up his shirt, succeeding only in tugging it up at an angle without the use of her left arm. She made an irritated noise, lifting her arm again before it was stilled with Gaara’s hand on her wrist.

“Take it off,” she muttered without opening her eyes.

Gaara paused, pulling back from her slightly, brow arched in surprise. He had never heard anyone demand something from him like this, with no visible indication of fear. It was odd, although he had to admit that such a request from her did not particularly bother him. He released Temari’s wrist and in one careless movement pulled off his shirt and the underlying fishnet, casting them aside on the floor. Her hand roamed over his exposed back, tracing the muscles under the perfect skin, exploring his slim body.

He lowered himself to her again, hands resting on her waist as his lips pressed over the old scars scattered across her chest – fading marks of her nights with him. Her skin would never be flawless like his, but he liked the imperfections, the knowledge that he had done this to her and she could never escape it no matter how far she ran. She was his, undeniably, irreversibly, forever.

His lips continued to trail over the scars, brushing each one with careful tenderness, as if trying to draw out the pain of each wound, Temari’s hand winding in his hair as he ventured lower. Gaara’s fingers dug into her hips as his kisses moved down her stomach, finally coming to the faint line of hair and pausing, glancing up at his sister, whose eyes were still closed, lips parted in a silent sigh. He found himself contemplating the notion of love and pain, entwined together, as him and her, as he slid lower, tongue flicking out and gliding along the cleft between her legs, lapping up the moisture collected there.

Temari allowed herself one long moan before forcing the sound to subdue to small whimpers of gratification as his tongue continued to move smoothly, careful caresses teasing her folds until his lips enclosed the sensitive tip. No teeth this time, no torture, no derisive imitation of laughter at her desperate screams. Some part of her registered that doing this with her little brother on a hospital bed in a building full of people was horribly wrong, but the underlying affection behind his gestures was enough to make her forget her concern.

Her fingers unconsciously pulled at Gaara’s hair, making tendrils of sand that appeared out of nowhere crawl up her legs threateningly. Temari ignored this, arching into him with a hiss of pain and pleasure as the roughness of his tongue continued to scrape at the spot that made her melt and wish that he would never stop. She was vaguely aware of his hands leaving her hips to remove his pants and the undergarment beneath, letting them slide down his legs and join the rest of the clothes on the floor.

When his lips left, Temari made a soft disappointed sound, her eyes opening to see Gaara smirk slightly as he crawled up along her body, skin brushing against skin as he hovered above her. She felt his erection brush against her thigh, the look in his eyes predatory, arousal overtaking the uncertainty and agitation of minutes earlier. There were no questions this time before he entered her, frictionless with her slickness, her mouth forming a silent ‘O’ as her arm fell around his shoulders, fingers grasping for support. His hands were planted on either side of her to keep his weight off her injured body, each motion calculated as he began to move in slow deep strokes.

Temari ignored the flashes of pain erupting in her chest with each thrust, concentrating instead on the feeling of him, on his eyes searching her face, cataloguing every emotion that reflected there. Her quiet moans resonated in Gaara’s ears, the soft murmurs of his name seeming like caresses that have been denied to him all his life – until she showed him the acceptance that he thought would be forever out of his reach.

It was slow and sedated this time, the passion no less intense for its quiet rhythm, and for the first time Temari could truly call it making love. There was still pain laced behind it all and the void in Gaara’s eyes was still howling with rage that promised to be unleashed in a sea of death. But the veil of incomprehension between them had been lifted, if only just a little. Perhaps she would never truly be able to understand the thoughts of the jinchuuriki, the woven web of broken dreams and fragile coherence that lay beyond human eyes, and he could never really belong, never really be able to grasp her frayed hopes of love untainted by blood and suffering. But they were trying. And that was all that mattered.

Tainted Dreams - Chapter 5

2008-06-26T04:44:09Z

Title: Tainted Dreams
Fandom: Naruto
Rating: M
Pairing: Gaara / Sakura
Summary: Some dreams are never meant to come true. Some things are better left to the imagination. When they act on something that should’ve never been possible, the scars will never heal. Sequel to Putting Holes in Happiness.
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.
Fanfiction.net link: Tainted Dreams
Note: thanks to MaeveSolis for beta'ing.

Diplomacy

Gaara sat in the office that had once been his father’s, ignoring the pile of papers in front of him. It was a year since his father’s death, and the council had yet to appoint the new Kazekage. It was not really a hard choice – the title was hereditary, which limited it to only three candidates. But the council refused to make the decision that everyone knew they were going to make until they were sure it would not cause an uprising in the village. Gaara, meanwhile, in his newfound quest to prove the usefulness of his existence beyond that of a weapon of war, took on the more mandate duties of a Kazekage when he was not assigned other missions. The council allowed him to do as he wished, glad to get the paperwork off their hands whenever they could.

The papers, however, were the last thing on his mind at the moment. He was plagued by the constant memory, replaying in his mind still as vivid as if it were yesterday despite the half a year that had passed. Words that he never thought anyone would say to him, words that he did not want to hear from her, that she in the end did not have the courage to say to his face. He hated her for it. Hated how he could not stop thinking about it. Hated how he wanted to go back just to hear her say it. Hated that he wanted nothing more than to kill her just for thinking those words, for being so far away that he could do nothing about it.

Every day Gaara found himself regretting that he had let her walk away, that he let her live after what she did. If she loved him, she would’ve stayed, he thought with the selfishness of a spoilt child. She left. And that meant she lied. He wanted to punish her for it. He wanted to tear her apart as he had promised to do so many times, let her blood coat his hands and wash away these sickening feelings of something that he did not even begin to comprehend.

He had changed since his fight with Naruto, he had acquired a new appreciation for the lives of those around him. He even began to develop bonds – friendship, family, team. But emotions were still beyond his reach. He simply didn’t understand the need for them. And the fact that, despite his resolve to remain as cold and ruthless as ever, she was constantly in his thoughts infuriated him.

He would not allow himself to care, because she left, she ran from him, she left him alone just as everybody else had done throughout his entire life. She was no different than all those children that fled from him in terror when all he wanted was a friend. He had wanted her, he would have kept her with him forever, and she escaped. And he couldn’t forgive that, he couldn’t let her hurt him – even if what he was feeling now was undeniably pain, he still would not admit that she affected him this way. He had to forget her; he would forget her, if he could only stop thinking about her for just one minute.

As the thoughts circled in his mind for the millionth time, the dull ache in his head grew stronger. Gaara scanned over another paper in an attempt to distract himself, signing it with only a vague awareness of what it was about and setting it aside. He wished that somebody would interrupt him. Nobody would. Nobody dared.

His siblings were the only ones that would sometimes come to see him without bringing another pile of paperwork. But even they stayed only if he demanded it. And even they could never take his mind off her. They never once mentioned her, but something in their gazes made him think that they were thinking about her too, wondering why she had affected him so much, wondering if he was imagining her when he was with them.

He never said a word to them about anything that happened, and they didn’t dare ask. He was grateful for their silence as much as he hated it. He knew they were thinking it and he wished they would just say it, even if he didn’t want to hear it, even if he would kill them just for speaking her name.

At least they never repeated the reckless words she had scribbled on the note that he wished he could forget. At least they didn’t lie, like her.

He wondered occasionally what Temari and Kankuro thought about all this, if they resented her for interfering, if they wished she would disappear from his life and leave him to them, or if they secretly hoped that she would set them free. But it didn’t really matter, because she was gone, and what he was left with was only a poor imitation of something that had never been a family, two broken shells forced by a lifetime of guilt to stand by his side no matter how many times he walked away from them.

He didn’t care if Temari cried, he didn’t care that Kankuro tried to stop him every time he told them that he wasn’t coming back. He never belonged with them anyway.

Just like he didn’t belong with her.

Just like he didn’t belong anywhere in this world, no matter how much he tried to be accepted. Everyone still ran from him, everyone still whispered behind their hands. He could still see the look of fear in his siblings’ eyes when he appeared without warning or moved too abruptly. It reminded him of her, the way she forced herself to remain beside him despite the terror that he could practically smell surging through her every fiber. And that made him hate her even more, the way she had tainted everything in his life, despite his promise that she would change nothing.

…And I’m still alone.

But no matter how much he wished he could just escape it all, he always came back. To the world that hated him, to the village that wished to forget his existence, to the siblings that would never be family.

Gaara sighed and pulled up another paper. This one peaked his attention, something about the alliance with Konoha. It brought his thoughts back to her – as if they ever went anywhere else. Unbidden her face swam to the forefront of his memories; her pink hair blowing gently in the breeze, her emerald eyes piercing as they sparkled with tears despite the small smile playing on her lips.

He swore quietly under his breath, scowling at the memory as if she could somehow sense his anger. She deserved to die, she should die, if only to take away the pathetic glint of hope that he could not quite get rid of. What if, what if…

********************

Time went by slowly for Sakura, days blending into weeks, weeks into months, stretching into the inescapable dread of monotony. Training took up virtually every waking hour for her, leaving little time for anything else. She preferred it that way, giving her no chance to be left alone with her thoughts except at night. Thoughts that always returned to him, no matter how hard she tried to think of something else.

The same memory replayed in her head like a record stuck on a single loop. The sight of his cold, hate-filled eyes as he destroyed the note she had given him, as he let her walk out of his life without a word. She wanted to hate him for it, but all she could feel was anguish. He rejected her, he didn’t even acknowledge that she confessed her feelings for him. He acted as if they were nothing but strangers, as if she was completely meaningless. She could only assume that that was how he truly felt. Perhaps all those nights with her were nothing but a distraction, a temporary amusement as he himself had said.

And yet, she still wanted to see him again. If only to hear him admit that he didn’t want her. If only to know that all her dreams were really a delusion. Because the vague possibility that maybe, just maybe if they met again… It was unbearable. Hoping was even worse when she was sure it was in vain.

********************

When Sakura’s training was interrupted by a mission that would send her to Kirigakure as a diplomatic envoy, she welcomed the change. She hoped that this would break the cycle of despair of the past six months, maybe even allow her to think of something, anything but him.

The mission was simple. She would be accompanied by two genin as a safety precaution. She would sit in on the meeting of the Mizukage and the envoys from the other hidden villages, ensuring that Konoha’s stance of peace was understood and accepted and that no treaties were being violated. If conflict arose, she was to defer any further questions to be resolved by Tsunade. Having helped her sensei with many official matters, Sakura was confident that the mission would present no problems.

In retrospect, she should’ve expected that she might encounter him there. But the thought did not occur to her, perhaps because she was trying so hard not to think of him at all. So when she walked into the meeting room, flanked by her two genin companions, and was met with his defiantly indifferent gaze, her heart nearly stopped in her chest.

She froze only for a moment, composing herself almost immediately into an appropriately professional demeanor as she took her place at the round table. The meeting seemed to stretch on for hours, and it didn’t help matters that she was the only female there and all the men seemed much more interested in watching her move rather than listening to her talk. She gave up eventually, settling for simply listening and ensuring that none of the matters they were discussing were a threat to Konoha or its diplomatic relations.

Sakura couldn’t help noticing that Gaara’s eyes drifted to her more than strictly necessary. When he spoke, the sound of his voice was like opening a floodgate of memories, forcing her to bite down on her lip to keep herself composed. He never addressed her directly, almost as if he wanted to pretend that she wasn’t really there, even as he kept staring so openly that she wondered why nobody had asked him to pay more attention.

She breathed a sigh of relief when it was finally over and prepared to flee the room, afraid of the confrontation she had been dreaming of for months. But to her horror they were all invited – or more appropriately, forced – to partake of the local entertainment.

Their large group was led to another spacious room which for some reason made her think of Jiraya. There were lavish and brilliantly colored draperies hung around the walls and large satin pillows scattered around the floor in front of low tables already containing an assortment of drinks. The room radiated an atmosphere of relaxation and promiscuity.

She soon understood that the entertainment consisted mainly of watching scantily dressed women dancing in the middle of the room and she felt even more out of place, unable to express her disgust at the whole scene, unable even to leave without upsetting the other diplomats. She sat stiffly on one of the pillows, refusing to drink even though her age was disregarded for this occasion, and talking to her two companions from Konoha in hushed tones as they discussed mundane matters that could not be less important to her at the moment.

She couldn’t stop herself from watching Gaara across the room as his eyes followed the dancers with apparent disinterest. She was glad at least to be seated so far away from him, knowing how awkward it would be to have to attempt to talk to him if they sat near each other. For his part, he seemed not to take any particular note of her presence there, in stark contrast with his behavior during the meeting. Sakura didn’t understand his mood, but she wouldn’t let herself wonder about it, because thinking about that meant thinking about the inevitable end that was sure to come now that they had an opportunity to talk.

As the night progressed, she found the men around her getting progressively drunker, their comments towards her growing increasingly more forward. Her irritation peaked to outrage when the diplomat sitting next to her – an unpleasant looking man old enough to be her father – boldly put his hand on her knee. She pushed his hand away roughly, using all her willpower to stop herself from putting him through a wall as she stood up abruptly.

“What’s the matter? Leaving so soon?” the man slurred, looking up at her with an ugly grin.

“Sorry, I’m taken,” she answered sharply before turning and walking out of the hall without even bothering to say anything to the genin for whom she was supposed to be responsible.

Still shaking with anger, she found her way to the room she was given for the night, walking in and slamming the door behind her so hard that the wood creaked in protest. She paced the floor back and forth, her hands curled into fists, wanting nothing more than to punch something. She didn’t get a chance to carry out her plans of destruction, however, when with a sudden rustle of sand the object of her dreams of the past half a year appeared in her room. She froze in her tracks, looking at him with a mixture of fear and longing.

They stood in silence for several long moments, waiting for the other to speak. She couldn’t think of anything to say and she couldn’t imagine what thoughts were running through his head, or what had brought him to her at all. His expression was unreadable and she was afraid to ask, afraid to hear a confirmation of her fears.

“Why did you say that?” Gaara asked finally, his voice flat and emotionless.

“You know why,” she answered softly.

“Tell me,” he demanded, a hint of anger in his voice now.

“Because I’m yours,” she replied quietly.

The corners of his mouth pulled downward into a frown and he cocked his head to the side slightly, looking at her with a calculating expression that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand. Sakura bit down on her lip, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt in agitation. He would deny it now. That had to be why he came, to set it straight that he no longer wanted anything to do with her.

“You left,” he hissed.

She knew he wasn’t referring to the party and she waited for him to add that now it was over between them. He would blame it on her, make it seem as if it was her own fault that she lost him. Drive the knife in deeper.

“I had to leave,” she answered when he didn’t say anything else. “I can’t abandon Konoha.”

“But you can abandon me,” he said coldly.

Her eyes grew wide at his words, a ripple of fear running down her spine at the unmistakably threatening note in his voice. He wasn’t making this easy. He would hurt her even more than she thought possible. Twist the knife in the wound until the hole was too big to ever heal. As if she could ever recover from what he had done to her already.

“I didn’t have a choice, Gaara!” she exclaimed in sudden frustration. “Do you think they would’ve let me stay? Do you think I would’ve ever left your side if I had a choice? You said yourself it wasn’t possible.”

“You lied,” he nearly growled, disregarding her words. “You said you wouldn’t run.”

“I didn’t run,” Sakura retorted angrily, her hands clenching into fists. “And what about you? You didn’t even say anything when I left. You didn’t even acknowledge what I told you…”

She broke off on a sob, biting down on her lip furiously, refusing to let herself cry in front of him. If he was going to torture her like this, she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. If he didn’t care about her, she would pretend that it didn’t matter to her either.

“Because it was a lie,” Gaara spit back, his lips curving into a snarl.

“No, it wasn’t,” she said, her voice shaking with anger. “I love you, Gaara. I’ve loved you since the first day I saw you. I love you even now when you don’t want me.”

The sound that issued from his lips was almost a howl, utterly inhuman, making Sakura cringe in involuntary fear. His eyes looked more like the demon inside him that she had ever seen them before and for a moment she thought that she really should run from him. But instead, she took a step closer. He would catch her anyway. If he meant to kill her, there was nothing she could do.

“I wanted you to stay,” he hissed, taking a step back from her.

He was shaking now, and she knew that he was fighting to keep control. She realized that she had probably never come closer to death than she was now, even after all the nights she spent in his arms. Somewhere in the back of her mind the thought registered that the conversation was going in a direction that was far from what she was expecting. But she couldn’t think about that, she could only concentrate on him and the words that stung like salt on an open wound.

”How?” she asked desperately. “I would stay with you forever if there was a way.”

Gaara remained silent and she moved forward again. He scowled at her, knowing that another step would bring his back to the wall. The warning glare he shot her was clearly intended to keep her away.

“I don’t expect anything from you,” Sakura said, lowering her voice to a softer tone. “It doesn’t matter if you can’t love me, if you can’t care about me. But you said that you would let me love you. Was that a lie?”

“I don’t believe you,” he stated angrily.

“Then how can I prove it to you?” she asked, taking another step. She was now only two steps away from him.

“Stay,” he responded, his voice still filled with hateful anger.

Sakura let out a frustrated groan and turned away from him, walking to the bed in the center of the room and sitting down on the edge so she was facing him again. Gaara hadn’t moved, his posture tense, every muscle seeming to be strained in his slender body. He was like a predator waiting to pounce and it made her shudder instinctively.

“I can’t,” she said, sounding defeated. “You never left your village, even after everything they did to you. How can I leave mine? They need me!”

He glared at her, teeth bared in a vicious scowl, his very being radiating violence.

And what if I need you…

“You’re mine,” he breathed. “If you won’t come with me, I’ll kill you.”

“Would you really want me to come because of a threat?” Sakura asked softly. “I won’t be a traitor. Not like…”

She drifted off, afraid to say his name in front of Gaara, afraid of the memories it might bring back. She was startled when he suddenly moved, walking towards her with a feline grace until he stood directly in front of her. His eyes were still cold and hard, but he reached out to her slowly and traced his fingertips lightly down her cheek. She shivered involuntarily, her lips parting in a soft sigh as she leaned into his touch instinctively.

The memories did not do it justice. The warmth, the touch, the scent of his body mingled with the ever-present blood-soaked sand… It was almost enough to make her forget everything else in the world, almost enough to give in to his argument and just leave everything behind to follow him.

“I wanted to kill you,” he murmured. “For the last six months, I was sure that if I saw you again, you would be dead before you had a chance to speak.”

He seemed somehow frustrated. His hand lingered at the edge of her jaw before slipping down to curl lightly around her neck. Sakura hesitated for a moment before allowing her arms to wrap around his waist carefully. He didn’t push her away and she pressed herself closer, her hold on him tightening desperately, afraid that he would somehow disappear from her grasp.

“What would you have me do?” he asked quietly, almost as if speaking to himself. “Let you go? Let you leave me, like everybody else?”

“I will never leave you, Gaara,” she breathed in response. “I’m with you no matter how far away I am. I spend every minute of every day thinking about you. If there was any other way…” She broke off as the anger rose in his eyes again. “I can get missions to Suna. Maybe you can come to Konoha sometimes. We can see each other.”

“I don’t want you to leave,” he repeated stubbornly.

“I’m here now,” she said gently.

There was a strange sense of defeat in his eyes, as if he didn’t have the will to fight anymore. He pushed her back onto the bed, reluctant, his touches hesitant as his hands drifted slowly over her body. They said nothing else as he allowed her to undress him, as she watched him retrace all her old scars with a kunai he pulled from her own holster, opening all the old wounds as if they had never stopped bleeding.

She knew she would continue to bleed tomorrow and her body would ache on the long journey back home, but it didn’t matter because she fell asleep wrapped securely in his arms, as if the last six month never happened, as if they had never been apart, as if they would never have to be separated again.

As if they really weren’t alone.

Pain Binds Us - Chapter 25

2008-06-23T07:08:12Z

Chapter 25 – Lethargic

Gaara sat on the floor, back leaning against the wall, arms wrapped tightly around his legs. His eyes stared sightlessly at the door ahead of him as he fought for once to listen to the voice inside his head rather than the voices in the room. He didn’t want to know. For just a few more minutes he didn’t have to find out. He allowed the bijuu to distract him with images of blood and destruction, flinching only when it was the memory of her blood that rose in his mind. Picking up on his container’s discomfort, Shukaku proceeded to barrage him with a myriad of depictions of Temari’s death, trying to convince Gaara that he had really wanted it.

“Maybe I did,” Gaara muttered, not caring that he might be overheard.

He had imagined her death countless times, had fantasized about what she might look like, feel like when she was dying. Death was beautiful to him. And so was Temari. He wanted to see her die, he couldn’t deny that. But whether or not he actually wanted her dead was a different question and he had no answer to it. Regardless, he hadn’t killed her, and he couldn’t help a twinge of jealousy at the thought that somebody else may have.

She shouldn’t have followed him. She shouldn’t have gotten in the way. It was her fault. He had wanted her gone, away from him, out of his life forever. She hurt him, just like he knew she would. She deserved this. He hadn’t even realized that he had begun to care about her, hadn’t even really understood what that meant. But evidently this was the case because when he heard that she wanted him to let her go, when he saw the way she cried because of what he had done to her, when he realized that she must hate him the same as everybody else… it hurt. Gaara didn’t know what to make of this, except that now it probably didn’t matter, and it was her fault.

Strangely, he found himself unable to get angry, perhaps for the first time in his life. He had been angry when she came to his room the previous night, her frantic confession of feelings he still couldn’t understand serving only to remind him that she stayed with him out of fear. He was angry when he had gone to talk to Baki – angry that he was trying to interfere, angry that she believed him, that even she could only see Gaara as a predator preying on her pain. He was angry when she sought him out on that rooftop after he told her to go away, angry that she defied him so blatantly. More than anything, he was infuriated at the earnest way she looked at him, as if she really felt something, as if she could ever truly accept him… as if they really were together.

But she had protected him, had risked her life for him when everybody else sought only to destroy him. And it didn’t matter that it was completely unnecessary, didn’t matter that he would’ve never been harmed even if she wasn’t there. Because when her blood spilled over his fingers while she whispered her admission of love, for some incomprehensible reason he believed her. And now, inexplicably, anger was no longer on his mind, replaced by emotions that he could not even begin to understand.

Gaara found his thoughts strangely dazed, even without Shukaku’s added taunts and promises that more deaths would solve his problems. Out of sheer confusion, he entertained the notion of destroying the village as the Ichibi suggested. Perhaps it really would help…

He was interrupted by the echoing sound of approaching footsteps. Gaara recognized the chakra signature as that of his older brother before he even came into view. He was running, but halted as soon as he rounded the corner and saw his little brother crouched on the floor.

Gaara’s gourd was nowhere to be seen, but the sight of the jinchuuriki still made Kankuro pause before he finally willed himself to approach, uncertainty in every motion. He stopped a step away from Gaara, seeming unsure of what to say or do. Several moments passed in uncomfortable silence, with Gaara refusing to look up and acknowledge the puppeteer’s presence.

“What… happened?” Kankuro asked finally.

At that Gaara looked up at him, tilting his head just enough to see his brother out of the corner of his eye. He was wearing simple black pants and shirt instead of his usual kabuki outfit and the paint was missing from his face. He must’ve been just informed of their sister’s injury. Evidently the hospital staff hadn’t told him the details. Gaara immediately understood Kankuro’s assumption.

“It wasn’t me,” he said quietly.

“Oh,” the puppeteer answered stupidly before quickly recovering and pasting a nervous smile on his face. “I mean, I knew that. But what happened?”

Gaara looked away from him again, resuming his glaring at the door and refusing to answer. Kankuro’s eyebrows quirked upwards in wonder, not sure what to make of Gaara’s mood. He seemed upset – but not in the insane, homicidal way that Kankuro was used to. Slowly the puppeteer took the remaining step towards his little brother and after another moment of contemplation forced himself to slide down to the floor beside him. Gaara stiffened, clearly not used to such proximity from anyone other than Temari.

“You brought her here?” Kankuro questioned cautiously.

Gaara nodded once, remaining otherwise still.

“How long have you been waiting?” Kankuro asked.

“One hour, twelve minutes,” Gaara stated after casting a sideways glance at the clock at the other end of the hallway.

“And they haven’t said anything yet?”

Gaara shook his head, falling silent once more. Kankuro sighed, turning his gaze to the door and mimicking Gaara’s position. He wasn’t sure how to get Gaara to speak. His strange withdrawn state confused him and he was afraid that more questions would provoke him into lashing out. Minutes stretched in silence, with the only sounds being the muffled voices and shuffles behind the door and the ticking of the distant clock.

“It was my fault,” Gaara said suddenly, his tone falling flat yet carrying an odd note of desperation.

“Wha…?” Kankuro stuttered, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

“She got in the way,” Gaara muttered, almost as if speaking to himself. “I couldn’t stop it.”

Kankuro blinked, trying to discern the meaning behind Gaara’s words. He knew his siblings had to have been inside the village, and that there had been no attack. Gaara said he wasn’t the one that wounded her. But if he thought it was his fault because she got in the way… Kankuro slowly processed this information, his eyes widening when he finally came to the logical conclusion.

“Assassin?” he questioned to confirm his suspicion.

Gaara nodded, still refusing to look at the puppeteer.

“Then it wasn’t your fault… ototou,” Kankuro said, using every ounce of courage he possessed to make himself sound reassuring and not scared.

Gaara moved his shoulders slightly in a small gesture of discomfort at the sound of the familial term. The word brought unbidden memories of Temari. He avoided answering for as long as he could, concentrating yet again on Shukaku’s suggestions for ending this conversation instead of the awareness of his brother’s concerned presence beside him.

“I should’ve stopped it,” he finally said with all the stubbornness of a child.

This time it was Kankuro’s turn to pause. He suddenly understood why Gaara was upset, but this left him only more confused. Gaara obviously felt regret, even guilt about what happened. He felt bad because he had allowed Temari to be injured. This was something completely unexpected from Gaara, who in the past did not even bother to acknowledge his siblings during battles much less do anything to protect them.

“You… care about her, don’t you?” Kankuro asked after a moment.

Gaara jerked around to face his brother, some of the usual hateful callousness returning to his eyes. Kankuro inwardly kicked himself for saying what he did, but managed to outwardly maintain his composed demeanor.

“I don’t know how to care,” Gaara answered with a slight hiss, refusing to admit what he himself had already deducted.

“Well, I just wanted to tell you…” Kankuro said, refusing to show fear under Gaara’s glare. “I don’t know what you thought about what you saw earlier, but we were talking about you. She was… upset because she thought you didn’t care.”

“I know, I heard you,” Gaara stated coldly, pausing for a moment before adding, “I heard what she said to Baki too.”

“She didn’t mean that,” Kankuro answered immediately, instantly catching on to what Gaara was referring to. “She’s just frustrated about everything. You’re not the only one who has a hard life, you know?”

Gaara scowled and Kankuro thought that he must be out of his mind to be having this conversation. It was obviously too late to back down, however, and the only option was to continue and hope that Gaara would understand.

“Look, she told me that she thought you didn’t trust her,” he went on. “She was probably upset because she couldn’t get you to believe her. If you think she stays with you because she’s afraid, you’re wrong. She loves you.”

Gaara’s eyes widened at those words, seeming to have been unprepared for this despite having just heard it from Temari.

“She hates me,” he said quietly.

“No,” Kankuro replied firmly. “Neither of us do.”

Gaara cocked his head to the side in contemplation. After another moment he turned back towards the door, lips forming into a tight-lined frown.

“Doesn’t really matter now,” he muttered.

Kankuro followed his gaze, once more becoming aware of the sounds coming from behind the door. He still didn’t know his sister’s condition or how badly she had been injured in the first place. It was obvious, however, that Gaara would not say anything further about it. Kankuro looked back at his little brother uncertainly, trying to think of something to say to make him feel better.

“She’ll be fine,” he said reassuringly. “You know Temari, she’s too bitchy to die.”

Despite his unease, the corner of Gaara’s mouth quirked upwards slightly. He made no response though and continued to stare ahead of him. Kankuro paused for a moment, weighing his options, before cautiously reaching out and with an uncertain, tentative movement placing his hand on Gaara’s shoulder. The jinchuuriki shrunk back from the touch as if it scolded him, shooting a warning glance at his older brother. Kankuro persisted, refusing to move his hand.

“It will be fine,” he repeated, sounding more convinced of himself this time.

Gaara continued to glare but Kankuro didn’t move, the suppressed compassion and love of twelve years fighting back against fears that would never truly fade. The youngest sibling turned away, finally, grudgingly bearing the contact that was as alien to him as he was to the world. They waited in silence, fragments of a broken family, as the minutes ticked by with painful slowness.

The sound of footsteps jolted them both out of their contemplation and Gaara immediately rose to his feet, followed by his brother. The jinchuuriki leaned back against the wall, arms folded across his chest, the perfect picture of frosty indifference, while Kankuro looked down the hallway towards the approaching person. Within moments, Baki came into view, a look of mingled rage and worry on his face. He came towards the siblings without faltering, his glare directed at Gaara. Kankuro stood in his way, making Baki halt in front of him.

“It wasn’t him,” he stated before Baki could say something that they would all regret.

“Then how did this happen?” Baki questioned tersely.

“It was an assassin,” Kankuro explained shortly. “Temari tried to interfere.”

Gaara continued to look away as if this conversation did not concern him. Baki’s gaze drifted over to him, the scowl on his face deepening. He had been informed that it was Gaara that brought Temari here, but he didn’t expect to find him waiting outside her room. He couldn’t help thinking that perhaps he had underestimated how much Gaara really did care for his sister. He opened his mouth to say something, but Kankuro promptly interrupted him.

“Just leave it,” he said sharply. “We can all talk later.”

Baki considered the puppeteer for a moment before nodding in agreement. They both leaned against the wall beside Gaara, falling into the habitual silence and waiting. It was only a few minutes before the sound of more footsteps announced the arrival of two more visitors. This time it was the Kazekage, followed by another shinobi who was clearly meant to be his guard, but had promptly failed in his duty as he froze in his tracks, his eyes trained cagily on Gaara. The Kazekage disregarded this and approached his two children and their sensei with a sneer on his face.

“So, did you finally decide to kill her?” the Kazekage asked mockingly, looking over at his youngest child.

“If I did, she would be dead,” Gaara stated coldly, his gaze remaining on the door in front of him.

“It was one of your assassins,” Kankuro snapped at his father.

“Why would they attack her?” the Kazekage inquired, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

The puppeteer scowled and pushed away from the wall, taking a menacing step towards his father, his arm drawn back tensely. His glare seemed to have no effect on the Kazekage and he was stopped by Baki’s outstretched arm before he could step further and carry through the punch he was obviously intending.

“You don’t even care, do you?” Kankuro said, using all his self-restraint to stop himself from screaming. “We could all die and it wouldn’t matter to you.”

“That is rather beside the point,” his father replied in a bored tone.

“She wasn’t attacked,” Baki said with forced calmness, deciding to step in before the argument escalated any further. “She tried to interfere.”

“Why would she do that?” he questioned with a sneer.

“Because he’s our little brother!” Kankuro exclaimed.

“How touching,” the Kazekage replied mockingly. “I should reassign you all to other teams. Maybe then you’ll get over your sensitivity.”

“Try it and I’ll kill you,” Gaara said quietly, turning a cold glare to his father.

This seemed to catch him off guard and he turned to his youngest child with a confused look. Kankuro glanced over at his little brother and grinned in obvious appreciation of the comment, despite the surprised look in his eyes. Baki remained stiff, his arm lowering as the puppeteer no longer showed signs of trying to attack his father.

“Why do you suddenly care?” the Kazekage asked derisively.

Gaara gave no response and continued to glare. His father raised his eyebrows in question, unsure what to think about the jinchuuriki’s sudden interest in his siblings. He was about to ask what Gaara was doing at the hospital in the first place since he usually did not show an ounce of care for anyone else’s well-being when the door to Temari’s room opened with a loud click. All eyes turned to the two male medic nins exiting the room. They both froze as if on cue when they saw Gaara and he scowled in response.

“How is she?” came Baki’s curt voice, making both medics turn towards him.

“She’ll be fine,” one of the medics answered before nodding briefly to his partner and turning to walk away down the hall.

“Told you,” Kankuro said quietly, turning to Gaara with a confident smirk.

He said nothing in response and continued to glare at the remaining medic, waiting for further explanation. The nin’s gaze passed over the jinchuuriki briefly before settling on the Kazekage as he prepared to give his report.

“Temari-san was hit with a poisoned kunai,” he summarized, his voice shaking slightly as his eyes kept darting back towards Gaara. “As the poison was one of our own brands, we were able to neutralize it easily. The physical damage was relatively minor. The blade was lodged in the cartilage between her sternum and the fourth rib, preventing any internal injury. It was difficult to repair, but she is fine now and will recover fully.”

“When can she return to training and missions?” the Kazekage asked immediately, showing no concern for his daughter’s life. “I need her ready for the chuunin exams.”

“She’ll need to stay here for another two or three days to ensure there are no complications,” the nin replied curtly. “After that she should take about a week off to keep the wound from reopening.”

As soon as the medic stopped talking, Gaara took a step towards him. His gaze shot immediately to the jinchuuriki, fear rising in his eyes.

“You can’t see her yet,” he said with a slight tremble. “She needs rest.”

“I don’t care,” Gaara stated coldly, taking another step forward and ending up right in front of the medic, who could no longer stand his ground and took a step to the side.

“What do you want with her?” the Kazekage’s sharp voice interrupted Gaara before he could reach for the door handle. He turned to face his father slowly.

“I want her,” he said quietly. “She belongs to me.”

“Gaara, maybe you should just let her rest for now,” Kankuro interjected cautiously.

Both his father and brother ignored him. The medic nin who still stood a step behind Gaara opened his mouth in an attempt to offer his agreement with Kankuro’s statement before he was silenced by a stern glance from the puppeteer.

“Belongs?” the Kazekage echoed scornfully. “She’s your sister, not your property.”

“No,” Gaara replied slowly, tilting his head to the side slightly. “Not sister. Something else.”

The Kazekage’s eyebrows shot up once again, trying to make sense of what his son was implying and why in the hell he suddenly cared about Temari. His behavior in the past month had been strange enough – his apparent acceptance of his siblings as teammates was something the Kazekage had not expected. But this new level of concern and Gaara’s suggestion that there was something more behind it was disturbing.

“Gaara, just leave her,” Baki interjected, interrupting the Kazekage’s thoughts and making the youngest sibling look over at him. “You can see her tomorrow.”

“Leave her?” Gaara repeated slowly. “Yes, that’s what you wanted. That’s why you didn’t tell her what I told you. I don’t care what you think. I don’t care what the law is. She’s mine.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Baki retorted.

The Kazekage’s gaze flickered between Baki and Gaara, everything suddenly starting to click in his mind.

“You’re sleeping with your sister?” he asked bluntly.

An audible gasp was heard from both the medic and the guard standing a short distance away, but was ignored by everyone else. Gaara looked over at his father again, eyes narrowed and expression contorting into a frown that he usually displayed before obliterating someone’s life in a hurricane of sand. The silence stretched for several moments, the atmosphere thick with tension.

“Hai,” Gaara said finally, no pretense, no apologies, no regrets.

There was a moment in which everyone was too afraid to breathe, waiting for the Kazekage’s reaction. Then, suddenly and inexplicably he burst out in a fit of laughter. Kankuro and Gaara exchanged a silent glance, sharing a rare moment where they seemed to be equally confused. Baki and the two other shinobi stood by uncomfortably, wishing they had an excuse to leave.

“Couldn’t find someone you’re not related to who would tolerate you, could you?” the Kazekage finally managed to say.

“No,” Gaara replied calmly. “You made sure of that.”

“Well,” his father said somberly, regaining his composure. “You know the law.”

“What are you going to do?” he questioned mockingly. “Try to kill me?”

“Maybe I’ll kill her,” he answered with a smirk.

Gaara’s hand extended towards his father and before anyone could react sand that seemed to appear out of nowhere began to circle threateningly around his body. The guard standing behind rushed forward but abruptly stopped when his eyes met the jinchuuriki’s cold glare.

“Touch her and I will make sure your death is not painless,” Gaara hissed at his father.

“Protective, are we?” the Kazekage said teasingly, hiding his fear behind a smug sneer. “Have her if you want, I don’t care. Try not to get her killed next time. Unlike you, she is actually useful.”

The sand dropped to the floor with a thud as Gaara lowered his arm, a hint of emotion flickering in his eyes before it disappeared again. Failure. He had been called that so many times the word barely had a meaning anymore. He turned away from his father, dismissing him as if he was no longer worthy of his attention as he reached for the door handle to Temari’s room. The Kazekage spared his son another sneer before turning and walking away from the group without a word.

“Gaara-sama,” the medic nin said desperately, the use of the term of respect only making Gaara frown. “Please, wait until morning.”

“Let him go,” Kankuro waved off the medic dismissively, a note of resignation in his voice. “He’ll make sure she’s not hurt.”

Gaara paused, fingers on the door handle as he turned to look at his older brother over his shoulder. His eyes reflected a mixture of confusion and something vaguely resembling gratitude. Kankuro gave a half-smile and shrugged one shoulder, as if acknowledging that this was all very unusual but he was willing to go with it.

“Just let her know I’ll come by tomorrow,” he added.

Gaara nodded slowly before turning back and finally opening the door. He stepped inside the dark room, closing the door behind himself silently. Temari was lying in bed, the covers pulled up to her chest, her eyes closed and a small frown creasing her face. Gaara stepped up towards the bed slowly, his eyes travelling over Temari’s form until they rested on her slightly parted lips. It seemed they had come full circle, right back to the beginning, the first time when he had stood over her bed in the hospital and contemplated whether or not he should let her live. It still wasn’t him that wounded her, but this time his regret was for the fact that he hadn’t stopped it. Shukaku’s taunts and persuasions to violence had mysteriously disappeared from his mind.

He hesitated for a moment before carefully sitting down on the edge of Temari’s bed, the mattress depressing slightly under his weight. Gaara reached out and trailed his fingers lightly along her cheek. She let out a soft sigh but remained still, her sleep undisturbed by his presence. He wanted to shake her awake, make her repeat the words she said to him a thousand times so he could really know that he heard it and it was not just some twisted figment of his imagination. It took all his self-control to pull his hand back. He could not, however, bring himself to walk away from her.

Gaara watched Temari for a few minutes before finally deciding that he did not care if she needed rest. He was still careful in the way he pulled back the covers, revealing her body covered in a hospital gown. He knew that underneath she would be wrapped in bandages and he suddenly wanted to rip it all off and touch every scar marring her pale skin. Instead he simply lowered himself to the bed beside her, supporting himself on his elbow as he hovered over her. Gaara’s hand traced up along her arm with a gentle caress, making Temari stir slightly. His fingers moved across her chest before he encircled her neck and he couldn’t help allowing himself a small smirk at the way Temari whimpered softly.

He leaned down and brushed his tongue over her parted lips, his hand moving from her neck to cup her cheek. She let out a quiet moan, her eyes fluttering before she finally opened them. Gaara pulled back, his hand remaining on her cheek as he watched her turn an unfocused gaze to him, seeming to not quiet register what was happening.

“Gaara?” she murmured uncertainly.

He said nothing, continuing to watch her silently, his thumb brushing back and forth over her cheek lightly. Temari raised a questioning eyebrow, her eyes wandering around the dark room before settling back on Gaara.

“Where…?” she whispered, brows creasing in confusion as she sought to remember what happened.

“Hospital,” he answered simply.

Temari still seemed confused. She brought up her hand to trace over the bandages under her gown, wincing and letting out a sharp gasp as her fingers pressed on the wound. Gaara caught her hand and pulled it back, letting his fingers intertwine with hers.

“Am I… dying?” she asked with strange detachment in her voice.

Her expression was dazed and Gaara guessed that the medics must have given her something to put her in this state. He smirked slightly.

“No,” he answered with a hint of amusement. “Not until I decide you should.”

“Why are you here?” she asked, her eyes suddenly focusing on him, as if coming back to consciousness. “I thought you didn’t want me.”

“I’ve always wanted you,” he answered instantly. “Temari… You were right, I can’t let you go.”

She continued to watch him as his eyes drifted away from her, focusing instead on their joined hands resting against her stomach. He frowned, his lips barely moving as he whispered his next words.

“Do you hate me?”

“No, Gaara,” she answered with a soft sigh. “I can’t. I love you…” She took a deep breath as his eyes turned back to her, her words coming in rushed gasps, “I love you, Gaara. Even if you don’t want to see me again, even if you don’t believe me, even if you don’t care…”

He leaned down and pressed his mouth over hers to stop her frantic confession. Temari let out a quiet sound, somewhere between a moan and a whimper, relenting to the insistent pressure of his lips and allowing a single tear to slide down her cheek.

“I do,” he murmured against her.

She was too caught off guard to even pretend to hold in her gasp of surprise. Gaara pulled back, taking in her wide eyes and the look of complete shock on her face. He ignored the stab of pain that this brought on with the knowledge that she did not expect him to have such human emotions. He couldn’t blame her, he had spent most of his life convincing everyone around him that he was a cold-hearted monster.

“Temari,” he said quietly, gaze focusing on her lips once more to avoid seeing the look of disbelief in her eyes. “I don’t know what it means to love. But… maybe you can show me.”

She could only nod numbly in response, not trusting her voice, not trusting even that she had really heard those words come from his lips. She decided she would question him in the morning, when she could be sure that whatever she was seeing and hearing was not simply an effect of the drugs they had given her.

When Gaara remained still and said nothing further for several moments, Temari realized that he was expecting her to do something. She reached out with her free hand and grasped at the front of his shirt, pulling him down towards her. He lay down obediently, chin against her shoulder as she moved her fingers up and traced his cheekbone gently. She turned her head to face him, foreheads pressed together, gazes locked.

“Will you stay with me?” she asked softly.

Gaara nodded slowly, the motion making his nose brush against hers. She took advantage of this, leaning in and placing a light kiss on his lips before turning away again. Her eyes slid shut almost immediately as she succumbed to the drug-induced euphoria, a content smile spreading on her lips, their hands still joined as she drifted off to sleep.

Pain Binds Us - Chapter 24

2008-06-15T10:43:34Z

Chapter 24 – Hurt

Temari remained in Gaara’s room for hours, waiting to see if he would return. He didn’t. Eventually she was forced to admit that he wasn’t coming back and she retreated to her own room, refusing to let herself cry. It was just Gaara being Gaara, she kept telling herself. He was just being moody as always. He would come back and act as if nothing happened. She didn’t really believe it, but she couldn’t let herself think anything else.

He was angry. And he was angry for reasons that she did not even dare contemplate. If she let herself think that the reason for his unexpected behavior was because he wanted something more out of their relationship, it would only break her heart in the end. The fact that he did this after what she had told him, after she tried to open up to him only hurt more.

Temari curled up in her bed, the same mantra replaying over and over in her head. He would come back and he wouldn’t mention it again. What he said didn’t matter. He was just playing with her as always, doing it only to irritate her. After several sleepless hours of trying to convince herself this was true, she began to almost believe it. She decided that this time when Gaara came back she wouldn’t confront him about it. She would leave it alone, pretend it never happened.

She finally drifted off into an uneasy sleep, the same disturbing, confused thoughts continuing to plague her even in her dreams.

********************

Nobody was downstairs when Temari came into the kitchen to make breakfast the next morning. She was done cooking by the time Kankuro joined her. Gaara still wasn’t there and something told her that he wouldn’t show up. She sat a plate in front of Kankuro before sitting down next to him silently. He looked over at her questioningly, easily reading the worry on her face and waiting for her to say something. When she didn’t, he broke the silence.

“Where’s Gaara?” he asked cautiously.

“How should I know?” she shot back at him, not even sparing him a glance.

“Well, you have a better chance than me,” Kankuro countered.

“Not really,” she replied bitterly.

She paused, looking away from her food and meeting her brother’s gaze. He was worried. He was always worried about her when he really shouldn’t be, when she didn’t deserve that concern. Temari sighed.

“Look, you saw what he’s like with me,” she said, trying to sound calm. “It’s not like he informs me about what he’s doing.”

“I still don’t know how you deal with it,” Kankuro said, shaking his head slightly.

She shrugged, giving no answer. At the moment she wasn’t dealing with it particularly well, and she chose not to voice what she was thinking. Picking up on her discomfort, Kankuro started up a meaningless conversation in an effort to steer her thoughts in another direction. By the time they finished breakfast and were on their way to the training grounds, her mood had improved marginally, although she still refused to talk about what had happened.

********************

When the siblings arrived at their destination, they were surprised to find Gaara already standing there with Baki. As they approached, Gaara turned around and glared at his sister, a deep frown creasing his face. His eyes reflected so much hatred that it made her halt in her tracks. Kankuro looked between his siblings with confusion.

“Gaara…” Baki began, the warning clear in his tone.

He was cut off by the sharp hiss of rushing sand as it engulfed Gaara and transported him away. Baki swore under his breath.

“Are you still going to tell me that he cares?” he asked scathingly, turning to Temari.

“What are you talking about?” she questioned uncertainly.

Baki sneered. Kankuro noticed Temari curl her hands into fists and he put a hand on her shoulder reassuringly.

“He asked me to come here early to talk,” Baki said disdainfully.

“And…?” she inquired, her eyes widening slightly.

“And, he said you told him what I said,” he continued mercilessly. “And that I was right. He said he doesn’t care about you.”

“Nani?” she gasped, unable to conceal her pain at those words.

Gaara had said the same thing to her many times, but this was different. He had gone out of his way just to prove that she was meaningless to him. After she fought for him, stood up for him, risked her own future for him, he was casting her aside as if she was nothing more than an object.

“I’m sorry, Temari,” Baki said evenly. “I really am. But you have to know that this is pointless. Even if you weren’t siblings, nothing could come of this. He’s just a spoilt child who thinks he is entitled to anything he wants. And he wants only to own you, he’s not capable of returning your feelings.”

“Fuck you,” she spat out hatefully. “Just drop it…”

“Temari,” he cut her off. “He said he doesn’t care if he hurts you. He doesn’t care what happens to you. You are only putting yourself in danger and to him it’s just a game. You have to stop this.”

Her body began to tremble as he spoke, anger and frustration burning in her eyes as her nails punctured through the skin on her palms, leaving behind stinging half-moons as a testament to her suppressed pain. Her voice came as a scream when she responded, the sound filled with so much emotion that it seemed she would break into tears before she could finish the sentence.

“Do you think he would let me go?”

Her face paled as soon as the words left her lips, eyes going wide in shock at the realization of what she had said. She immediately wished she could take it back. She hadn’t meant it. Not like that, not the way that everyone would understand it. She swiftly shrugged off Kankuro’s hand which was still gripping at her shoulder, taking a step back from them both.

“Temari?” Kankuro said with clear concern in his voice.

“Leave me alone,” she muttered. “Just leave me.”

He moved to grab her but she jumped out of reach before he could touch her, quickly disappearing into the distance.

“Fuck,” he swore under his breath, before turning to glare at his sensei. “Why the fuck did you have to say that?”

“It was true,” Baki replied stiffly.

“Maybe,” Kankuro said venomously, “But I can tell you’re hiding something.”

Baki’s frown deepened, the recent conversation replaying in his head, Gaara’s hissed words echoing endlessly in his mind and refusing to dissipate. There were no lies in what Baki relayed to Temari. Gaara was in fact quite insistent that his emotions for her did not extend beyond the claim of ownership, almost as if to prove that he was still just as cold and cruel as everyone knew him to be. But his main message was something else.

She’s mine. I won’t let her go. I’ll kill anyone who tries to interfere. These words betrayed the truth that he was trying to hide. Despite all his claims to the contrary, Gaara obviously cared about Temari, cared enough to be willing to fight for her.

This revelation was far more distressing to Baki than everything else he had witnessed so far. He couldn’t let Temari know about this. It was for her own good. Even if Baki appeared to be distant and uncaring, he cared about the siblings almost as if they were his own children. He couldn’t allow this situation to progress any further. The relationship was unnatural, unhealthy, and would destroy them both if it was allowed to continue.

Baki had even tried telling Gaara that he should end this for Temari’s sake, that he was only hurting her, putting her life in danger every moment that he remained near her – only to be met with resolute claims from Gaara that he didn’t care, that she was his and that was all that mattered. The argument had culminated in Gaara threatening to destroy the entire village before the appearance of his siblings brought it to an end. Baki didn’t understand why Gaara had so suddenly directed his anger towards Temari or why he had left without explanation, but he was sure that now at least one of them would listen and stop this insanity. Even if they ended up hating each other because of this confrontation, it would still be better than the situation they were in now.

But he wasn’t about to confess any of this to Kankuro. The puppeteer was obviously on Temari’s side and would not appreciate Baki’s interference. He scowled while Kankuro waited for an answer, refusing to lie but knowing that he would never admit the truth.

“You’re dismissed,” he said finally when it was obvious that Kankuro would not drop the question.

Before Kankuro could respond, Baki vanished from sight. The puppeteer let out a string of profanities, his body shaking with rage as he abruptly left the training grounds and set off to follow his sister.

********************

Temari was sitting on the sand dune where Gaara had brought her the first time he had tasted her blood. Her fan was plunged into the ground in front of her and she glared at it with all the pent-up frustration of the last few days. She hoped only that her words would not be ignored and that she would be left alone to drown in despair as she contemplated her inevitable fate.

In truth, she had no idea what she was supposed to think of everything now. What she said to Baki bothered her. It was true, but not in the way that she said it. Whether or not Gaara would actually release her was not the issue. He had a hold on her that was far beyond her control. She couldn’t leave him. She was bound to him… obsessed, fixated on this single aspect of her life. She may as well have been his slave. And for all she knew, he didn’t even care about any of this. His comments of the previous day were in complete contrast with what Baki claimed he said, and Temari didn’t know what to make of it.

The situation was beyond unsettling and she felt like she had less control of her life than ever. She hated it. It wasn’t like her to be so helpless. She had to change it, but she didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t leave him, but it seemed more and more that she couldn’t continue with the way things were. She was lost, alone and utterly defeated. And somehow she couldn’t escape the feeling that it was all her fault.

Hours passed. Temari didn’t realize that it had grown dark until she began to shiver from the cold. She had no idea how she managed to waste the entire day, but she had no desire to return home and face either of her brothers. She remained where she was until the chattering of her teeth began to disrupt her thoughts and she could no longer stand sitting in the same position. She got up and picked up her fan violently, scattering sand around her. She didn’t realize that she was being watched until she almost reached her house. She froze momentarily when she finally sensed the presence of her observer, glancing up to see his figure crouched on the roof of their house before she proceeded as if he wasn’t there.

Kankuro jumped down from the roof as Temari approached the house. He didn’t say a word as he opened the door for her and walked in behind her. She dropped her fan onto the floor distractedly and went to the couch, slipping into a corner seat and staring sightlessly ahead of her. He sat beside her silently. She flinched and tried to pull away when he slipped his arm around her shoulders, but he brought he closer, winding both arms around her and pressing her against his chest.

“Temari, it’s OK,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to hide that you’re upset. You don’t have to always be strong.”

She tried to push him away half-heartedly, but to no avail. When she realized struggling was pointless, she pressed her forehead against his shoulder, hands curled into fists against his chest as if in a gesture of self-defense. Kankuro hated seeing her like this, hated knowing that she could crumble just like everybody else. But she was his sister and she needed him, and he couldn’t leave her alone when everybody else had abandoned her. His hand moved to stroke her hair gently, attempting to soothe her agitation. Her body began to shake against him and with a shock Kankuro realized that she was crying.

“I don’t know what to do, Kankuro,” she whispered.

“I don’t think it’s that bad,” he answered, trying to sound reassuring. “Baki was definitely hiding something.”

“That doesn’t matter,” she muttered. “He’s right. Gaara doesn’t care. He said so himself more times than I can count.”

“He said he was going to kill us too,” Kankuro countered. “But he never did. He must care, why else would he have trained with us and agreed to all the terms like he did?”

Temari pulled back to look at him, his arms still wrapped tightly around her. The sadness in her eyes and the tear streaks staining her cheeks made Kankuro’s brows crease with worry.

“I don’t think so,” she replied quietly. “He just sees me as his property, nothing more. And even if it was something else, what’s the point? I’m only making things worse for him. The village already hates him, and if we keep doing this, they’ll have every reason to banish him.”

“They wouldn’t just let Suna’s weapon go, you know that,” Kankuro pointed out bluntly. “Besides, the Kazekage ignores all other laws in dealing with Gaara. He’ll probably ignore this like everything else.”

“Great,” Temari said sarcastically. “And then what? I sit around and wait for Gaara to kill me?”

A sob broke from her at those words and she lowered her head, avoiding Kankuro’s gaze.

“If he didn’t do it already, I don’t see why he would,” he answered reasonably.

“You don’t understand,” she said grimly, glancing back up at him. “The things he says… the way he acts, the way he looks at me… he’s never going to trust me. He hates me. And he probably should, I’ve fucked up everything through his entire life.”

“Don’t say that, Temari,” he replied with a sigh. “We tried the best we could. It’s not like we knew what we were doing, we were kids.”

“I just… feel like I failed in everything,” she said softly. “And I don’t know what to do now.”

Fresh tears poured down her face and Kankuro pulled her closer, making her rest her head against his shoulder once more. She grasped at his shirt helplessly, seeking comfort in the tangible feeling even though she knew that the hope he offered was false.

“Do you want me to talk to him?” he asked gently.

She shook her head silently. Talking to Gaara had never led to anything good so far and she wasn’t about to drag Kankuro into this.

They were interrupted when the door opened abruptly, only to be slammed shut again. Temari jumped and pulled back immediately, Kankuro’s hands remaining on her shoulders. Even without turning around, he could tell that Gaara was standing at the door and glaring at the two of them. The puppeteer remained deathly still, not at all certain about his resolve or any of his previous statements about Gaara’s caring, nevertheless refusing to release Temari despite the terror gripping his insides.

Temari looked over to face her youngest brother and was met with an expression of pure rage.

“Gaara,” she whispered, her eyes brimming with tears.

Something about the way he was staring at her told her that he had heard everything – what she said to Baki, her conversation with Kankuro, everything. She was suddenly terrified of what he would do, what he was thinking. She wanted to explain herself, explain why she said what she did. But even if he gave her a chance, how could she tell him that she was upset because he didn’t care about her? She didn’t know why he had been angry before, whether it was because he thought she believed Baki’s words or that she was lying to him, and she couldn’t figure out why he seemed suddenly concerned about what she wanted or what she thought about him when he had always treated her as nothing more than a plaything.

In her state of despair and anguish, Temari could not draw the logical conclusion and the only thought occupying her mind was that Gaara was angry, probably angrier than she had ever seen him before, and she still did not entirely understand why, and she could not think of a single thing to say to remedy the situation. She moved to pull away from Kankuro, only to be stopped by the firm pressure of his hands.

“If he wants to talk, he can come here,” he said gravely, flinching inwardly in anticipation of the sand that was sure to envelop him at any moment.

“Let me go,” Temari whispered, completely forgetting that she was stronger than him and could overpower him if she had to.

“No,” Kankuro said firmly.

Gaara remained silent, eyes locked on his sister, the murderous aura radiating off him in suffocating waves. The few seconds that passed seemed to last a lifetime. Then, without a word, Gaara turned and abruptly ascended the stairs, leaving his siblings alone in the living room.

“I have to talk to him,” Temari said desperately, her gaze remaining on the empty stairway. “I have to explain.”

“Not until you calm down,” Kankuro replied determinedly.

“He’s angry,” she breathed. “He’s hurt.”

“No, he’s a spoilt brat,” he said calmly, unwittingly repeating Baki’s words. “You’re hurt. I will take you to him myself, but only when you feel better.”

“Kankuro…”

“Shut up, Temari,” he cut across her. “If you try to talk to him now, you’ll only make it worse.”

“But…” she muttered, finally tearing her eyes away from the stairs and turning to her brother to see him giving her a stern look.

She was frantic, nearly hysterical. The tears were still pouring down her face, the thoughts in her head a chaotic mess. After trying and failing to form a coherent argument to his statement, she had to concede that he was right. Talking to Gaara in this state would be pointless. Temari finally nodded and allowed Kankuro to pull her in against him once more. He resumed the gentle stroking of her hair, murmuring quiet reassurances in her ear.

It took nearly an hour before Temari was finally able to pull herself together and stop crying. She moved back from Kankuro slowly and he retracted his arms, giving her a half-smile.

“Arigatou,” she said quietly.

“No problem… neesan,” he replied with a grin.

“I’m going to… go now,” she said slowly.

“Do you want me to come with you?” he inquired uncertainly.

“No,” she stated firmly. “I’d rather do this alone.”

“Alright,” Kankuro answered with a nod. “Let me know if… you know… you need any help or anything.”

She nodded before standing up and walking to the stairs. Her heartbeat increased with each step and by the time she stopped in front of Gaara’s door, she had to pause to regain her composure. She knocked, only to be greeted with silence. After several moments of contemplation, Temari reached for the handle and abruptly opened the door, bracing herself for the possibility of an attack.

Gaara was sitting on the floor at the foot of his bed, leaning against it with his arms wrapped around his knees. He did not so much as look up at her as she walked in and closed the door behind herself.

“Gaara?” she asked tentatively.

No answer. Temari frowned and took a step towards him.

“Gaara?” she tried again.

“Go away, Temari.”

His voice was hollow and flat and it made her breath catch in her throat. He continued to stare ahead as if he did not want to see her.

“I just wanted to explain…”

“Leave,” he intoned, cutting her off. “If you hate it that much, leave.”

“Gaara… what…?” she broke off, taking another step forward before trying again. “What are you talking about?”

“You wanted to leave,” he said quietly. “So leave.”

“Gaara, what the hell?” Temari asked, throwing her arms up in exasperation. “All you ever say is that you don’t care. Now what I want suddenly matters?”

He stood up so abruptly that she could not hold in a gasp. His gaze drifted over to her and she found herself unable to move, as a rabbit held in the predatory gaze of a vicious serpent. He stepped towards her slowly, each movement so calculated that it made him seem completely inhuman. When he stopped, he was so close that she could feel his breath on her face.

“It matters,” he hissed. “It always mattered.”

“Nani?” she breathed, unable to believe what he was saying.

“You’re just like everybody else,” Gaara said, his lips forming into a snarl. “You think I’m a monster.”

“No…”

“You wanted me to let you go,” he said, cutting across her sharply. “Go.”

“That wasn’t what I meant,” Temari said desperately.

“Get out or I’ll kill you,” he spat back venomously.

“Then kill me,” she replied bitterly.

Gaara’s hand was around her neck before she even saw him move. His fingers dug painfully into her flesh, restricting her breathing. Temari remained still, looking down at him with sadness in her eyes and making no move to fight him off. He scowled, her submission seeming to irritate him even further. His grasp continued to tighten until she was unable to stop herself from wincing in pain, but she still did not move. When her vision began to grow dim, she decided that he was really going to follow through on his threat. It was strange that this time she did not feel any fear.

Before she could give in to the weakness spreading through her body, Gaara suddenly let out a frustrated growl and pushed her away from him with such force that she fell back against the door. She crumbled to the floor and continued to stare at her little brother silently. He turned away from her slowly, his gaze lingering on the starless sky outside the window.

“You said you couldn’t hurt me,” he said so quietly that she could barely hear him. “You were wrong.”

Before she could respond, he was gone in a swirl of sand. Temari was stupefied, staring at the empty space as if it could provide her the answer she was seeking. His words replayed in her head as broken fragments and she could not focus on anything enough to understand what it meant. That’s all I am to you… Shouldn’t believe everything he tells you… You were wrong… It matters… Matters… why would it…

Temari gasped, her hand flying up to cover her mouth, eyes widening in shock. The answer was so obviously that she wanted to kick herself for not realizing it earlier. But it was Gaara, and despite everything she had said, even she could never imagine him actually caring about her. Regardless, that had to be the answer. He cared, and he was angry because he thought that she did not.

“I’m not letting you run away this time,” she muttered to herself before standing up abruptly.

She went to the window, opened it sharply and immediately jumped out, landing smoothly on the ground below. She ran to the outskirts of the village, searching among the rooftops and other secluded locations. Within a half an hour, she spotted Gaara in the distance, standing at the edge of a building and gazing away into the night. Temari approached him, not bothering to slow her pace until she was only steps away from him.

“Go away,” he said as soon as she stopped, not even turning to look at her.

“No,” she replied firmly.

“I have nothing else to say to you,” he stated coldly.

Her response died in her throat when she sensed the presence of an approaching shinobi.

********************

Gaara remained motionless, his back turned to the scene while he waited for the assassin to come closer. He heard Temari shift and assumed she would flee, get out of the way and leave him to his fate. He wondered fleetingly if she hoped he would lose this time. Some part of him wished he could grant her this, if only to allow him the only absolute escape from all this hate and pain.

The sudden quiet commanded his attention and he finally turned to face his attacker. He stood at the other edge of the roof, several kunai held in each hand, his stance poised for combat. Black fabric concealed most of the nin’s face, hiding his identity. Gaara didn’t really care who it was. They were all the same, ever since that first one, the first traitor, the one whose name he wished he could forget. They all wanted nothing more than to see him disappear from this world. A single look was enough to tell Gaara there was no chance of the assassin succeeding in his mission. His death, at least, would serve a purpose, giving Gaara a reason to live, if only for another day.

What confused Gaara was the fact that Temari was still there, standing off to the side, her face turned towards the attacker. She didn’t have her fan, but her hand was at the back of her obi, curling around the kunai he knew she had hidden there. Gaara frowned, not understanding her actions, but dismissed this almost immediately. She was probably just afraid that she would be attacked as well because of her presence.

Gaara turned his attention to the assassin, folding his arms across his chest casually, waiting. He could feel the restless shifting of the sand around him, responding to his tension, but he knew it would be imperceptible to the nin’s eyes until the wall rose up to block his attack. The nin seemed to be deliberating, his eyes fleeting back and forth between Gaara and his sister. Gaara could hear the nin’s heartbeat speeding up and a small smirk crept across his lips. The assassin took a short step to the side and out of the corner of his eye Gaara could see Temari tense up, pulling out three kunai from behind her back.

Seeing her like this, even though she wasn’t facing him, reminded him inevitably of Yashamaru and he couldn’t help wondering if Temari would attempt to finish the job when she realized that the assassin would fail. It wouldn’t surprise him, really. Ever since he was teamed up with his siblings, he had always assumed that they were placed there so they could kill him if they ever got the chance. He knew, however, that whatever the assassin was planning would not harm him in the least and she would have no better chance at bringing him down now than any other time. The thought did nothing more than add another sting to the already aching wound in his heart. There was not a single person in existence who wanted him to remain alive.

Gaara kept his face an emotionless mask, concealing all his anguish behind his hate-filled eyes. It didn’t matter. None of it really mattered. Neither of them could kill him, no matter how much they wanted to, no matter how much he may want them to. They would fail, and then she would be gone, and he would never have to look at her again, never have to hear her lies, her promises of something that he knew she could never truly give him. He waited.

What happened next was too fast for him to register until it was over. The assassin sprang forward in one lithe, fluid movement, simultaneously launching all of the kunai in his hands towards Gaara. The jinchuuriki stood motionless, knowing that all the weapons would be stopped by his sand when they came within a foot of him.

What he hadn’t calculated was Temari throwing herself in their path, her own kunai flying through the air back at the attacker. Gaara’s eyes widened as he watched, his mind failing to comprehend the situation enough to react. It was so far from what he had been imagining that it simply didn’t make sense. Somebody protecting him – standing in his path to stop the attack directed at him, rather than to prevent him from killing somebody else. It was something that he simply could not understand so he could not pull himself together enough to do anything about it.

Her scream brought him back to reality. The first thing he registered was the assassin clutching at his torn throat, blood spilling freely over his hands while he appeared to be choking on the crimson liquid. Gaara did not spare him a second thought as he sent a current of sand to obliterate what was left of him. His eyes fell instead to his sister, who stood shakily in the same spot a few feet in front of him, a kunai that she had used to deflect the weapons still clutched in her left hand.

He reacted instinctively, appearing behind her in a flash, his arms winding around her to catch her as she fell. He felt the blood spilling over his hands before he saw the solitary kunai that had sunk into his sister’s chest. It seemed she had managed to avoid all the weapons but one. Gaara didn’t understand why she did this. She knew better than anyone that he needed no protection. Anger flared inside him. It was stupid for her to have interfered, even more stupid to let herself get injured this way. But she had protected him, and that confused him even more than the irrationality of her actions.

He felt her legs give out and he lowered her gently, still holding her to him with as much tenderness as he was capable of. A wet cough escaped her throat, bringing a trickle of blood down her chin as she turned her head back to look at him. The expression in her eyes was like a sudden jolt of realization. She was wounded, bleeding… dying. For him.

“Naze?” Gaara murmured.

“Because…” she whispered, another cough interrupting her words before she continued, “I… love you.”

“Temari…”

He saw her eyes grow dim before her eyelids slid shut, her head falling back onto his shoulder as she collapsed in his arms. He knew she didn’t hear his response, his whispered plea for something he hadn’t dared to say since he was six.

Dysphoria (part 2)

2008-06-12T05:35:22Z

She hadn’t realized that the water had stopped until the nearly soundless padding footsteps and a movement at the edge of the mirror alerted her to his reappearance in the room. He was wearing only black boxers now, his damp hair tousled as if he had dried it with a towel. It looked almost crimson now and she still couldn’t get the image of blood out of her mind. Her arms dropped to her sides, the brush clutched tightly in her hand, gaze returning to her image and a deep frown appearing on her face.

“It’s fine,” he said shortly, walking over to her.

He’d never really seen her, of course. She was dead by the time he was able to open his eyes for the first time. But he used to have a picture, she knew that. And the brother, their uncle, the treacherous bastard… they were nearly identical. She had no doubt that he knew exactly what their mother had looked like, could probably even imagine the way her face could light up in joy or contort with rage. The way she looked when she had cursed the village for his existence with her dying breath.

“Don’t I remind you of her?”

She glanced at his reflection behind her, slightly off to the side so she could see his face. Predictably expressionless. He stepped closer, the heat of his body radiating through her.

“You’re different.”

His hand brushed up along her back, fingertips just barely making contact with the skin. When they were kids, these gestures used to always make her shudder and explode in goosebumps. She was too desensitized to it now, but that did not make the feeling any less electric. She wanted him to really touch her. The brush dropped to the floor with a thud when fingers began to trace the contours of the fabric around her torso.

Maybe the undergarments were the problem. They were much more frilly and decorative than the practical attire she usually wore. The lace and nearly see-through silk were definitely distracting. But she had worn things like these for him on occasion. He liked to see the contrast of something so delicate on her toned, scarred body. In fact, this was a pair he bought for her some time ago, she just hadn’t had a chance to wear it before now.

“How long?” she inquired yet again.

His hands slipped around her waist, gliding down her stomach over the line of her hip bones, fingertips pushing just barely into the band of her panties. She leaned into him, her body fitting perfectly against his, back flexing slightly to rub skin against skin.

“Two hours, four minutes.”

There was a hint of something in his voice now. Something to do with their proximity. She let her head fall back against his shoulder, the tickle of hair against his neck failing to make him shiver only because of its familiarity. Her eyes studied their reflection. They were so different, but somehow gave off the unmistakable impression of being siblings. Even standing as they were now. He had grown to be taller than her, but only by a few inches. If she wore heels, she would match his height. She decided she would. That way, if they did have to dance together she wouldn’t be looking up at him.

“Remember our last mission together?” she questioned quietly.

“To Rain.”

She turned her head slightly towards him, her hair brushing against his cheek. He mimicked the gesture, taking in the scent of her shampoo, lilies and wild flowers, reminding him of some distant memory of something they had done in the middle of a field.

“Yeah… When we stopped by that waterfall…”

“When you were covered in blood,” he murmured, voice husky with something too cold to be desire.

“And what we did in the water,” she finished, lips twitching in a mockery of a grin.

She placed her hands over his delicately, paused for a moment, then guided him gently, making him slide his fingers further down, towards the cleft between her legs, stopping just before the curve of her pubic bone.

“And that one before,” she was whispering now.

“With the caravan.”

“When they were too afraid to ask if we’re siblings or lovers.” If her voice had a texture, it would be the softest of satin.

“And I told them anyway.”

Her back arched slightly, a soft moan falling off her lips. Her skin took on a slightly pink tinge, body growing warmer, heartbeat increasing slightly. It was agonizing to be this close, to know that he wouldn’t stop her if she turned around, if she took him back to the bed.

“That time in my office,” he breathed against her hair. “On the desk.”

“When we knew the council was just outside the door.”

“And they could hear everything.”

There was a note of something feral and sadistic in his voice now, something reminiscent of his childhood years. The insanity that would never be completely gone. A primitive sort of inhumanity that allowed them to be together as they were, unable to separate from each other, unable to gain satisfaction in anyone else.

His mouth found her neck before she even realized she had tilted her head, his name escaping her lips in broken gasps, an unspoken plea for something that she didn’t know but he would understand anyway.

“What happens next?” she managed to utter.

He didn’t answer. He knew that she knew. It was obvious. Not to mention that they had discussed it already, every possibility and unpredictable outcome, every regret and reservation, every fear and uncertainty. If only to say that nobody had been deceived. There were no compromises here. It would be done as it had to be done. Feelings had never been a consideration in this ruthless village, much less in their own brutal, violent lives.

She knew though that he wasn’t annoyed with her incessant questions either. It didn’t matter to him one way or the other, but he understood her need. In the past, he would simply listen and appear to be ignoring her entirely while he read all the meanings behind everything she said. Now he would occasionally indulge her with his own empty commentary.

His lips left her skin and she found herself suddenly cold where she had been burning before. Her hands pressed into his, making his fingers depress indentations into her flesh, willing him to be closer but refusing it.

“I wonder what it will be like… after…” she murmured, voice wavering with a hint of an emotion she would not usually show.

No answer again. The question had really been the same. Slowly his hands slid out from under hers and she released him regretfully. She remained where she was, fingers lingering on the spot he had touched, as he pulled back and turned away. She glanced at the clock because she knew he would remain silent this time. Another fifteen minutes had passed. And something was still wrong with her.

He was walking out of her room. Her eyes followed him with a panic that he did not indulge as he pulled open the door and disappeared down the hallway. She sighed, picked up the brush, walked back to the nightstand. The brush was dropped onto the surface as she rummaged in one of the drawers for her make-up kit. She pulled it out, walked back towards the mirror, abruptly decided that she had to find clothes first, dropped the kit onto the bed instead. The door was open. That wasn’t helping. They weren’t alone in the house.

She ignored it, approached her closet, slid open the door with pent-up irritation, making it soundless nevertheless. A small sneer appeared on her face as she issued a quiet snort. Nearly everything she had was black. Everything else was dark shades of somber colors. There were only a couple of bright, graceful dresses that radiated happiness. Acquired only in case necessity should arise and meant for occasions such as this. He didn’t want that from her though, didn’t want her to play the diplomat. He wanted black, as if she was mourning, for him, for them, for what this was. He wanted the blatant sexuality of conforming contours and exposed skin. He wanted her to look cold and beautiful and his. He wanted them all to see exactly what he had possessed, what he could have forever if he so chose.

Regardless, this was not entirely helpful in picking her attire. There were more dresses there than she ever remembered buying. Nearly all were revealing enough to raise a few eyebrows. She had never been shy, after all. But it had to be somehow suitable to the situation, even if that seemed an impossible task considering she really did not belong in this setup. Still, she would have to be able to walk in as the elite shinobi that she was, as the sister of the leader of their village, and look the part.

She turned away from the closet, returned to the nightstand, opened another drawer. An array of weapons glinted in the light. She couldn’t use a pouch or a holster, that would be too obvious. That meant she could only conceal one or two weapons. She could probably tape some shuriken to her leg, but getting to them if she needed to would be a problem. Not that she expected to need them. She simply wanted something sharp.

He walked back into the room to find her twirling a kunai between her fingers, his presence seeming to go unnoticed. The door closed soundlessly. He knew though that she had sensed him before he even came in.

“No,” he said simply.

“I need something,” she replied with frustration, the kunai dropping back into the drawer.

She turned around sharply. He was dressed now, and she was surprised to find that he wasn’t wearing the formal robes. Instead, he wore his usual long black coat over black pants and what she was sure was fishnet and a black shirt underneath. She supposed it looked fairly formal anyway, but it was shinobi attire regardless. He really was making a mockery of this entire thing. She resisted the urge to inquire why she had to dress up while he, being the center of attention, didn’t. She knew she wouldn’t want to hear the answer.

“You already have something,” he pointed out.

She realized immediately that he was referring to whatever it was that had been annoying her since she looked in the mirror. That meant it had to be an object, and she had already deducted it was something she was wearing. Given the limited amount of things on her body at the moment, the answer should’ve been fairly obvious. Oddly enough she still couldn’t figure it out. He didn’t elaborate, he knew she still didn’t really want to know.

He was blocking her return path to the mirror, disrupting her routine. She eyed him warily, the apprehension in her gaze making him frown. He moved, sat down on the edge of the bed, glanced sideways at the make-up kit momentarily then lowered his eyes to the floor. This was too tense, she decided. It wasn’t right to go into this with so much unease. The alternative though was something she couldn’t deal with at the moment. She retreated abruptly to the closet, picked out three dresses at random, returned to lay them out on the empty side of the bed. He hadn’t shifted an inch. She walked around the bed, picked up the brush again, stopped in front of him.

“Remember when we were kids?” she said quietly.

No response, his gaze still leveled on some obscure point off to the side. She slowly lifted her arm, poised to touch the brush to his hair. Paused. Brought up the other hand instead and allowed her slender fingers to glide through his locks. His hair had always been soft. She had marveled at that since they were little. His skin was soft too, she remembered, despite the harsh dry sand encasing him most of the time. She allowed her hand to drop lower, fingertips trailing smoothly down the side of his face.

“When we used to watch the sandstorms together?” she added finally.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “On the roof.”

She was the only one that would remain near him during those times. Everyone else was too terrified of what the raging sand brought out in him, his… urges. He had always told her to leave and she always ignored him. The sand would circle around her feet and cut lines into her legs, but she stayed next to him anyway. It wasn’t till years later that they discovered another outlet for his violence.

She edged closer and finally allowed the brush to make contact with his hair. He remained still as she began to run it through the tangles. In the past, sand wound rise up and curl around her wrist if she made a motion too sudden or pulled out even a single strand. Now, she could tear at his hair and claw at his skin with the only retaliation being his own bites and scratches. This time though she was careful, in complete contrast with the way she had just treated her own hair. After a moment his arms wound around her legs, pulling her closer, hands grasping at the back of her thighs. She sighed, a pretense of being content.

The brush slid through his hair evenly, easily untangling the locks. She continued the motion even after it was no longer necessary. Eventually the brush dropped onto the bed and it was only her fingers gliding against his scalp. He pulled her in towards him, face buried against her chest, hair tickling the exposed area between her breasts, breath warm on her skin. There was still something childlike about him when he did that, even in this erotic position.

“Do you want me to go in after you… or…?” she inquired, letting the question hang in the air.

He didn’t respond, a deep intake of breath indicating that he wasn’t ignoring her but simply didn’t wish to let her go yet. His hands slid up, gliding over her curves before coming to rest at the small of her back. She waited, fingers playing with his hair absently, one hand falling to rest against his shoulder. A sideways glance indicated that she had less than an hour and a half left. Time really was disappearing and she hadn’t accomplished anything yet. He pulled back finally, hands remaining on her waist, eyes lifting to look at her.

“No,” he said calmly. “You’ll walk in with me.”

She couldn’t stop herself from smirking slightly. He was disregarding all the rules completely. He would make sure that there was no mistake about what they were to each other. Her fingers slid through his hair, pulling the locks back from his forehead, thumb brushing idly over the engraving on his skin. The mark felt rough under her caress, the familiarity of the etched lines calming her slightly.

After several minutes of silence, his hands finally dropped, releasing her. She lingered for a moment before pulling back and walking around the bed to look at the dresses laid out in front of her. She didn’t like them. Too long, too tight, too billowy. She walked back to the closet, pulled out three more, returned to throw them on the bed on top of the rejected clothes. He observed her with apparent disinterest out of the corner of his eye.

She glared at the dresses for a few moments, then finally picked up one and held it out in her outstretched arms, examining it carefully. It seemed appropriate, but she still hated it. She frowned and cast the garment aside on the floor unceremoniously. The other two followed shortly after. She swept aside the first three without a second consideration.

“Fuck,” she swore under her breath. “I hate this.”

“Deal with it,” he answered harshly.

She scowled at him. The frustration wasn’t really directed at him though. But the source of her anger was something he did not wish to discuss. It was pointless. It was what it was. They had all agreed to it. Whatever she might mean to him, he wouldn’t let her interfere.

She returned to the closet to recover four more dresses and bring them back to the bed. This shouldn’t be so complicated, she decided. It was just a day, just a ceremony. Even if they would all be watching her, waiting to see what she would do… what she and her brother would act like. To her, it was just another mission. And that meant she couldn’t fail, couldn’t do a poor job. She would have to look perfect, in control and happy. No matter how much she detested going through with this whole façade.

She examined another dress, then threw it aside. Then paused. The dress that was in front of her now caught her attention. She picked it up carefully. He had bought this for her too, she recalled. She supposed that would be fitting, to be dressed entirely in garments picked out by him. He wanted to show her off as his possession, after all. Her lips formed into a sad smile as she slipped the dress on carefully. She turned to face her reflection.

The dress was a delicate satin, conforming to her shape perfectly and outlining all the curves. It was a unique design – a sleeveless top resembling a short tank-top connected to a skirt by four bands of fabric, two on the front and two on the back, the exposed portion around the waist covered with fishnet. The low square cut of the top showed off just enough of her cleavage. The skirt was short on one side, allowing the hitai-ate to be seen on her leg, and cascaded at an angle down to her ankle on the other side. It was elegant and formal, and provocative and blatantly sexual at the same time. It was perfect.

“How long?” she murmured, still studying herself in the mirror.

“One hour, five minutes,” his voice was still completely neutral.

She was really taking entirely too long. She still had to do her make-up. And having little experience in the matter, she was sure it would take a while to get it right. She walked back to the bed, picked up the remaining clothes, leaned down to grab what she had discarded on the floor, then returned to the closet and threw the entire bundle in carelessly. She could clean up later. The closet door slid shut silently. She came back to pick up her make-up kit. He glanced up at her, expression blank, unreadable. She knew exactly what he was thinking though. A small smile crept onto her lips as she paused in front of the bed.

“What do you think?” she asked, a slow gesture of her hands indicating the dress.

“I think I want to rip it off,” he answered quietly, the unmistakably animalistic undertone in his voice making a burning ache spread in her abdomen.

She said nothing and picked up the make-up, this time going to sit at the table that held a smaller vanity mirror. She laid out the assortment of unfamiliar tools in front of her. The loose hair was tugged back behind her ears, leaving her face open. She did learn how to do this properly once, a long time ago. Even a village as brutal as theirs had kunoichi training that included mundane things such as flower arrangements and maintaining proper appearances. She never paid much attention to it, but she did remember some things.

Foundation was first, that much was obvious. She picked up the flesh-toned tube and looked at it with distaste. The color seemed to match her skin. Whoever picked out these things for her had obviously known her. She had no idea where the things came from, they just appeared at some point. Probably a servant, paid to figure out exactly what she would need. She sighed and set the tube aside. It seemed pointless. Instead she reached for the bottle of lotion that always sat on the table and applied the familiar substance to her face. Powder next. Well she could deal with that, it didn’t seem quite as annoying. She applied a minimal amount to her face, just enough to cover the shine and smooth out her features.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so hard after all. She set the powder aside, glanced sideways at her brother who was still observing her silently. She gave another weak smile before turning back to find eye shadow. The colors were perfect once again. Applying it however was a little more complicated. She fumbled with the little brush, struggling to keep the color even and consistent. A very light grey under her brows and a dark blue, almost black over her eyelids. The perfect combination to compliment the shade of her eyes.

“I’m never doing this again, you know,” she said with a hint of irritation as she set the little box of eye shadow down.

“You will if I tell you,” he replied indifferently.

She scowled. That was true, of course. Despite everything else, she was still a shinobi in his employ. If there was a mission or a meeting that required this, she would have to comply. He wasn’t referring to that though. He was referring to the fact that she would do it for him, if he wanted her to, for any reason. She didn’t want to think about that right now.

“Easy for you to say,” she muttered, picking up the black eyeliner and examining the sharpened tip with apprehension.

“Stop whining,” he answered coldly.

She turned to him with a glare that did not affect him in the least. He continued to watch. Eventually she turned back to the mirror and began to apply the eyeliner to her eyelids with slow, careful movements. It proved to be a difficult task and by the time she managed to get the lines straight she was thoroughly frustrated. The pencil was thrown down on the table with irritation as she suspiciously eyed the tool that was meant to curl her lashes. There was no way she was going to use that, she decided. She’d been through interrogation training and this reminded her entirely too much of a number of objects she’d seen there.

“How long?” she asked yet again as she picked up the black mascara.

“Forty two minutes.”

Shit. She had practically no time left. And something was still definitely off, not right about her appearance in general, but she couldn’t dwell on it anymore. She began to apply mascara hastily, stopping abruptly when she realized if she messed up she would have to redo everything else. She proceeded more cautiously, putting on just enough to make her eyelashes stand out against the dark eye shadow. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him stand and approach her. She remained where she was, putting down the mascara and examining an assortment of lipstick in front of her. She had no idea what shade to choose.

He stood behind her chair, hands resting against the back of it, knuckles grazing against her back. A movement of her head made her hair cascade over his arms, the blonde a stark contrast to the black of his attire. His eyes seemed to be fixated on her left hand, resting on the table among the array of make-up.

“Did you have them change the vows?” she asked suddenly, making him stiffen imperceptibly.

He gave a short disdainful snort. It seemed stupid given how ridiculous the entire situation was that the council had the biggest problem with this. They wanted a traditional ceremony with traditional vows. He refused. They threatened. But he had won in the end. He wouldn’t compromise. With them, with her, with anyone.

“Yeah.”

It had been reduced to not much more than a sentence now. Do you agree? That was all that really mattered in the end. She knew that’s what he wanted, she didn’t have to ask him to elaborate.

He reached down over her unexpectedly, hand brushing against hers before he picked up one of the lipsticks from the table. She raised an eyebrow slightly but took it from his fingers nevertheless as he straightened once more. It was a dark plum shade. She looked at it skeptically for a moment, then proceeded to put it on. It matched the rest of her look. It was seductive and dangerous. Just like him. Fitting.

His hands were suddenly on her shoulders, caressing the exposed skin. She sighed quietly, instinctively leaning into his touch, melting under his fingers. Her gaze met his through the reflection, her face softening marginally. Despite everything, her tension and worry seemed to vanish when he looked at her like that, when those fingers made her forget that there was anyone else in the world besides the two of them. Except that she had to remember that. Especially now.

“Should I say anything?” she asked quietly. “Should I talk to her?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he answered predictably. “You can if you want.”

She was standing before she even realized it, his hands dropping from her shoulders and catching her around the waist instead. She couldn’t control the slight tremble that passed through her body. He pressed her closer despite her obvious attempt to pull away. That warmth again. That insane, unbearable warmth that made her lose her mind. He knew he did this to her. Knew it and was fully abusing his power.

“Little brother…” she breathed out, voice full of passion and grief.

That was the second time she called him that. His hands gripped at the fabric of her dress for a moment before starting to idly trace lines along her stomach. He leaned down, breath warm against her cheek, lips not quite touching her. He knew what she was going to say and wished she wouldn’t. Her words came in broken gasps, forcing it out despite his attempt to make her forget.

“Somehow… I never thought… I would have to watch you getting married.”

He didn’t say anything. She didn’t expect him to. There was nothing else to say. His fingers continued to stroke her absently, one hand moving to trace down the length of her left arm. Fingertips slid along the back of her hand before interlocking his fingers with hers. Something was odd about it. It didn’t feel right somehow. It wasn’t the fact that she was standing in his arms and holding his hand when she was about to see him in front of the altar with another woman. It was just something about the feeling. She glanced down at their joined hands.

The realization hit her suddenly, the answer to what she had been searching for all morning. He smirked slightly. It was stupid of her to forget. But she didn’t forget, really, she just blocked it out. The simple ring shone on her finger and she could not tear her eyes away from it. He had given it to her, not to the one that would in less than an hour be called his wife. She would have no ring, nor would he. Only her, his sister. Another way to flaunt it, to show the council his defiance of all the rules. It meant something deeper though.

“She must hate me,” she murmured, her voice shaking with the threat of tears.

“It doesn’t matter,” he hissed in response.

She tore her hand away from his then, moving to break free, to pull out of his embrace.

“Temari…”

His voice was like a caress, deep and harsh despite its velvety smoothness. The three syllables contained so much emotion that she let out an involuntary moan. He had called her by her name, she had called him brother. Just like all those years ago, when there was nothing between them besides some strained relationship of forced kinship. Reverting to something long gone. Perhaps hate was a safer emotion than love.

Before she could put distance between them he pulled her around and pinned her against the nearby wall, palms resting on either side of her head. He moved closer until his nose was brushing against hers, their eyes locked, her lip quivering slightly. This wasn’t like then, like those distant memories of fear and uncertainty. This was now. Him, here, with her.

“Temari…” he breathed again, her eyes drawn to the movement of his lips. “I don’t hate you. Don’t worry about her.”

“Gaara…”

Her voice sounded almost as a sob and she hated herself for it. It didn’t bother him though. He didn’t mind her vulnerability, so long as she confided it only in him. If she needed him, even for something as simple as a confirmation of his feelings, he could never hold that against her. The importance of such primitive gestures as embraces and token words of affection was still incomprehensible to him, but he indulged her because she needed him.

“Sister…”

Those lips were moving again, almost touching hers. Their breath mingled as she parted her lips as well and he hovered over her in a pseudo-kiss. Her arms wound around his waist without her realizing it, bringing him closer, pressing his body into hers. He didn’t have to say anything else. She already knew. But he did anyway, just to see the way her eyes lit up at the words, the way she drew in a breath in response.

“You are mine. You will always be mine. Nothing will ever change that.”

Only the fear of ruining her careful work with her appearance prevented her from forcing those lips to make contact, from crushing his mouth onto hers. She tilted her head to the side slightly, a quiet moan escaping her throat and spreading warmth across his face. Her hands fisted in the fabric of his robe behind his back as she allowed her tongue to glide along his bottom lip with excruciating slowness. His teeth brushed against it, biting lightly before she pulled back, her breath hitching in her throat.

“I feel sorry for her,” she whispered.

A life of loneliness. She would not wish that for anyone. The girl, his soon-to-be wife, would be alone for the rest of her life. She would live in her own house. She would never see her husband except for business. She wouldn’t even be able to have affairs, to protect his reputation despite the obvious lack of relationship between them. And when the time came that he chose to have children, she would have to participate in what was guaranteed to be a loveless act and birth a child that would be raised by her husband and his sister.

“Don’t,” he answered simply.

His sister was not the villain here and he knew there was no reason for her to think otherwise. He would not give her up. They had all known that. Even when the council approached him with the proposal, they knew it would be only for show. It was simply another one of his duties, to marry and produce a child that would be heir and in line to become the next Kazekage. They had overlooked his disregard of the law in his chosen relationship, but they could not allow him to endanger the future of the village. Even to him the village came first and he agreed.

The girl had agreed too. It was her choice, she volunteered herself. She knew exactly what she was walking into. To her, it was worth it, for the title of the Kazekage’s wife and all the fortune that came along with it. He thought her shallow for it, despite the service she was doing for him and the village, and did not consider her feelings an issue in the matter. She would be no more than a subordinate to him, not even a friend.

“Are you ready?” he asked after a pause.

She gave him one of her rare genuine smiles, clinging to him for just one more moment before she had to let go. Whatever happened, he would be with her. She knew that much. She had never been able to trust anything, but she trusted him. He was her brother. Always would be.

“Almost,” she murmured.

One of his hands moved to cup her face gently, fingertips gliding along her cheek before he retreated and took a step back. A glance at the clock indicated that they were nearly out of time. She walked to the closet quickly and picked out a pair of black strappy high-heeled shoes. She slipped them on elegantly, taking a moment to adjust and regain her balance. She returned to his side with a steady step, the slight sway of her hips radiating confidence. She was the Kazekage’s sister, his lover, his love. And today they would all see that nothing could stand between them.

She locked her hand with his, fingers intertwined as they headed for the door. Together. Through everything.

Dysphoria (part 1)

2008-06-12T05:32:50Z

I had to break this up into two posts because it's too large.

Title: Dysphoria
Fandom: Naruto
Rating: T
Pairing: Gaara / Temari (sandcest)
Summary: Tension permeated the air as she waited, counting minutes until the inevitable. Waiting had always been the worst part.
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.
Fanfiction.net link: Dysphoria
Note: thanks to Lotos-Eater and AmayaHyuuga for beta'ing.

She stood in front of the window, staring sightlessly at the empty street below. It was too early for anyone but those on duty to be outside. The sun had come up less than an hour ago. It would be another scorching hot day, but having grown up in the desert she no longer noticed the heat. The slow drifting of sand along the ground made the village seem almost deserted. She knew that if she opened the window, she would hear the familiar howling sound of the wind. It was comforting in a way to know that some things would never change. She wanted suddenly to escape this building, escape the village. She wanted to be in the desert, alone, surrounded by nothing but wind and sand, the only two things that she knew and trusted. The only two things that could never be taken away from her.

She forced herself to tear her gaze away from the inviting sight and turn instead to the figure spread out on her bed. Her eyes misted over as she looked at him, the blue shade growing darker with a mixture of affection and agony. He was wearing only the simple black pants and mesh shirt that he hadn’t bothered to remove the previous night. The reddish brown shade of his messy locks looked almost like dried blood in the darkness of the room, reminding her irresistibly of the days when she would have to force him into the shower to wash away the blood of countless victims clinging to his skin. Days long past.

Back then, he used to need her. He would never admit it, even now. He relied on her then, depended on her for all the simple things that under normal circumstances parents were supposed to provide. They never had parents. Never needed them, really. Or at least so they would tell themselves. They had each other. She washed him, she cut his hair, she bought his clothes, she cooked for him. The only thing he never needed, never accepted, was love. But she gave it anyway. She would hold him when he was too weak, too exhausted from his internal struggle to push her off.

He never mentioned any of this, never returned any of her embraces, never admitted that they were connected in any way. To him, they’ve never been a family. He threatened her, he yelled at her, he had even hit her on more than one occasion. She lost count of how many times she wondered what it was that he did for her, why she continued to resolutely think of him not as a monster but as her little brother, despite all his claims to the contrary.

But when she broke down and was ready to give up, he always reminded her what it was that kept them together through all the fear, hate and violence. He was the only one that had ever seen her cry, the only one she would allow such intimacy. Not that he ever gave her a choice. Somehow he always knew. Every time she ran away into the desert, wishing for nothing more than to disappear and be left alone, he would always find her. He would appear silently beside her when the tears were already flowing down her face, never saying a word as he stood next to her. She never told him what was bothering her. It seemed that he always knew anyway.

She wasn’t sure what it was about his presence that was so comforting, that chased away all her fears and doubts. He still seemed just as cold and distant as always. But he would never leave her alone when she was distressed. He waited until she was calm, back to the usual confident façade that she put on to face the world, before he disappeared again.

He protected her from herself, never letting her give up, never allowing her to run away and take the easy way out. There was no escape for him, so he wouldn’t let her have this luxury either. He protected her from others too. Despite his own countless claims that he would end her life, he would never let anyone harm her. In fact, he would kill anyone who dared to get too close to her. There was always something possessive about the way he treated his sister, even when he claimed that she was nothing more than another mass of flesh that was meaningless to him.

His relationship with her was just as unnatural and twisted as the rest of his life. To an outside observer, it would seem that there was no relationship at all. Only the two of them really knew what it was. There had always been something unspoken between them. An unbreakable bond. Something beyond blood, beyond team, beyond the village. Something that defied words. Words were too shallow to describe this. They never really talked anyway. Their conversations were always superficial, the true meaning of their thoughts always expressed in other ways. Their silences spoke more than words ever could. A shared glance, a nearly imperceptible movement, a barely felt brush of skin against skin. She was the only one who could ever touch him, no armor, no barriers to keep her away.

It had changed at some point. It seemed sometimes that it was completely by accident. Other times she was sure that it was planned. She couldn’t remember when it had all transformed. Now, years later, she wasn’t even sure that it ever really was anything else. Whatever this was, it seemed to just be, as if there was no other way to exist.

But then she knew that what had really changed was him. He didn’t yell anymore. He didn’t threaten. And only old scars confirmed that he really did used to hurt her. He was different. He didn’t need her anymore. Not like he did then. Now, it was something else. Now, they all needed him. They relied on him to lead them, to keep them safe, to make their lives worth living. The irony did not go unnoticed. Even after everything he had done for them, there were those that said he shouldn’t be what he is, shouldn’t do what he does. There was still something about him that was just not right.

In a way though whatever it was that held them together was still the same. That invisible bond. In their own ways, they would always need each other, even if they really didn’t. It was simply something that they couldn’t escape. By virtue of what they were, their past, their inevitable future, this connection was simply something that was undeniably there. They didn’t ask to be siblings. They couldn’t change it. And now, finally, they didn’t want to.

The solitary blink of his cold eyes alerted her to the fact that she was staring, probably had been for some time. The empty, hollow expression in his gaze suggested that he was looking past her, not really seeing her. She knew different. He was taking in every inch of her nearly naked body, only her most intimate parts covered by thin straps of colorless black fabric. The few rays of sun that managed to get in through the window were illuminating her pale skin, throwing shadow on all the old scars, outlining all the small marks and bruises. She had never thought that she was beautiful. Not until he told her. He said it only once and never repeated it again. But she believed him. If he thought that she was, that was all that mattered.

She turned away finally, moving gracefully over to the full length mirror beside her closet, seeming almost to float with her careful, measured steps. She could still see his reflection at an angle behind her. His gaze remained on the window, lips set in a tight, expressionless line. It wasn’t really a frown, but anyone who didn’t know him would’ve thought that he was angry. She knew that it was something else.

“What should I wear?” she said flatly into the silence.

“Something black,” he answered with complete disinterest, seeming almost bored.

“Isn’t that a little inappropriate?” she inquired dryly.

“I don’t care.”

She knew he would say that. She didn’t really have to ask. The need for appropriate behavior was disregarded unless completely necessary, reserved only for diplomats and elders. This was something different.

“Who did you invite?” she asked for what must’ve been at least the third time.

“Nobody important,” he provided the same answer again.

Something about her reflection in the mirror was unsettling. She couldn’t quite figure out what. She turned slightly, then the other way, then back again. His eyes flitted to her for the barest moment before returning to the window.

“How much time left?” she asked matter-of-factly, only the slight frown on her face betraying her hidden agitation.

“Three hours, twelve minutes,” he replied shortly.

Her hair wasn’t right, she decided. She hadn’t put it up in the usual four pigtails. That wasn’t it though. Something else. She moved her hands up, pulling her hair into one bunch at the back of her head, twisting around to examine her reflection. Her teeth bared in a tense imitation of a sneer for a second. She let her hands fall again, hair cascading over her shoulders. Maybe she would wear it down for once. She might even look pretty.

“I haven’t cut your hair in a while,” she said, the attempted casual comment sounding unnerved instead.

No answer. Not even a glance this time.

“Do you want me to…? Before…?”

“No,” he answered dismissively.

Maybe it wasn’t the hair after all. Something was off though. She turned away from the mirror, walked impatiently over to the nightstand by the bed, stopped abruptly. He was looking away from her. Still watching the window. She knew though that he could sense her, could imagine all her movements and expressions precisely in his mind, his memory of every particle of her being perfect to the point that sight was no longer a necessity.

“Why don’t you ever wear this anymore?”

Eyes trained on the object in question to avoid seeing the frown that she knew appeared on his face. His answer was predictable.

“Don’t need to.”

She picked up the hitai-ate from the nightstand, wondering vaguely what he had done with his and how many years it’s been since she saw it last, before returning to her position in front of the mirror. She tied it around her neck, the way she used to when she was younger – so much younger it seemed now, even if it was not really that long ago. She frowned and untied it immediately, then pressed it against her forehead for a moment before lowering her hands, clutching the offending article in tight fists.

“Put it on your leg,” he offered idly. “Instead of a garter.”

She glanced at him through the mirror, letting her gaze linger on his lean, muscular form for a moment before looking down. She tied the black strap around her thigh, bending the metal strip easily to fit the shape and turning the symbol to the side so it could be seen through a slit in her skirt. It looked silly. Mocking even. But that was probably why he said it. She left it there. The look on the faces of the council members would be worth it. She was only doing this because they were making her anyway.

That wasn’t true though. She was doing it for him. He hadn’t asked. But he never had to. She always knew what he wanted.

“I’m not getting you anything, you know,” she said suddenly as the thought occurred to her. “The council probably won’t like that.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he answered indifferently. “I already took what I want.”

If she didn’t know him as only siblings could know each other, she would’ve never noticed the subtle smirk twitching the corner of his mouth upwards. There was something vaguely strange about that. They knew each other too well. There wasn’t a movement, a gesture, a thought that went unnoticed. That never made it boring though. They understood each other perfectly. They could do things together that nobody else would ever be able to come even close to accomplishing.

“But what about…?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he repeated, cutting her off.

Her reflection still wasn’t right, she observed. There was still something. Just something. She was nearly naked, of course, but that wasn’t it. It was starting to really bother her. And she was sure that he knew the answer too, but she didn’t want to ask. That was probably why he hadn’t told her yet.

“Hey… little brother,” she said quietly.

He glanced over at her again. She rarely ever called him that. She used to, when he would always defiantly answer that he had never considered her a sister. Now, when he would murmur the familial term to her as he finally returned all those desperate embraces of their childhood years, she seemed to have abandoned it. Almost as if they switched roles. In a way she supposed he really did see her as a sister now. Maybe always had. And in another way, she was anything but.

“Have I ever told you…?”

She broke off this time. He already knew. She didn’t even have to say that much. She could probably abandon the entire pretense of talking. But there was something comforting in this odd, broken conversation. Something almost human. Almost normal.

“No,” he replied. “You don’t have to.”

She waited, hands absently tracing an old scar across her stomach. A battle wound. She had told him not to interfere that time. Instead of bandaging the shallow cut after she had killed her opponent, he had licked the blood off her skin. On the ground right next to the corpse. In front of the rest of their team. That was probably one of the least disturbing things they’d done together.

“I do too,” he added after a moment.

She smiled. A perfectly executed imitation. She wasn’t really happy. Couldn’t be. Not now.

“Why?” she asked with sudden frustration, the smile falling into something that was too sad to be a frown.

It wasn’t addressed at the situation. Wasn’t about his statement. Wasn’t really about anything, she realized. It just was. A never ending question. The question to their existence perhaps. It was one of those things that shouldn’t be answered, but she knew he would answer it anyway, knew that the answer would be brutally honest and exactly what she didn’t want to hear, but he would say it just because she spoke and he was the only one who was entitled to ask this single cruel word.

“Because some things can never be changed.”

“Fate?” she inquired sadly.

“No,” he replied with a hint of distaste. “Just existence.”

It would make no sense to anyone but her, but she knew exactly what he meant. Had known it from the moment he was born. You could change the way people saw you, could change your future, your destiny, everything around you. Could even modify your past, at least as far as history was concerned. But you could never change who you are.

Maybe it was the way her eyes seemed to be completely dead as they stared back at her through the glass. That had to be unsettling. But then, her eyes were always like that. Or at least they had been for as long as she could remember. It was probably a trait acquired from him at some point, but she didn’t dwell on that. Regardless, that was obviously not the problem with her image.

She wouldn’t even have to ask him, she could read the answer in his expression. Something was stopping her. She supposed that meant she didn’t want to know. But she couldn’t move past it. She hadn’t even started to brush her hair, pick out her clothes, put on make-up. She had time though.

“How long?” she asked again.

The clock was in fact just to her right and she could simply look, could probably even see it with just a sideways glance. But she wanted his voice. Wanted to feel that he was waiting for this with as much agitation as she was, even if his tone suggested that he was completely passive about the entire thing.

“Two hours, forty nine minutes.”

She didn’t realize she had been staring at her reflection for so long. She was running out of time, apparently faster than she thought. She would have to figure out what was wrong with her appearance. She’d have to find something to wear to match him, to represent the village, to show her status, despite the blatant disregard of rules by wearing black and obviously having the need to show much of her leg for the symbol to be visible on her thigh.

“Can I bring my fan?” she muttered, seemingly to herself.

“No,” he answered despite knowing that she already knew. “You don’t need to. The ANBU will be there.”

She turned back to him with a sneer befitting only the most arrogant of shinobi. She didn’t trust the ANBU. He knew that. She hadn’t trusted them since the day when they were children and a squad of the highest ranking ANBU had attempted to hold her back while attacking him. They had been eliminated in a hurricane of sand in the blink of an eye. But now it was different. Now they were under his control. They still couldn’t overpower him, of course, everyone knew that. The statement referred more to the matter of appearance. They would have to look as if they trusted their guards.

“I really have to look like a girl for this, huh?” she said with a smirk, turning back to her reflection.

“You are,” he replied unnecessarily.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had worn something that was not ninja garb, much less something that was supposed to be elegant and formal. Probably some other ceremony. She remembered dancing with him some time in the past under the watchful eyes of the village. Brother and sister then. She wondered if she would have to do it this time.

Perhaps it was the lack of any kind of weapons on her body that was unsettling. She always had weapons somewhere within reach. Something about being able to reach down and feel the sharp metallic point of a deadly blade was comforting to her. But she had seen herself this way before. He always took away her weapons when he undressed her. She had seen this very look in the mirror countless times before putting on her clothes. Aside, once she had picked out her dress, she would be able to hide a kunai somewhere, she was sure. The problem had to be about something that was already there, she decided.

“Where should I sit?” she questioned slowly.

“With me.”

She paused. That was an odd statement under the circumstances, yet entirely predictable.

“Isn’t it supposed to be…?”

“I don’t care,” he cut across her characteristically.

Maybe it was the situation that was unsettling. She paused again. No, definitely her. Something about the way she looked was simply off. Something that had never been there before and she had a feeling would never disappear after this day. This unnerved her even further. Her shoulders moved slightly in a subtle indication of her discomfort. This wasn’t right. Everything about this wasn’t right.

“But then they’ll know,” she murmured, her voice sounding strangely pathetic with such a fearful note in it.

“They already do,” he stated with a careless shrug.

Another pause, a mimicry of shock. She knew of course. It was obvious. Even so, he made a point to tell her before this whole thing was set into motion. He allowed himself a small scowl at her pathetic attempt at surprise before retreating to the usual blank look.

“So what about tonight?” she inquired, voice cold as if she didn’t care for this entire charade.

“It’s just a night,” he replied, emotionless and completely devoid of meaning, avoiding her question entirely.

She knew what he was thinking though, what he intended to do when the ceremony was over. This was certainly promising to be a spectacle.

She turned again, walked back to the nightstand, stopped. This was turning out to be repetitive, she realized. It was like pacing in very slow motion. The thought made her issue a short, dry laugh. He turned his head at a minimal angle to allow him to look at her. She met his gaze silently, shrugged in response to his unspoken question, tried to smile and failed miserably. He continued to watch her. She sighed. She couldn’t remember why she came over here. Instead she placed one knee on the bed and leaned down towards him. He was still watching her. His gaze made everyone else shrink away in fear and incomprehension. It never bothered her though, even all those years when it wasn’t his consciousness that she saw behind those eyes.

She froze a few inches away from him, one hand planted on the bed as well to support herself. She studied him, her gaze never wavering from his. He didn’t seem affected in the least. Nervous, angry, uncertain, happy… nothing. It was as if this didn’t matter to him whatsoever, as if it was just any other day. She wasn’t sure if that bothered her, wasn’t sure if it should.

“Should we really be together right now?” she intoned.

“Should…?” he echoed, brows quirking upward in a gesture of mocking more than question.

It was a stupid question of course. What they should and shouldn’t do had never been part of their calculations, least of all when dealing with each other. There was no particular reason why that would change now. Except that there were a million reasons. Just not precisely the right ones. Of course, right and wrong were also something to be disregarded.

He twisted a bit more towards her and reached up suddenly, a jerky movement that would’ve made her jump if she wasn’t used to his strangeness. He slowed just before touching her, fingers slipping into her hair, expertly avoiding the brush of skin. He toyed with her locks carefully, a motion too calculated to be gentle, eyes never leaving hers. Her lips parted in a silent sigh, every fiber of her being longing to move closer, to lean into those fingers whose caresses she knew so well. She didn’t. She remained still, waiting.

“Your brush,” he said finally.

Yes, that was what she came for. She pulled back, hair sliding through his parted fingers and leaving his hand suspended awkwardly in midair before he lowered it soundlessly to the mattress. Her hand found the necessary tool sightlessly before she turned away and returned to her temporary sanctuary in front of the mirror. Definitely a pattern.

She began to run the brush through her hair idly, not even wincing as it slid through the tangles and pulled strands free of her scalp. She saw his reflection move, stand up from the bed, walk off into the distance. The brush ran through the same bundle of locks time and time again, now completely smooth and tangle free. She wasn’t paying attention to it. Even without looking at the reflection, something about her was still not right. That had to mean it was something she could feel. Maybe a bruise, a wound, a cut? There were always bruises, though. She never noticed them, no matter how big.

The sound of water running in the shower. She wished suddenly that she hadn’t showered already, that she could have an excuse to get close to him one more time. Maybe he’d need her to wash him again. Her gaze drifted back to the reflection and she finally moved the brush to a new spot, finishing the work with the same brutal force. She parted her hair in the middle, the blonde locks falling flat over her shoulders, her bangs obscuring her forehead. Despite the difference in shade and the way her expression was much harsher than what she remembered seeing as a child, she still reminded herself of their mother this way. She wondered if he would hate it.

Pain Binds Us - Chapter 23

2008-06-10T06:34:46Z

Chapter 23 – Catharsis

“What the fuck?” Kankuro’s voice broke the silence when it became apparent that Gaara had left the house.

“Nani?” Temari asked with a sigh.

“Why did you say that?” he replied incredulously. “Are you trying to piss him off? And why did he seem to be… nice, and then…”

Kankuro broke off, a gesture of his hand towards the direction where Gaara had disappeared indicating his abrupt departure. Temari gave another slow sigh, finally turning back to the stove and removing the slightly burnt food

“He’s always like that,” she answered with a shrug, ignoring the rest of Kankuro’s question.

“Well, what the fuck does he mean by that?” he pressed.

“I have no idea,” she sighed in response, taking two plates to the table as he followed her. “I can’t pretend to understand him.”

“Is he… angry now or something?” Kankuro asked uncertainly, sitting down beside her.

“No, probably not,” she replied quietly, choosing not to add that for Gaara to be angry he would have to care.

“And what about what I was asking before?” he insisted.

“I told you, I don’t know,” Temari answered, picking at her food absently. “I don’t know what Baki is going to do, and I haven’t a clue how Gaara might react to all this, and I strongly suspect that I will have no control in the matter.”

“Maybe I can help?” he offered, concern surfacing in his voice.

“No,” she replied immediately. “Just leave it. Nothing has happened yet anyway. He might just let it go.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Kankuro mumbled, sounding entirely unconvinced but deciding to drop the conversation nevertheless.

********************

They arrived at the training grounds to find Baki already there. Before their sensei could ask about Gaara’s absence, the youngest sibling materialized in front of them, his expression stoic as always.

“Kazekage-sama is pleased with your progress,” Baki began immediately, the stiffness in his voice showing his irritation in regard to the events of the previous day. “The chuunin exams are in one month. He wishes for you to continue training as a team in preparation for this.”

He paused, as if waiting for objections. Temari allowed herself a small sneer. It was clear from this that Baki had not made the report of her and Gaara’s relationship. The older man did not acknowledge the gesture, resolutely avoiding meeting her gaze.

“You need to learn each other moves thoroughly,” Baki continued when no one spoke. “Temari and Kankuro, you can pair up against Gaara. Alternate between all the techniques in your arsenal to familiarize each other with your capabilities. And do not harm each other. Any questions?”

“How am I supposed to do that and not harm them?” Gaara asked, his voice flat and emotionless.

“Don’t use your fatal attacks,” their sensei replied calmly. “You can demonstrate them later. Anything else?”

The siblings shook their heads stiffly and after a nod from Baki moved into fighting positions. Gaara showed no hint of his reaction to the morning’s confrontation, acting as cold and impersonal as ever. Temari was unfazed by this, used to his mood changes by now, and Kankuro followed her lead in attacking Gaara as if nothing was wrong. The two siblings worked well together already. Their teamwork was nearly flawless. But it was still nowhere near enough to overpower Gaara. He barely even moved, only occasionally alternating the automatic sand walls and spiraling sand attacks with his less powerful jutsu.

By the time Baki called a break for lunch, Temari and Kankuro decided that the term no harm was relative. Gaara hadn’t killed them or maimed them as he would in a normal fight, but they were still covered in countless cuts and small injuries. The jinchuuriki was without a scratch as always.

They walked the short distance over to where Temari had left a small backpack earlier. Temari and Kankuro sat down on the ground. To their surprise, Gaara joined them. It was customary for him to take his food and walk away without a word to them. The older siblings exchanged a confused glance but said nothing as Temari handed out bento boxes and bottles of water to her brothers. Baki stood a few steps away, arms crossed over his chest, observing the three of them with a frown on his face.

Gaara took his food and set it aside on the ground. When he reached out and traced a hand up along Temari’s back, she immediately realized why he had stayed. He was doing this only to make a point, to show Baki that he couldn’t be controlled. Temari ignored this, proceeding to open her own food and start eating as if nothing unusual was happening. Baki took a step towards them.

“Gaara, stop it,” he said harshly. “Just because I haven’t reported it doesn’t mean that someone else won’t.”

“I don’t care,” the youngest sibling replied calmly.

Baki scowled, his eyes involuntarily following the motion of Gaara’s fingers up and down along Temari’s spine. She still hadn’t looked up, chopsticks picking at her food absently, only the way her eyebrows knitted together revealing her discomfort. Kankuro glanced between his siblings and their sensei uncertainly, feeling like he didn’t belong there.

“Temari,” the older man said quietly. “I was right, wasn’t I?”

Her head shot up to look at him, her expression somewhere between shocked and outraged.

“I told you, that’s none of your business,” she replied sharply, her hand trembling, the chopsticks nearly snapping under her fingers.

“Maybe not,” he said with an earnest note that irritated Temari even more. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

He disappeared before anyone could respond. Gaara slowly turned to face Temari, his hand halting on the small of her back.

“What was he right about?” he asked with a slight hiss to his words.

“Nothing,” she spat back, turning away from him and glaring down at her food. Kankuro flinched beside her, his eyes revealing his fear. No one in their right mind dared use that tone with Gaara.

“Temari…” Gaara intoned, the warning clear in his voice.

“Nani?” she snapped, looking back up at him.

“Tell me,” he said, fingers curling at her back to dig the nails into her skin even through her clothing.

“I already told you everything he said,” she answered bitterly.

“Hn.”

After a moment, Gaara retracted his hand from her and turned his attention to his own food. Temari caught Kankuro’s gaze, his expression frozen somewhere between fear and shock as she silently pleaded for him to stay quiet. He seemed to understand her, saying nothing as they both resumed eating.

A short time later they set aside their empty containers. Kankuro shifted away slightly, laying Karasu out in front of him and busying himself with removing sand from its joints. Temari glanced over at Gaara to find his gaze locked on the blood droplets drying on her forearms.

“Gaara?” she asked tentatively.

His eyes snapped to her face, his expression reminiscent of something like a death glare. Slowly he moved towards her, the motion tense and predatory, edging closer until he was within an inch of her. He tilted his head to the side gradually, leaning in and trailing his tongue along her lips. Temari could not suppress a shiver, the wet warmth of his tongue mingling with the scent of blood radiating from his sand armor.

“You know, you really shouldn’t do that here,” Kankuro muttered, eyes trained resolutely on the puppet in front of him, his tense posture revealing his discomfort at what his siblings were doing only a couple of feet away from him. “If the ANBU are around, we wouldn’t sense them.”

“I would,” Gaara murmured, not bothering to move back from his sister.

His arm snaked around her waist, bringing her closer. Temari frowned, turning her head away from him and earning a quiet hiss of warning.

“And would you stop if they were?” she inquired scathingly.

“You want me to stop?” he asked casually, lips moving to her neck.

“Gaara,” she sighed in exasperation. “How many times do we have to go through this?”

“Until I get bored,” he answered with a cruel smirk. “And kill you.”

Temari let out a frustrated groan at those words and before she could stop herself, she had reached out and pushed Gaara back. She was sure it was only his surprise that allowed her to actually move him. He arched a nonexistent eyebrow, seeming too caught off guard to be angry. Before he could do anything else, she abruptly stood up and began to walk away from him. She had only taken three steps when sand wrapped around her legs, bringing her down to her knees and instantaneously securing her arms behind her back. She let out a small yelp.

“Gaara, what are you doing?” came Kankuro’s shocked voice from behind her.

The only response was the rustling of sand as Gaara approached her, moving around to stand in front of her. He glared down at her for a moment before lowering himself fluidly and crouching down beside her. Under different circumstances Temari would’ve thought the situation strangely erotic. But now it was simply terrifying. He would kill her this time. She knew it. A solitary tear slid down her cheek.

Slowly he reached out towards her, sand-clad fingers gliding along her skin, carefully wiping away the moisture. His eyes followed the motion with an unusual concentration, his expression seeming to be almost… hurt? Without meeting her gaze, Gaara leaned in towards his sister.

“Maybe you shouldn’t believe everything he tells you,” he breathed against her ear, sending electric shivers down her spine.

Before she could respond, he was gone, leaving her to ponder the meaning of his words.

********************

Gaara reappeared just before Baki returned, giving his siblings no chance to talk to him. They proceeded with their training as if nothing had happened. At the end of the day Gaara vanished again as soon as they were dismissed. Kankuro and Temari walked home in silence, avoiding the topic that neither wanted to discuss.

“Can you feed yourself tonight?” Temari asked in a tired voice as they entered the house.

“Sure,” Kankuro replied casually. “Are you OK?”

“Yeah,” she answered with a weak smile. “Just tired. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Kankuro nodded in response and Temari went upstairs silently. She went directly into the bathroom, immediately shedding her torn clothes and stepping into the shower. She let the hot water cascade over her head and down her shoulders, washing off the blood still clinging to her skin, the warmth soothing her arching body. Her thoughts returned to Gaara’s words, wondering what he had meant, wondering if he could possibly mean what she thought he might mean. She couldn’t let herself think that. She was still angry. Angry at Baki for his attempt to interfere, angry at Gaara for not caring, angry at the village for, hell, everything.

Temari lingered in the shower longer than she normally would have. By the time she emerged, her entire body was flushed a soft pink. She didn’t bother drying her hair, simply wrapping a towel around herself before stepping out. Without a moment’s consideration, she approached Gaara’s room. Before she could decide if she should knock or simply walk in, he opened the door sharply. Temari faltered, suddenly unsure of what she was doing.

“What do you want?” Gaara asked harshly.

This sparked her anger again and without thinking Temari reached out and pushed on his shoulder, making him take a step back. Apparently her earlier actions still had not prepared him for this and he relented, too shocked to resist her. She stepped past him into the room. Gaara closed the door silently and turned to face her.

“What did you mean?” she asked, her back to him.

“Nothing,” he answered coldly.

She turned to face him, stepping towards him and pinning him against the door with a boldness he hadn’t expected. Her hands rested on his chest, fingers fisting in the fabric of his shirt.

“You can’t play with me, Gaara,” she said, somewhere between angry and desperate. “I’m not your toy.”

Gaara didn’t answer. She didn’t expect him to. She also didn’t expect his arms to wrap around her and press her against him. His expression was still neutral, but his eyes locked on hers, studying her, waiting to see what she would do. As if unable to resist, Temari leaned forward and locked her lips with his. His hands tugged at the towel suddenly, pulling it off her body and throwing it onto the floor.

“At least tell me you want me here,” she murmured, pulling back from him slightly. “Even if you don’t care, I want to know that you at least feel that much for me.”

Gaara arched a nonexistent eyebrow slightly, one hand idly tracing up and down along her spine. After a few moments she began to think he wouldn’t answer again. When she almost decided to pull away from him, he broke the silence.

“You know I do,” he said quietly.

Temari’s lips quirked upwards in a small smile. It was barely a victory, but for now, she would pretend that it was more than just a simple admission of lust. Her hands travelled upwards, fingers entwining in his hair, stroking the soft locks gently. Gaara watched her silently, the void in his eyes seeming even more pronounced than usual. This unsettled Temari, making it hard for her to maintain her resolve. She forced herself to continue nevertheless, allowing one hand to trail over his face, carefully tracing his cheekbones, his lips, the darkness around his eyes. He flinched when her fingers touched the kanji on his forehead, turning his head away from her instinctively.

She took the chance to move forward and press her lips to his neck, earning a soft gasp from Gaara. She hadn’t really done anything like this before and the sudden affection was confusing to him. Temari ignored his discomfort and allowed her hands to slide down to his chest again, nails dragging along the coarse fabric of his shirt. She planted light kisses along his neck, her breath coming in short pants, the warmth spreading over his skin. His arms tightened around his sister, crushing her body to his, hands gripping at her hips to hold her against him, giving her the answer she wanted.

“Gaara,” she breathed, tongue trailing in the wake of her lips, making small shivers pass through his body. “You’re my brother… Why do I want this?”

He remained silent as her hands wandered lower, tracing the toned muscles of his stomach. A soft moan escaped her lips as her breasts were crushed against his chest. She could feel the familiar burning sensation in her abdomen, the unmistakable wetness between her legs, and that incomprehensible ache that she could not begin to describe.

“Why do you do this to me?” she muttered, her voice husky with desire.

Her fingers traced the hem of his shirt absently, grazing his warm skin lightly. He turned his head slightly, watching her out of the corner of his eye as her teeth scraped along his neck. His shirt was becoming soaked with the water still dripping from her hair, but neither of them noticed.

“Why do I want this?” she repeated, lips moving against his ear. “Why do I want you? Why do I need you?”

Gaara continued to watch her as she pulled back slowly. The expression in Temari’s eyes was almost pleading as she gradually started to drag his shirt upwards. He raised his arms obediently, allowing her to slip the garment off, leaving only mesh covering his torso. She pressed against him again, her hardening nipples scraping against the fishnet, making another quiet moan fall off her lips.

“Why do you make me feel like this?” she murmured, forehead pressed against his, studying his expressionless face. “Why do you make me forget about everything else in the world?”

His arms settled around her once again as her hands travelled down to his pants, tracing the band around his waist. He stiffened immediately and Temari smirked slightly. He didn’t like giving her this much control. But she couldn’t let him stop her. She wanted him to know what he was doing to her, how much he could torture her, even without any pain. She wanted to make him feel what she felt. Her fingers began to undo the buttons of his pants, her lips barely moving as she intoned the words, her breath shuddering against his face.

“Why do I miss you when you’re gone? Why do I feel so empty without you, so hollow, as if I don’t even exist if you are not there?”

She allowed the garment to come undone and slip down, her other hand grasping at his waist as if to steady herself. Her fingers slipped under the thin fabric that still covered him and brushed against his arousal, earning a stifled hiss from her brother… Her brother. The realization hit her again of what she was doing, what she wanted to do, what she wanted him to do to her. She didn’t stop. She allowed her fingers to curl around him, the touch light enough to only tease. She realized she hadn’t touched him before. He had never let her touch him.

“Ototou…” she breathed, her voice coming out as a moan. “I shouldn’t… shouldn’t… Why… do I like it?”

Temari was losing comprehension, drowning in the inexplicable yearning that he always aroused in her. Her fingers moved, just barely, as if probing, exploring. Gaara’s hands grasped almost desperately at her waist and she wasn’t sure if he wanted to bring her closer or push her away. She had to tell him her last fragmented thoughts. She needed him to know.

“Why are you always in my thoughts, plaguing me, like a disease?” she whispered, lips separated from his by mere millimeters. “Why is it that every time I think about you… it hurts?”

His hand slipped between their bodies, gliding up until his fingers rested over her left breast, feeling her frantic pulse under his fingertips. Temari watched him with trepidation. Did he understand? Could he possibly know what this burning, aching, agonizing sensation really meant? Did he feel it too?

“Why?” Gaara echoed under his breath, his hand shaking slightly.

“Maybe you’ve already killed me,” she murmured before finally crushing her lips to his, a soft whine escaping her as his tongue brushed against hers.

She didn’t even realize that she had started to gradually slide down, her body moving against his, breaking the kiss to instead trail her lips over the fishnet on his chest, his stomach. He didn’t stop her, his hands releasing her as she slowly sunk to her knees in front of him, her gaze still locked with his, fingers still wrapped delicately around him. Temari didn’t allow herself a pause to consider what she was doing before tugging at the waist of his undergarment with her free hand and sliding it down to his knees. Gaara’s hands automatically went to the back of her head, tangling in the wet hair.

Slowly Temari lowered her eyes, taking in the sight of his body, the black fishnet contrasting with his pale skin. She moved her hand experimentally, tracing her fingertips along the length of his erection. A small shiver passed through Gaara’s body and she edged closer, her breath warm against him as she tightened her hand, allowing herself one long, drawn out stroke. She heard him draw in a breath, but he remained otherwise still, doing nothing to either stop her or encourage her. Gradually she leaned in until her lips were almost touching him, fingers still moving with calculated strokes.

Her cheeks flushed a soft pink. It felt odd to do this somehow, strangely personal. He had done it to her of course, several times, even if it was to cause pain more than pleasure in his case. She just wanted to make him feel, she wanted him to know what he did to her, to be able to put him in the same unbearable trance he had her in every time he was near her. She parted her lips slowly and allowed her tongue to glide smoothly over the sensitive skin, earning a quiet gasp of surprise from Gaara. His fingers gripped painful at her hair but he still did not stop her as she moved closer, her mouth encircling his erection. Her hand halted as she took in as much of him as she could, her eyes sliding shut and a soft moan echoing in her throat.

Temari paused, her free hand trailing up along his leg, tongue gliding over the underside of his erection and making him let out a stifled sound of gratification. She resumed the motion, carefully pulling back until her lips and tongue brushed against the sensitive tip, then leaning in towards him once again. Gaara continued to grasp at her hair as if wanting her to stop, but not restricting enough to prevent her movement. She allowed her pace to increase gradually, and his head fell back against the door, eyes closing and lips parting in a silent moan.

“Temari…”

His voice was almost a plea and it made the burning ache in her abdomen grow and spread to the rest of her body, making her feel unbearably hot. Her hand gripped at his hip helplessly, trying to bring him closer even as she leaned forward. Her lips tightened around him, tongue twisting in rhythm with her movement, his grasp on her hair finally slackening. She glanced up at him as she pulled back, taking in the sight of his flushed face, his bottom lip between his teeth to prevent the sounds from escaping. It gave her a feeling of power to do this to him and she resumed her ministrations with increased vigor, making him utter another incomprehensible encouragement.

She was surprised when Gaara stopped her, finally tugging at her hair enough to halt her movements. He pulled her back, eyes snapping open and glaring down at her as she met his gaze. He brought her up to her feet with the same brutal force, not paying attention to the way she winced as his fingers tangled in her locks carelessly. As soon as she stood, he instantly switched positions with her, Temari’s back pressing against the wood of the door, her hands wrapping around his torso instinctively to steady herself.

Her leg went up to curl around his before he slipped his arm under her knee, holding her in place as he slid effortlessly inside her slick heat. She let out a deep moan, her head falling back as his lips found her neck. His free hand gripped at her hip, nails sinking into the skin while his tongue flicked teasingly over the juncture of her shoulder and neck as he moved inside her with rough, sharp strokes. A scream tore from her throat as he quickened the pace almost immediately, her entire body shaking with the force of his thrusts, her nails digging at his shirt and tearing holes in the mesh.

“Temari,” he breathed against her ear, voice quivering with each movement. “Neesan…”

He pulled back to look at her, forehead pressed against hers, his breath coming in short gasps as he continued to move without losing momentum. His gaze locked with hers, his eyes reflecting a mixture of anger and lust. His teeth bared in something like a scowl as he leaned in, nose brushing against hers, not quite close enough to be a kiss.

“I want you,” he hissed.

“Gaara…” was the only response she managed, the sound broken with another moan.

His hand moved from her hip, sliding upwards along her body until his fingers encircled her neck, caressing the straining tendons lightly.

“I need you,” he nearly growled.

“Gaara…” her voice came out as a scream this time and he hissed in response.

He could feel her body starting to shake, her moans becoming more desperate, her nails scraping along his back and meeting sand armor yet again.

“Temari, I…” his tone suddenly fell to a soft murmur even as his movements were still harsh and merciless. “I…”

He didn’t finish and she didn’t dare to imagine what he might’ve said. She didn’t have time to consider it as she felt the familiar ecstatic sensation overwhelm her body, wringing another shameless scream from her while she clung to him desperately. She heard a low groan resound in Gaara’s throat, his eyes shutting for a moment as he reached his own release, thrusting into her one last time before halting. He continued to hold her in place even after he stopped, leveling her with an icy glare even as he remained inside her. Temari felt a chill pass through her despite the combined heat of their bodies. She forced herself to steady her breathing and look back at him with a neutral expression.

“Leave,” he said harshly, even though he hadn’t made a move to release her.

Her eyes widened in shock, mouth opening slightly at a loss for words.

“You got what you wanted,” he stated coldly. “Go.”

“Gaara,” she said uncertainly. “What are you…?”

He pulled back from her sharply, cutting off her words with another hiss. She stumbled before she managed to finally stand straight, watching him with confusion as he quickly pulled on his pants. Gaara glared at her again.

“That’s all I am to you,” he said evenly. “This is all you want from me.”

“Nani?” she asked, completely bewildered now. He was the one that started all this, he was the one that insisted he didn’t care, he was the one that did not even notice her until he wanted this. What he was saying now made no sense to Temari whatsoever and under the circumstances she could not get her bearings enough to think of an answer.

“Get out,” he hissed.

“No,” she answered instinctively, not even stopping to think of what he might do to her for defying him.

“Get… the fuck… out,” he spat back, taking a step towards her threateningly. “Now.”

“No,” she said resolutely.

He stopped, just staring at her, that unmistakable murderous intent radiating off his every fiber. Temari remained still, palms pressed against the door behind her to support herself and still the trembles passing through her body.

“Fine,” he said finally.

Before she could react he abruptly picked up his shirt from the floor and, after casting her another hateful look, disappeared in a flurry of sand. She crumbled to the floor, staring at the space where he had just vanished and trying to make some sense of this mess of a situation.

Pain Binds Us - Chapter 22

2008-06-04T20:19:04Z

Chapter 22 – Schism

When Gaara and Temari arrived back in Suna, they walked through the gates to find Baki and Kankuro standing a few feet away from the guard station, apparently waiting for them. Kankuro nodded to his siblings and immediately disappeared. Temari and Gaara approached their sensei silently warily.

“I made no report yet,” he began without preamble, and they both knew he wasn’t referring to their training. “I’ll give you a chance to talk first.”

A cruel smirk crept across Gaara’s lips. He turned to Temari slowly, catching her gaze for a moment, the unspoken challenge clear in his expression. Before she could say or do anything, he allowed the sand to encase him and disappeared.

“Spoilt brat,” Baki sneered. “He won’t be able to get out of this so easily. You can tell him that.”

“He said he wasn’t going to explain himself,” Temari replied with a shrug. “You can talk to me.”

“Fine,” her sensei answered shortly. “Let’s do this somewhere private.”

Minutes later they were standing in the deserted training grounds, Temari’s hand on her hip, her every fiber radiating arrogance. Baki scowled.

“Well?” he asked scathingly.

“What do you want to know?” she inquired casually.

“I want to know why you think this is OK,” Baki stated bluntly.

“Why…?” Temari echoed thoughtfully. “Why shouldn’t it be? It was OK for our father to kill our mother so he could put a demon in Gaara’s body. It was OK for him to order Gaara’s assassination when he couldn’t handle him. It’s OK for the village to use Gaara as a weapon. It’s even OK for Gaara to kill whoever he wants, just because everyone is too afraid to stop him. If he had killed me, you probably wouldn’t even wonder why. But if I’m sleeping with him, it’s suddenly a problem.”

The look on Baki’s face fell somewhere between shock and disgust. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. Apparently all the evidence was still not enough to prepare him for Temari’s honesty about that aspect of their relationship.

“You mean…?” he muttered after a minute, then stopped again, seeming unable to voice his question.

Temari merely sneered in response, waiting for him to say it. If he wanted to know, he would have to ask. She wasn’t going to help him get to the point when she didn’t want to have this conversation in the first place. Moments passed in uncomfortable silence.

“You actually had sex with him?” Baki asked finally, his stiff posture making it obvious that he felt completely out of his element in this conversation.

“Yeah,” she answered, shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly, as if it was only natural.

“Why would you do that?” he said nearly in a whisper, seeming suddenly afraid to give voice to his thoughts.

Temari smirked slightly, her eyebrows lifting as if in wonder.

“Do I really need to explain the dynamics to you?” she asked mockingly.

“You know damn well that’s not what I mean,” he scolded. “You’re siblings!”

“So?” she countered, frustration surfacing in her voice. “Who cares? It doesn’t concern anyone but me and him.”

“What do you think your father will say about this?” Baki asked.

“He’s never been a father to either of us,” she responded with a snort. “I couldn’t care less what he thinks. Our lives are none of his business.”

“Need I remind you again of the law?” he said coldly. “You’ll be banished.”

“And what do you think Gaara would do then?” Temari replied, her hands clenching into fists to stop herself from yelling. “Do you think he would just leave calmly if you asked him to?”

“Don’t threaten me, Temari,” Baki said, the warning clear in his voice.

“I’m simply telling you what you should already know,” she replied indifferently.

“He doesn’t care about you, you must know that,” he said, his tone suddenly earnest.

The glare on Temari’s face almost made him step back.

“That doesn’t concern you,” she said sharply.

“Why are you doing this?” Baki tried again, attempting to appear concerned but succeeding only in sounding bewildered. “You could have any man in this village. Why Gaara?”

“He’s my brother,” Temari replied quietly.

Hearing herself say it made her realize that to anyone else that comment would seem nothing short of repulsive. But the almost defeated look on Baki’s face showed that he understood exactly what she meant. However messed up the siblings may be, they were family. They only had each other. As far as they were concerned, the rest of the world may as well not exist around them.

“It’s because it’s Gaara,” she continued without waiting for him to reply. “Who else would ever tolerate him? Who else would he ever allow to get close? He’s been alone all his life. He’s been hurt all his life. I don’t care if you and the entire world thinks it’s sick,” her voice rose a pitch with each word and by the time she finished her sentence she was screaming, “I love him.”

“But he doesn’t love you,” Baki said, almost gently.

“Fuck you!” Temari yelled. “You don’t know that. You don’t know him.”

“You know I’m right,” he answered, his voice level with a forced calmness.

“Why do you think he went through with this stupid plan?” she nearly growled. “Because he doesn’t care?”

“Just because he wants to keep you as his toy doesn’t mean he cares,” Baki replied harshly.

“You know what, that’s not your problem,” she said coldly, slowly letting her voice drop to an almost normal level. “Whether he does or not is between me and him. It has no relevance to you or anyone else.”

“And what are you going to do when he gets bored and decides to kill you?” he questioned, the tremble in his voice betraying that his restraint was wearing thin.

“Drop it,” she hissed. “You wanted to know, so I told you. I don’t expect you to understand, and I know you didn’t expect this conversation to change anything. So what do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know, Temari,” he said with a sigh. “I’m responsible for you…”

“Don’t pretend to care,” she cut him off sharply, voice rising again. “No one has ever cared about us. If all three of us died, they would probably make that day a national holiday.”

“Temari…”

“No,” she cut across him again. “Don’t bother. I know you didn’t choose this job. I know you didn’t want anything to do with us, and you probably still don’t. All you care about is that you don’t get in trouble for this yourself. Report it if it matters that much. I don’t care. We’ll deal with it. But don’t try to talk to me like you’re my father…”

She faltered on the last word, stopping suddenly, her eyes going wide. It hadn’t even occurred to her that this was what the conversation had really turned into until she said it. Only now she began to realize what that meant. She had a father. A father who lived in this village, who had never disowned her or anything of the sort. A father who should’ve been there for her. But instead she had to have this conversation with a stranger, someone who had been forced to become a part of her life through duty.

She had every right to blame this whole situation on the Kazekage. It wasn’t like she’s ever been told that this is wrong. She had to learn what she knew about sex and relationships from the gossips at the academy. And Gaara… he learnt everything he knew from his bijuu.

But laying blame would mean admitting fault, admitting that this was wrong, that they shouldn’t be involved like this. Temari had no intention of doing that. She would not apologize for her actions. Her brothers were all she had, and no one had the right to tell her what her relationship with either of them should be.

“And if I order you to stop?” Baki asked, the worry in his eyes belying his stern voice.

“You know my answer,” she replied with a sneer, her voice still trembling with rage.

“Fuck, Temari,” he swore uncharacteristically, fists clenched, the frustration and fear etched across his face. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Do what you want,” she answered coldly. “I’m done.”

She turned and began to walk away abruptly, ignoring her sensei’s almost desperate voice calling after her.

********************

Temari was still seething by the time she got home, barely stopping herself from slamming the door as she walked into the dark living room. He had no right to say that Gaara didn’t care about her. He had no right to tell her this was wrong. He had no right to act as if it mattered to him.

Still… he probably had a point. Gaara really didn’t care. He had forced this relationship on her and he left her to face the repercussions alone. Would he really get bored and kill her? Or simply cast her aside and pretend she didn’t exist as he did before? If Baki revealed their secret, would Gaara deny it? Would he kill her just to prove that there was nothing between them? Temari really had no idea. What little glimpses of improvement he showed were always followed with more death threats, more reminders that she was meaningless to him. He had said he needed her, wanted her, wouldn’t let her leave… but then he said he didn’t care.

But every time she was with him, his eyes showed just a little less pain. Despite all his arguments to the contrary, that had to mean something. She couldn’t simply ignore that. Even if he was playing with her, even if he didn’t care in the way that most people would think he should, she gave him something that he wanted, needed. He needed her to make him feel something besides the rush of extinguishing the life of another. And for Gaara, that meant giving him another reason to exist. If she could do that for him, nothing that anyone else said mattered.

But the threats that Baki threw at her were not empty. If he followed through and reported them, the Kazekage could have them exiled. Or at least try. And if Gaara chose to fight, launch a full-fledged war on the village… Well, the outcome was obvious. But he wouldn’t do that for her. Temari knew that. He would never admit that she had that much influence on him. If he fought, it would be only to defy authority and show them that they couldn’t control what he did. And then he might kill her too along with everyone else.

This brought her full circle back to fear. She was afraid of him. She would probably always be afraid of him. Even if he did love her, which she was sure was impossible, he still might kill her. In fact, if he loved her, with his insecurity and fear of betrayal he was probably even more likely to kill her.

It suddenly seemed utterly hopeless. The village, the world was against them. Even Kankuro wasn’t as accepting as he pretended to be. And Gaara… she didn’t know what to hope for anymore. He would destroy her one way or another, whether physically or emotionally, whether he cared about her or not.

Temari couldn’t escape the circular pattern that her thoughts were taking no matter how much she tried to find a way out and she was getting increasingly more pissed off. She shouldn’t be in this position. She was the Kazekage’s daughter, one of the most skilled shinobi in Suna, a member of what promised to be the most ruthless and lethal team in history. She could probably lead this village if she had to. She wasn’t a little girl who needed a lecture about relationships. She wasn’t one to be controlled, by anyone.

Temari stood up abruptly and went out silently into the back yard. Her window was the only one that faced in this direction and she knew she wouldn’t be seen. She went to the fence to retrieve her long-abandoned kunai, only to return to the other end of the yard and launch them back at the already shattered wood boards. It didn’t help. She knew it wouldn’t. It wasn’t enough. Still, she continued the ritual, pulling the kunai out of the fence before sinking them back in, over and over, until her fingers were blistered from the too-tight grip she had on the weapons. By the time she came back into the house, making a mental note to have the fence fixed, she had only succeeding in making herself more irritated.

This situation was all too familiar. Last time she had screamed at Gaara in her frustration, and he in turn told her what it was that he truly wanted from her. Everything was changed now, and yet exactly the same in more ways than she wanted to admit. She still had no idea what went on behind those cold eyes that analyzed her as if she was the odd one in the relationship. Gaara was a jinchuuriki. His thoughts would never be hers to know.

She paused only to shower and change out of her torn, blood-stained clothes before fleeing to her greenhouse. She knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep so she didn’t bother trying. Two sleepless nights, a confrontation with Shukaku, an argument with Baki… this was doing nothing to improve Temari’s mood. She was starting to understand why Gaara was always so unstable. It took all her effort to refrain from screaming, from shattering everything she could get her hands on, from tearing apart this entire house. She didn’t want to expose Kankuro to her anger. It wasn’t his fault. He shouldn’t have to suffer for her.

Time went by excruciatingly slow, even while she busied herself with taking care of her plants. Temari had no idea what she was going to do when they went back for training in just a few hours, what she would say to Baki after everything that happened. She decided not to think about it. Whatever was going to happen was obviously going to happen regardless of what she said or did. She had no control. Again.

She delayed for as long as she could before finally leaving her refuge and returning to the living room. Nobody was there and Temari went into the kitchen silently. She was reaching for the handle of the fridge when the hiss of sand behind her alerted her to Gaara’s appearance. His fingers curled around her wrists before she could do anything and in an instant her palms were pressed against the fridge door. She could feel the heat of his body as he stood behind her, his breath warm against the back of her neck.

“Nani?” she snapped, anger overtaking fear in her mind.

The only response she got was the brush of lips against her skin, the slight movement of his body towards her to press her back against his chest. He seemed undaunted by her frustration, her hostility.

“Just leave me alone,” Temari said quietly, half-heartedly.

“Is that what you want?” Gaara hissed, a note of sarcasm in his voice, his hands releasing her wrists and trailing up along the length of her arms.

“You say that I’ll leave,” she murmured, leaning back into him, her palms remaining against the cold surface of the fridge even though she was no longer restrained. “I think you’ll leave me.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” he whispered against her ear, hands gliding down her body, over the curve of her breasts and down to her stomach.

“Does it really matter what I want?” she said softly, her eyes sliding shut as Gaara’s hands slowly ventured lower, passing over the short length of her skirt and tracing the hem of the material absently.

“Tell me,” he breathed as he slid the skirt upwards gradually, stopping at the line of her hips.

“Tell me it matters,” Temari countered.

Gaara said nothing in response, but he didn’t stop what he was doing either. He allowed one hand to slip into her underwear, slowly gliding down and moving between her slightly parted legs. His fingertips brushed against the tender peak of flesh, making Temari let out an involuntary moan. Her head fell back, tilting to the side as his lips brushed over her neck, the light tickle of his breath making her shiver. His fingers traced her folds gently, seeming almost careful not to hurt her. She bit down on her lip to stifle her moans, instinctively arching into his touch.

“What did he tell you?” Gaara inquired, his voice impossibly calm and steady despite the skillful movement of his fingers.

“He said that you don’t love me,” Temari replied quietly, breaking off on a soft whimper as his caresses became more insistent.

Gaara wrapped his free arm around her waist, holding her to him as her body trembled slightly. He allowed two fingers to slip inside her, the motion frictionless with her sleekness, his thumb moving to circle the soft mound and eliciting a startled gasp from his sister.

“I don’t,” he said simply, no emotion, just a statement of fact.

The continuous stroking motion of his fingers was making her forget what she was thinking, why she was angry, why she cared about anything but this feeling. She wanted him to stop, even as her body was screaming for more. She attempted to move her hands from the fridge door, only to find sand trapping her in place.

Control. It was still about control. She stilled, feeling the sand immediately recede. She could relinquish control for him. But she needed something in return.

“He said you don’t care about me,” she murmured under her breath, biting back another moan.

“I don’t,” Gaara repeated dispassionately.

His calmness was infuriating her. He wasn’t doing this for her pleasure, only to assert his dominance. He didn’t care if someone caught them. All they would see would be that he controlled her, that she was his property, his toy… just as Baki had said.

“He said that you’ll get bored and kill me,” Temari whispered through broken gasps.

Gaara said nothing in response. His body was flush with hers and she could feel his erection pressing against her. He wanted her. She wanted to be able to force him to say, make him beg like he did with her. Even if it was just lust, at least that was an emotion and it showed some form of significance, however small.

“He said I could have any man I want,” she said, her tone harsher this time, daring, challenging.

“No,” Gaara said coldly, his voice laced with an inhuman growl, the scrape of nails across her sensitive flesh eliciting a gasp from Temari before his fingers resumed the maddeningly expert teasing. “I would kill you. You belong to me.”

“Then tell me it matters,” she tried again, a last desperate effort to find some solace in this insane situation. “Tell me I matter.”

His lips moved along her neck, planting light kisses on her skin, slowly tracing the line of her throbbing vein. His tongue flicked out over her ear, running along the contour of the lobe and making goosebumps appear on her skin.

“You don’t,” he murmured.

She wanted to scream at him, tell him to stop, to go away. If she didn’t matter, he shouldn’t be there, shouldn’t be doing this. But the movement of his fingers continued and he knew exactly what to do to make her turn to mush and surrender to him completely. Her hands dropped from the fridge and this time there was nothing stopping them. Temari reached behind her to grasp weakly at her little brother’s hips in an effort to steady herself.

“Gaara…” she moaned, back arching, pressing herself shamelessly into his touch.

“Nani?” he whispered, the slight increase of his pace showing that he knew exactly what she was thinking.

“I want you,” she gasped. “Please… Gaara…”

Her knees grew weak as the continuous motion of his fingers made her utter an incomprehensible plea for more. The only thing that kept her standing now was the firm grip of his arm around her waist.

“Neesan…” he breathed against her ear.

The unmistakable note of desire in his voice pushed Temari over the edge. Her teeth dug into her lip to stop the loud moan that escaped anyway as she felt the convulsions spreading from somewhere inside her body outward and cascading over her in waves of ecstasy. She turned her head towards him blindly and Gaara caught her in a deep kiss, licking off the drops of blood that began to form on her lip from the punctures left by her teeth. His fingers continued to move until she was completely spent, leaving her breathless and trembling against him, her desperate gasps swallowed in the kiss.

When he finally broke off and withdrew his fingers from her, Temari turned around in his arms, placing her hands on his shoulders for support. Her forehead pressed against his, gazes locked, studying each other. His fingers traced idly up and down along her spine, adding small shivers to her already unsteady body.

The sound of a door opening somewhere upstairs jolted them out of their silent rapture and Gaara took a step back immediately. Temari hastily straightened her skirt, eyes locking on her little brother as he brought his hand up to his lips and slowly dragged his tongue along his fingers. Temari glared at him. A small smirk on his lips as he casually folded his arms across his chest showed that he knew exactly what kind of effect this had on her. She contented herself with the knowledge that he would have to deal with his own unfulfilled arousal as she shook her head briefly and turned back to the fridge, willing her shaky legs to support her.

Gaara moved to lean against the kitchen island as Temari began preparing breakfast. Moments later, Kankuro appeared in the kitchen, looking over his siblings with an expression of reserved apprehension.

“Hey,” Temari mumbled, looking away from him to hide the blush still tainting her cheeks.

Gaara said nothing as usual. Kankuro remained silent as well, contemplating them for several moments before stepping closer, standing on the other side of the kitchen island from his younger brother.

“Well?” Kankuro asked finally, the worry evident in his tone.

“Nani?” Temari questioned, not taking her eyes off her cooking.

“What happened?” the puppeteer asked. “What did Baki say?”

“Why do you care?” she countered, her tone harsher than she intended, all the anger and irritation rushing back to her at once. She threw the spatula she was using down on the counter and turned to glare at Kankuro.

“Fuck, Temari, don’t start,” he replied, his voice somewhere between stern and pacifying, clearly not wishing to have an argument in front of Gaara.

“I got enough of Baki trying to act the father-figure last night,” she retorted angrily. “I don’t need this from you.”

Gaara’s eyes narrowed at the statement but he said nothing, watching Temari with an inscrutable expression.

“You know I just want to know that you’re OK,” Kankuro replied, the calmness in his voice betrayed by his shaking hands.

Temari noticed the sudden change in Gaara’s expression, somewhere between malice and pain, not visible to Kankuro from his position. He hadn’t said it specifically, but they all knew that Kankuro was referring only to Temari, not Gaara. She realized that the reason for this was not because Kankuro didn’t care about their little brother, but rather because he didn’t think that Gaara could ever be harmed in any way. But she knew that Gaara wouldn’t see it that way.

“Just drop it,” she hissed with clear warning, hoping he would realize his mistake.

“Is he going to try to banish you?” Kankuro insisted.

“I don’t know,” Temari replied, hands curled into fists, body starting to shake slightly.

“Is he going to report it?” the older brother pressed, his voice revealing his frustration.

“I don’t know,” she repeated through clenched teeth.

“Well, what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” her voice rose to a pitched scream and Kankuro stiffened, realizing suddenly that Gaara had shifted, his hands by his sides, fingers clenched into fists.

“I’m just trying to help…”

“Forget it,” she cut him off sharply. “I’ll deal with it myself.” She turned to Gaara, her eyes narrowing in a calculating look before adding in a cold voice she had been trying to summon all along, “I know you wouldn’t help me.”

He took a step towards her, making Kankuro’s eyes widen in fear. Temari remained resolutely still as Gaara stood in front of her. When his hand reached out towards her she was sure that this time he would attack her.

“Temari…” he said quietly, almost sadly.

When his arm wrapped around her waist, she actually jumped. He gave her no time to speak as his mouth sealed over hers, silencing her, pressing her firmly against him. She relented almost immediately, sagging in his arms, the fight going out of her.

“No, I wouldn’t,” he murmured against her lips, as if delivering a final blow, before he pushed her off him roughly and walked away, throwing the room into a heavy silence.

Pain Binds Us - Chapter 21

2008-05-30T06:46:09Z

Chapter 21 – The Desert

Gaara said nothing about their small confrontation when he came down for breakfast in the morning and Temari chose to simply pretend that it did not occur. He did not touch her or do anything else to otherwise disturb their routine pretense of acting like a family, and the morning seemed almost peaceful.

When they arrived at the training grounds, Baki wasn’t there yet. Temari and Kankuro exchanged a questioning glance. Their sensei was always there before them. Whatever delayed him must’ve been important. They didn’t have long to wait, however, before Baki appeared in front of them, the usual irritation on his face mingled with a hint of fear.

“I reported your progress to Kazekage-sama,” Baki began without preamble. “He believes you’re ready for the next step.”

Their sensei stopped, a slight tremble passing through his body, as if he couldn’t force himself to speak the words he had to say.

“Which is?” Temari prompted.

“He thinks…” Baki paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. “He thinks that you, Temari and Kankuro, need to see Shukaku, in his true form.”

“Naze?” Gaara hissed, his eyes widening, almost matching the shocked expression of his siblings.

“I don’t know,” the older man admitted. “He says it’s necessary. So they know what to expect.”

“What to expect?” the jinchuuriki echoed slowly. “Why should they expect to see that?”

“I don’t know,” Baki repeated.

“How exactly is this supposed to happen?” Kankuro inquired.

“It will be in the desert, to ensure the village will be safe,” their sensei answered, pausing before adding hesitantly, “He wants Gaara to use the forced sleep jutsu.”

“No,” the youngest sibling stated immediately.

“The conditions remain the same,” Baki said with a scowl. “If you don’t, you’re out of the village.”

“No,” Gaara repeated, firmer this time.

“Why not?” Temari asked cautiously.

“You should know,” he replied, turning an icy glare to his sister.

“Do you refuse then?” Baki questioned with a slight tremble.

“Hai,” Gaara answered coldly.

After casting another brief glance at Temari, he turned around and began walking away from his siblings. He hadn’t disappeared though. That had to mean he was still thinking about it.

“I’ll talk to him,” Temari said quietly to the other two. “Wait here.”

She ran after Gaara, quickly catching up to him. He did nothing to acknowledge her, continuing to walk slowly as she joined him. She was silent for several moments, waiting to see if he would speak first. When he said nothing, she spoke up.

“How bad is it?” she asked cautiously. “What would happen?”

“If I sleep, I have no control over him,” he answered simply. “You would probably die.”

“Is that what you’re afraid of? Or are you afraid that he’ll take over?”

They had reached the far end of the training grounds, stopping in front of a wall that separated this place from the houses on the other side. They could still be seen by the other two, but they were far enough that their conversation could not be overheard. Gaara glared at the ground as if it had personally offended him.

“It’s not that,” he answered quietly.

“Then what?” Temari questioned, getting only a shake of the head from Gaara before adding, “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want. You know they can’t really force you to leave.”

“Maybe I should let him out,” Gaara murmured under his breath, resolutely looking away from everything. “Maybe he really is all I am. I’m a monster.”

“No, you’re not,” Temari said firmly, reaching out and placing a hand on his shoulder, willing herself to pretend that there was no sand under her fingertips, no reminders of his inhumanity. Gaara stiffened, as if her touch was unwelcome, and she frowned immediately.

“Is that all I am to you too?” he asked quietly. “Do you see me as just a weapon?”

“No, Gaara,” she answered, not quite able to conceal her anguish. “I’ve never seen you that way. You’re my little brother.”

“That doesn’t matter,” he hissed. “You know it doesn’t.”

“It matters to me,” she said softly.

“Naze?” he questioned. “Because this is wrong? Because you don’t want to keep doing this? Because you wish I was dead?”

An anxious groan escaped his lips, his hand flying up to his head, palm pressed over the kanji on his forehead as his fingers pulled at his hair.

“No!” Temari exclaimed, eyes wide with horror.

She reached out without thinking and grabbed hold of his wrist, pulling him around to face her. Surprisingly, he yielded, allowing her to bring his arm back down, to tilt his chin up to face her.

“Because I love you,” she said softly.

She could allow herself to say it now, when he needed it, when there was no other answer, when she almost, almost meant it as a sister should. He did not seem to react to this confession and she wondered if the words even registered in his chaotic mind.

“Do you want me to do it?” he muttered, strangely childlike.

He never took orders from anyone, he had made a point to demonstrate that only last night. But it seemed that now he would yield to anything she said. This took Temari completely by surprise. For once, he was looking up to her as a big sister, even if it was not that relationship that made him do so.

“I don’t want you to do anything that would hurt you,” she answered with a slight frown.

“It doesn’t matter, I’m just a weapon,” Gaara repeated, lowering his head again.

Temari caught his face in both her hands gently and made him look at her once again. The pain in his eyes made her draw in a breath and she could not stop herself from leaning forward, from brushing her lips over his. Whether or not they were being watched and what the consequences of her actions might be did not matter at the moment. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him into an embrace as he yielded to her, pliable under her gentle touch. She stroked his hair with one hand, shifting so that his head rested against her shoulder. She could feel his body trembling slightly, uncharacteristically, and she could only imagine the turmoil he must feel to bring him to this point.

“You are not a weapon, Gaara,” she whispered gently. “You don’t have to do this.”

“If they make you leave…” he began quietly before breaking off, his voice turning into a hiss once more with his next words, “I can’t let you go. You belong to me.”

“Then…?”

“I’ll do it,” he said, tilting his head slightly to brush his lips over her neck as his arms wrapped around her waist to press her against him.

“Alright,” Temari said softly, trying to sound reassuring despite her rising fear at the idea. “If there’s anything I can do to help…”

She trailed off, remembering that he had already answered that question. Gaara moved back slightly to look into her face, his expression softening marginally when he saw her timid smile.

“You’re mine,” he repeated, nearly growling. “Mine.”

“Hai,” she answered gently, fingers running through his hair even as her hands shook with trepidation.

“And now he knows too,” he added with a slight smirk, casting a sideways glance in the direction where the other two still stood.

Temari had momentarily forgotten that fact and now her eyes widened at the reminder. She turned to look towards her other brother and her sensei. Even from that distance she could clearly see the shock on Baki’s face. She chose not to voice her immediate concern that this information would now surely pass to the Kazekage, turning back to Gaara who was still observing her with an odd mixture of possessiveness and apprehension. After another moment, he released her and stepped away. She followed him as he began to walk back, the usual stoic expression not quite concealing his anger at the situation.

Baki stiffened when they approached while Kankuro managed a weak grin. It was obvious from the puppeteer’s expression that he had been interrogated about what had just happened and was thoroughly displeased about it. Temari avoided meeting either of their eyes. Gaara, on the other hand, flashed the usual death glare at his sensei.

“Tell anyone and I’ll kill you,” he said coldly.

It seemed Gaara had come to the same conclusion as Temari. She couldn’t help wondering if he wanted their relationship kept secret because of the potential repercussions or because he simply didn’t want to be associated with her – something he had accused her of several days ago.

“You do know that the punishment for incest is exile?” Baki intoned, his shock at this discovery still evident on his face.

“That’s why you won’t tell anyone,” Gaara replied calmly.

Baki’s eyes widened. It seemed he had expected Gaara to deny this, to say that it was something else, not what it looked like. Apparently Kankuro hadn’t provided any answers about the situation. And after all, it simply wasn’t possible for Gaara to be involved in something like this. Gaara did not love, and certainly no one could ever love Gaara.

“You expect me to cover for your crimes?” Baki finally managed to say.

“Or die,” the youngest sibling stated impassively. “It makes no difference to me.”

It took another moment for Baki to recover, more so after he saw Temari gently slip her hand into Gaara’s. It was almost comforting to the older man when the jinchuuriki pulled his hand sharply out of her grasp and folded his arms across his chest. At least this distant and arrogant demeanor was more familiar to him.

“We’ll talk about this later,” Baki said with a frown. “Will you perform the jutsu?”

Gaara nodded stiffly and without waiting for any further instructions began walking towards the village gate, with the others immediately following behind.

********************

They walked through the desert for at least two hours after exiting the village to ensure they were a safe distance away. The silence between them was almost painful but no one dared to breathe a word of their thoughts after what had just happened. It was Gaara that eventually stopped, seeming to decide that they were far enough. The others halted a few steps behind him, the fear evident on their faces.

“Did he suggest some way for you to survive this?” Gaara inquired casually, turning around to face the other three.

“Hai,” Baki answered with a calmness that was betrayed by the shaking of his hands. “I’ll wake you before Shukaku has a chance to do anything.”

Gaara gave this statement no acknowledgement and before anyone could say anything else, he formed a seal, the sand spilling out of his gourd and starting to circle around him. The other three took a simultaneous step back, both Temari and Kankuro instinctively reaching for their weapons. The sand rose up as a solid wall, forming a cocoon around Gaara and blocking out his muttered words, fragments of a one-sided conversation.

“Stay out of the way if he attacks,” Baki said quietly to the siblings.

“This is such a stupid idea,” Kankuro mumbled to himself.

Several minutes passed in silence punctuated with the ominous shifting of sand inside the cocoon. The sand walls began to crack at the same time as a sound somewhere between a scream and a growl, and definitely inhuman, filled the air. Temari almost took a step forward before Kankuro put a hand on her shoulder to still her. Slowly the sand began to fall away, cascading down in waves and revealing the nearly transformed shape of Gaara. The siblings’ eyes widened in shock while Baki merely scowled. Another low growl emanated from Gaara and the sand rose up in a spiral resembling a tornado, obscuring his form and forcing the other three to jump back a few more paces.

When the sand settled what was before them was Shukaku’s complete form, its sheer size testifying to the fact that the demon could cause the utter destruction of the entire village with no effort whatsoever.

“Shit,” Kankuro swore, automatically sending chakra strings towards his puppet.

“Don’t,” Temari hissed beside him. “That would only provoke him.”

It took a moment for them to realize that Gaara wasn’t finished. Their eyes widened even further when they saw the jinchuuriki emerge from the top of the bijuu’s head, the murderous look in his eyes evident even from that height. The siblings could do nothing but watch as Gaara slowly brought his arms up and joined his hands in another seal, his eyes sliding shut as if in concentration.

“Tanuki Neiri no Jutsu,” he muttered with an animalistic growl.

Temari bit down on her lip to stop herself from crying out when Gaara slumped over. Their attention was immediately drawn to the way Shukaku’s eyes began to change, transforming into a bright golden glow. A shrill scream like that of a child resonated in the desert, completely at odds with anything anyone would’ve expected from the terrifying demon of the sand.

“I’m out!” he exclaimed gleefully, jumping in the air and landing with enough force to make the ground shake. “I’m finally out!”

Shukaku paused, surveying the desert landscape slowly. After a moment his eyes focused on the three figures in front of him. His lips spread in a maniacal grin reminiscent of Gaara’s and he let out another cackling cry.

“And it looks like I have somebody to kill,” he screamed in excitement.

“Shit,” Kankuro repeated.

Before the siblings had a chance to react, at least a dozen kunai were sent flying directly at Gaara. Shukaku may have had unimaginable strength, but in his complete form, he was definitely more sluggish than the free sand and he was unable to deflect all of the weapons. Two of the kunai managed to make it to their target, bouncing off the sand armor that encased Gaara. They didn’t wound him but the impact was enough to snap him out of the induced sleep, causing a disappointed shriek from the bijuu as his consciousness receded once again. It had lasted only seconds, but the demonstration was enough to leave the siblings trembling in fear.

Gaara remained on top of Shukaku’s form, looking down at the three in front of him with a look of pure hate. He let out another low growl, a mixture of his own human voice and Shukaku’s demonic cry. The tanuki form moved towards the three helpless figures, the demonic arm slamming down on the ground in front of them and causing them to jump back yet again.

“Die,” Gaara hissed. “Let me feel.”

The words sent chills down everyone’s spines. In that moment Temari and Baki had to agree that Kankuro’s sentiment about this being a stupid idea was probably right. This was Gaara though, no longer the Ichibi, even if his mind was still stained with the bijuu’s bloodlust, and that meant he could be reasoned with.

“Gaara!” Temari screamed desperately, unable to come up with any coherent sentence in her panic. “Please stop.”

He turned to her with painful slowness, his gaze passing over Baki with a kunai set between each of his fingers and Kankuro with Karasu half unwrapped in his hands. Gaara’s eyes focused on Temari, as if straining to figure out what she meant. Slowly a frown creased his face, the look in his eyes turning to defeated resignation. The sand began to fall away rapidly and within moments Gaara landed on his knees on the ground. Another groan escaped his lips and his hand flew up to his head in a gesture too familiar to Temari.

She rushed forward immediately, kneeling in front of Gaara with a look of mingled worry and fear. She reached out for him but before she could touch him he grabbed her wrist, skin against skin in the absence of his armor, fingers clenching forcefully. Temari winced slightly but remained still, watching as Gaara lifted his head to look at her. His hand left his head, instead moving to encircle her neck, fingers curving around it delicately.

“I’ll kill you,” he murmured quietly.

But he was weak now, she knew that. He probably couldn’t carry out his threat if she actually fought him. She could run, but the damage that would cause to whatever frail relationship they had built between them would be irreversible. That meant she had to try to calm him, somehow. With her free hand she reached up slowly and traced her fingers down his arm. Gaara’s eyes narrowed but he did nothing to stop her. She edged closer, wrapping her arm around him loosely. Gradually he leaned in towards her, closing the distance between them until their lips met, too stiff to really be a kiss but enough to make Baki draw in a breath behind them.

“You’re afraid of me, Temari,” Gaara intoned against her lips.

His statement reflected something that was beyond obvious given what he had just done and Temari knew that protesting would be stupid. She didn’t need a mirror to realize that the fear was still etched clearly across her face. She said nothing, glancing down to where Gaara’s hand finally released her wrist, only to scrape his sharpened nails along the inside of her forearm roughly, cutting through her skin effortlessly. Gaara pulled back from her slightly, looking down at the blood droplets forming along the cut.

“That’s enough,” Baki said sharply. “We have to go back to the village.”

The glare the jinchuuriki sent the older man would’ve made him run if he did not realize the same thing that Temari did. Taking a favorite toy away from a spoiled child was never a pleasant experience, but when that child could destroy you with barely a twitch of a muscle it made it exponentially more dangerous. But now, against the three of them, there was little Gaara could do.

“You go,” Temari said suddenly, sparing all of them from testing this theory. “Gaara shouldn’t go back to the village when he’s vulnerable. We’ll join you later.”

Said out loud like that, the statement sounded ridiculous. Home was supposed to be where you flee to when you are hurt, where you will be taken care of. It shouldn’t be the place you avoid because your own people will undoubtedly kill you if they see that there is a chance. But for a jinchuuriki, there was no real home.

“I’m not leaving you here, Temari,” Kankuro cut in, inwardly surprised that she could maintain an intelligent conversation like that with Gaara’s hand wrapped around her neck and his threat still hanging in the air.

“It’s fine,” she said, glancing up at him with a strained smile.

“Are you sure?” Baki inquired stiffly, clearly wishing to get away from this scene one way or another.

“Hai,” Temari answered firmly. “Just go.”

“Gaara?” Kankuro asked uncertainly. “You won’t… kill her, will you?”

“Maybe,” the youngest sibling replied quietly, without even looking up at his older brother. “Does it matter?”

“What the fuck do you mean, does it matter?” Kankuro exclaimed in outrage. “Of course it matters!”

“Kankuro…” Temari began sternly before being cut off by Gaara.

“She belongs to me,” he said coldly. “If I want to kill her, I will.”

“Nani?!” the puppeteer muttered in shock.

“Kankuro, just go,” Temari said desperately. “I trust him, you should too. We’re family!”

This brought an even deeper frown to Baki’s face, knowing what he did now about their relationship.

“Yeah, but…” Kankuro stammered.

“Go!” she said sharply.

“If you’re not back by sun down, we’ll send a search team,” Baki said evenly. “Let’s go, Kankuro.”

After casting another concerned glance at his sister, Kankuro turned and followed Baki back towards the village. Gaara said nothing as they left, merely looking at Temari, his hand now stroking her wounded arm absently. Only after the other two were far enough away to be out of sight he pushed her down to the ground, hand finally leaving her neck, palms planted on either side of her body as he hovered above her.

“Now you see,” he murmured. “He’s a part of me.”

“But he’s not you,” she countered, starting to reach up towards him before tendrils of sand caught hold of her wrists, securing them to the ground.

“You’re afraid of me,” he repeated.

“Gaara…” she whispered in response.

“Say it,” he hissed. “I want to hear you say it.”

Sand began to crawl over her body, not cutting, seeming to almost caress her, stroke her with grainy spirals sliding over her skin.

“I’m afraid of you, Gaara,” Temari admitted quietly.

“Do you wish you could leave?” he asked, his eyes locked on hers, seeming to ignore the sand cascading over her body.

“No,” she replied softly. “I’ll never leave you… ototou.”

“Temari,” he breathed, leaning down to her, not quite enough to bring his body in contact with hers. The slithering sound of the sand almost obscured his next words. “I want to kill you.”

“Naze?” she asked breathlessly.

“You know why,” he hissed. “I want you to bleed. I want you to scream. I want your pain. You’re pretty when you’re in pain.”

Gaara’s lips twisted into a sadistic smile and Temari forced herself to choke down a gasp. The statement was completely deranged, the words reflecting his insanity as much as the unmistakable glint of inhumanity in his pale eyes.

She made no protest as Gaara forced the sand away with one flick of his hand, moving to remove her clothes hastily. With the confines of the garments out of the way, Temari lay back on the ground timidly, the sand immediately resuming the exploration of every inch of her body, almost possessively. Once again Gaara hovered above her, his breath ghosting over her skin, his body close enough for her to feel his warmth without any physical contact.

“I want you to cry,” he said cruelly. “I want you to beg me to stop. I want to see you tremble in fear.”

Temari involuntarily let out a soft moan as the sand slid across her thighs, making Gaara’s gaze focus on her lips, watching the movement as they formed the shape of his name silently. She could practically see Shukaku behind the mask of her little brother’s face and she wished that she could shake him, make him snap out of it, bring him back to reality, to her.

“I want to destroy you,” he murmured, an odd mixture of affection and resentment. “I want you to hurt as much as I do.”

She leaned up slightly, allowing her lips to press against his for just a moment before he pulled back.

“Die,” he whispered. “Temari… please die.”

A quiet groan escaped his lips at the shot of pain accompanying a memory that those words elicited. Temari strained to escape the sand holding her down in an attempt to touch him, only to be pushed deeper into the ground.

“Gaara,” she breathed, conjuring the first words that came to her mind as a response to his plea, “I love you.”

“Temari…” he hissed, lips moving against hers as he leaned down again.

She fell silent, unable to comprehend the depths of his insanity, unable to do anything to take away his anguish. His voice resonated in her ears, her name accompanied by the death wish repeated again and again as some sick prayer while the sand continued to glide over her body, enveloping her almost completely. Temari’s eyes eventually slid shut, moaning softly at the continual caresses of the sand, choosing to listen to Gaara’s nearly gentle voice rather than the words he was saying.

An immeasurable amount of time passed.

His words melded together into an incomprehensible hum until he finally grew quiet. He kissed her, startling her out of her near-meditative state and making her eyes flutter open. Gaara moved to the side, forcing the sand to retreat and wrapping his arms around Temari. His chakra was recovered again, she could feel its unconcealed power. If he had really meant to kill her, he probably would’ve done it already.

She turned to face him, one arm slipping around his waist, the other pressed softly against his chest. Her thigh automatically slid between his as she edged closer to him, her forehead pressed against his, eyes locked together. It was strangely intimate, holding each other in silence, as if sharing something unspoken, some deeper connection. They stayed that way for hours. Gaara said nothing about her admission of love and Temari wavered between being grateful that he seemed to just let it go and wondering if he simply didn’t believe her just like before.

Only when the sun began its progress towards the horizon she finally broke the silence.

“We should go,” Temari said softly.

“He wouldn’t really send a search,” Gaara answered casually, the edge of insanity almost gone from his voice.

“Naze?” she questioned with surprise.

“Who would be stupid enough to look for me in the desert?” he replied with a smirk.

Temari blinked, her eyebrows arching in wonder. She assumed that he was referring to when she sought him out in the desert only days ago. She wasn’t sure if that was meant as an insult or a twisted sort of compliment.

“Anyway, we’re obviously getting a lecture from Baki already,” she continued after a pause, disregarding his statement. “It’s probably better not to piss him off even more.”

“I don’t care,” Gaara replied coldly. “I have no intention of explaining myself to him.”

“That just means I’ll have to explain it,” she said with a sigh.

“What would you say?” he asked with a slight hiss, fingers tracing up along her spine. “That I raped you?”

“No, of course not,” Temari answered immediately.

“Why not?” he inquired calmly.

“You didn’t,” she replied, her brows knitting together. “I told you I wanted it.”

“Hn.”

“Nani?” she asked cautiously.

Gaara merely shook his head, releasing his hold on her and abruptly standing up. After a moment, Temari followed suit and began picking up her clothes and getting dressed. He looked away towards the distant village, arms folded across his chest casually, waiting for her. As soon as she was ready, he began walking without another word to his sister as she hastily joined him.

Pain Binds Us - Chapter 20

2008-05-24T21:21:31Z

Chapter 20 – Control

The siblings’ training stretched on through the day. They didn’t even bother taking their usual break for lunch, in favor of ending this day as soon as possible. Gaara stood apart from the others, ignoring Baki’s annoyed glare at his apparent disinterest. The whole thing had been a stupid idea and they all knew it. Ninja or not, nobody could be simply trained to become a team. Their attempts had disintegrated into nothing more than sparring sessions between Temari and Kankuro with Gaara remaining as a silent witness.

Hours passed and the desert air began to cool in anticipation of the approaching night. Baki sat on the ground a short distance from the siblings, wondering idly how Gaara could stand so still for such a long time. He didn’t even seem to be watching anymore, his head downcast, eyes closed as if in meditation. Standing like this, as some unearthly statute, he seemed even less human. Temari and Kankuro ignored him entirely as they teased each other in their drawn out fight, their attempts to actually wound each other growing increasingly more creative. So far, they had both managed to avoid each other’s blows, causing only devastation to the ground around them.

When Temari let out a shrill scream as one of Karasu’s blades cut through her arm, Baki actually jumped, startled out of his silent contemplation. The force of the impact made Temari stumble back and she thought that she was falling, still managing a sneer in response to Kankuro’s smug grin. She hadn’t expected Gaara to appear behind her in a sudden swirl of sand and catch her in his arms. She gasped softly, her eyes widening as she noted the equally puzzled look on Kankuro’s face. She glanced over her shoulder tentatively, arching an eyebrow in question.

“You did that on purpose,” Gaara said calmly, his arms still wrapped around her waist as she straightened. Even through her clothes she could feel the roughness of the sand armor covering his skin, making her shudder involuntarily.

“No, I…”

“Don’t lie, Temari,” he cut her off. “I know why you did that. I told you not to.”

Kankuro took a step towards them at the same time as Baki rose to his feet, both seeming to have interpreted Gaara’s actions as a threat. Baki had never seen his youngest charge touch anyone, even in so much as the shake of a hand. Seeing him now with his arms wrapped around his sister in a gesture of complete familiarity could not possibly mean anything good. The fact that Temari was not recoiling from his touch was even more confusing and was something that their sensei did not wish to analyze.

Kankuro, on the other hand, knew exactly what his little brother might do and wished to prevent it from going any further. Whether Gaara attacked Temari or did something else, the outcome would be equally as dangerous.

Temari wasn’t sure if either of them was right, but she allowed herself to smile nevertheless. Gaara was upset because she had allowed herself to get hurt. Even if this was simply a matter of dominance, it still implied caring at least on some small level.

“Gomen,” she said quietly. “Force of habit.”

Gaara remained silent, his penetrating gaze focused solely on her. He seemed to draw some deeper meaning from her quick words and her attempted gesture of trust, a meaning that she herself could not comprehend. The inner workings of Gaara’s mind would always be a mystery to Temari and this unsettled her as much as his current proximity and the inevitable smell of death that it brought.

He lingered another moment before releasing her abruptly. His eyes travelled over his older brother and his sensei, his expression challenging, waiting for them to voice what they were thinking. When neither of them said anything, Gaara’s gaze returned to Temari, locking on the droplets of blood now seeping from the wound. He frowned, pausing momentarily before walking to where Kankuro still stood. The fear was evident in the puppeteer’s eyes, but was disregarded by Gaara as he pushed him aside unceremoniously and turned to face Temari once more, the sand starting to flow from his gourd and circle around his legs.

“If you do that with me, you’ll die,” he said coldly, folding his arms across his chest casually.

Temari grinned, moving into a fighting stance once more. She had never fought Gaara, but after everything that happened the idea seemed suddenly exciting to her. She had no fear on the battlefield, and this was perhaps the first time she could really face him without fear, even if this brought her closer to death than ever before. Kankuro stepped back reluctantly and walked over to join their sensei, both standing tense, ready to jump in and save her at any moment.

The sand rushed at her before Temari even had a chance to formulate a plan and she was forced to jump back to avoid injury. It seemed this fight would require all her concentration. No less than could be expected from the most feared shinobi in the country. The wind blades she sent flying towards Gaara did nothing as they crashed into his sand shield, not even getting so much as a blink from her little brother. Temari sneered to hide her annoyance. She wasn’t accustomed to losing, especially with so little effort from her opponent.

Gaara meanwhile seemed intent on proving his point, immediately mounting another attack and causing the sand to fly at Temari from so many directions at once that she was forced to use a replication to get out of the way. Gaara had already anticipated that, sending another grainy spiral to the spot where she appeared. Somewhere between the feeling of the skin on her calf being torn to shred and the scream that was stifled before it could escape her lips Temari realized that he wasn’t playing. If she couldn’t avoid his attacks, he would kill her.

Gaara allowed himself a small smirk as he watched the blood running down her leg. Kankuro’s movement to help his sister was stopped with the appearance of a sand clone in front of him, as if to remind him that Gaara would have no problem killing both his siblings without so much as moving a muscle. The clone disappeared as soon as Kankuro stilled and Temari took the momentary distraction as an opportunity to launch another attack, fan flying through the air effortlessly, the rush of battle replacing the awareness of the pain in her leg.

The attack was diverted once more, sand simultaneously rising up as a shield to protect Gaara and rushing in long strands towards her. Temari managed to escape this time and she stopped to cast her little brother a smug grin. He smirked slightly and glanced behind her. Temari followed his gaze to see another spiral of sand stopped in the air just behind her, poised to cut through her neck if Gaara had allowed it.

“Fuck,” she muttered under her breath.

He hadn’t killed her though. He simply showed her that he could. Still, Temari wasn’t going to leave it at that. Even if it was beyond obvious that he could overpower her with no effort whatsoever, she still wasn’t going to go down without a fight. Folding her fan, she turned back and jumped forward towards Gaara. A small tendril of sand rose up from the ground to wrap around Temari’s ankle and bring her down to her knees. She let out a small yelp and immediately rolled sideways to avoid the sand that rushed at her in an obvious attempt to crush her in the infamous coffin.

This time it was Kankuro’s outstretched arm that halted Baki’s attempt to stop the fight.

“He won’t hurt her,” Kankuro said quietly.

“How do you know that?” Baki asked, eyes widening in surprise.

“I just do,” the older brother replied calmly.

In truth, he wasn’t sure what made him say or think that. He didn’t know Gaara that well, certainly not as well as Temari did. But something about the look in his little brother’s eyes made him realize that he would not truly harm her. At least not here, not now.

The fight lasted nearly an hour – far shorter than any sparring session Temari ever had with Kankuro, but exponentially longer than any of Gaara’s real fights. Despite its brevity, however, Temari was completely exhausted, her body covered in cuts and scrapes from where she couldn’t avoid the attacks. As her struggles to escape the sand grew more desperate and weak, it became increasingly more obvious that Gaara was holding back on purpose. His final attack culminated in a sheet of sand wrapping securely around Temari’s body and holding her in place.

Her eyes widened when she realized she could do absolutely nothing to get out of her confines and for one moment she actually thought Gaara might show her that technique that he was so famous for. The shock on her face grew even further as he suddenly appeared in front of her. A casual flick of his fingers caused the sand to crash to the ground. Temari lifted her eyebrows in wonder. Gaara merely smirked. Gradually his gaze drifted over to his brother and sensei standing some distance away.

Baki’s eyes were wide with shock while Kankuro was only grinning stupidly. It took several moments for Baki to recover and remember that he was supposed to be the one supervising this whole process.

“Alright, that’s enough, Temari,” he said, taking a step forward and attempting to sound calm despite feeling at a complete loss in the situation. “Kankuro, take her place.”

“Nani?” Kankuro questioned, slightly panicky. “I didn’t say he wouldn’t hurt me.”

“Scared, ototou?” Temari teased as she walked over to them, overhearing their conversation.

Gaara remained where he was, folding his arms across his chest once more and glancing away, as if he didn’t care one way or the other. Temari knew better. If Kankuro refused to face him, it would shatter whatever progress they had made. She was sure that Gaara would not give them another chance to show that they trusted him. But she couldn’t say that to Kankuro, not in front of Gaara. Playing on his pride, however, usually worked.

“It’s easy for you to talk,” Kankuro retorted, frowning slightly.

“I’m sure he won’t kill you,” she replied casually, sitting down on the ground and looking over at Gaara before adding, “Probably.”

“Thanks, that helps a lot,” he grumbled sarcastically, but walked over to take his position in front of Gaara nevertheless.

Gaara didn’t say anything but Temari noticed the way his eyes drifted over to her before he began the fight. Kankuro didn’t last as long as Temari, even though Gaara wasn’t quite as intent on hurting him as he was with her. The fear seemed to cloud Kankuro’s judgement, making him react rashly and attack unreasonably. Still, just as with their sister, Gaara stopped the sand before it could cause any real damage every time Kankuro failed to react in time and by the end the puppeteer was able to relax marginally. Kankuro gave up before Gaara had a chance to envelop him in sand as he did with Temari and glanced over at Baki for instructions.

“We’re done for today,” their sensei said immediately. “Take care of those wounds and be back tomorrow.”

He waited long enough to get their nod of acknowledgement before leaving in a flash and seeming to disappear out of sight.

“Temari,” Gaara said quietly, turning to her as she stood up and began to walk towards him.

She remained silent as she approached him, a faint smile playing on her lips when she stopped in front of him. She gasped softly as Gaara grabbed her arm, fingers digging into the wound that she had allowed Kankuro to make. The grainy roughness of the sand armor on his fingertips felt like pricks of a million needles against her skin and she could not stop herself from wincing.

“I won’t repeat myself again,” he stated coldly.

Instead of answering him, Temari leaned forward and sealed her mouth over his. She forced herself to ignore the feeling of coarse sand under her lips and the unmistakable taste of old blood on her tongue even as she shuddered inwardly at the unavoidable reminder that the creature in front of her really was a monster, no matter how much she tried to deny it. Gaara froze for a moment, as if surprised by her actions, but quickly recovered, snaking his free arm around her waist and pulling her to him. In another moment he pushed her off, a small smirk gracing his lips before he formed a seal and disappeared.

Temari glanced over at Kankuro whose eyebrows were raised in wonder. She shrugged in response to his unspoken question.

“What was he talking about?” Kankuro asked, approaching Temari.

“He claims he doesn’t like when I let myself get hurt,” she answered with another shrug. “I think he actually meant something else though.”

“Nani?” the puppeteer questioned as they began to walk towards their house.

“I have no idea,” she replied with a sigh. “Most of what he says doesn’t make sense.”

“Well, I guess he hasn’t changed that much then,” Kankuro observed with a smirk.

“Yeah,” Temari answered absent-mindedly. “I think he just doesn’t trust me.”

“Why wouldn’t he trust you?” he asked, frowning slightly. “If anything, you shouldn’t trust him.”

“I guess he thinks I’m doing this only because I’m afraid of him,” she said quietly.

“Are you?” Kankuro asked bluntly.

“No,” she replied sharply. “Obviously he scares the shit out of me. But that’s not why…”

She drifted off. Kankuro nodded. He didn’t need her to say anything else to know what she meant. They may not be as twisted as Gaara, but rules and morals still held little value for them. Gaara was family. But to Temari, he was something else.

********************

Gaara didn’t come down for dinner and Temari ate alone with Kankuro, quietly debating what Baki might make them do for training following their show today. When they were done, Temari prepared a tray of food and went upstairs to see if Gaara was in his room. This time, she didn’t even bother knocking.

She opened the door to reveal Gaara sitting on his bed. He glanced up at her but said nothing to indicate whether or not her unannounced arrival bothered him. Temari approached him silently and set the tray down on the bed in front of him before sitting down on the edge of the mattress herself. Gaara stared down at the food sightlessly.

“You let him hurt you,” he said slowly after several moments of silence.

“Hai,” she replied quietly. “I won’t do it again.”

“You did that so you would bleed,” he continued, ignoring her. “So I would notice you.”

“Hai,” she repeated, not sure what he was getting at.

“You lied,” he hissed.

“About what?” Temari questioned uncertainly.

“You said you weren’t trying to control me,” Gaara answered. “You are. You manipulate me, just to get me to come to you.”

He stopped, glancing up at her, his eyes narrowed slightly.

“Even if I don’t want to,” he added in an undertone.

She opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again, realizing that he was right.

“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” she replied softly. “Do you… not want to?”

He tilted his head to the side slightly, a small frown appearing on his face. Temari sighed. She realized that he had forced her through this entire thing, but she still didn’t want to make him do anything he didn’t want to. She was the big sister, after all. She was supposed to protect him.

“I can leave if you want,” she added quietly.

“No,” Gaara answered immediately, the answer too hasty to conceal his vulnerability.

“Then… what is it that bothers you?” Temari questioned gently.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “No… It’s nothing.”

“You can tell me,” she prodded.

“It’s nothing,” Gaara repeated, a little harsher this time.

He turned away from her once more, slowly dragging the tray closer towards him and picking up the chopsticks. Temari watched as he began to eat, eyes focused on his plate as if she wasn’t even there. She searched her brain for something to say. With Kankuro she could always chatter for hours about nothing in particular. They could joke, insult and tease each other, content in the knowledge that they were family and nothing could ever come between them. With Gaara, every word had to be chosen carefully. After several minutes she had to admit that there was nothing safe she could say and she remained silent, waiting for him to finish his meal.

When he was done, he dropped the chopsticks back onto the tray, remaining seated and glancing up at Temari with a blank expression. She picked up the tray and set it down on the floor before edging closer to sit in front of Gaara. After a momentary hesitation she reached out and slipped her hand into his. He immediately interlocked his fingers with hers, the expression in his eyes changing to reveal the barest hint of emotion. Clingy, needy. He seemed almost afraid.

“Want to tell me what’s wrong?” Temari asked cautiously.

“Nothing,” he replied coldly. “You assume too much, Temari. I don’t care.”

Still, he continued to hold her hand. He didn’t want to let her go, she could tell that much. She was about to voice her thoughts when Gaara moved towards her, pushing her back onto the bed roughly and sliding on top of her. Temari wrapped her free arm around her little brother, bringing him closer, a soft smile playing on her lips despite her lingering unease about everything he said. Giving her no chance to question him, he sealed his mouth over hers, silencing her soft whimpers as his nails began to scrape along her skin.

He continued to hold her hand as he began to tear apart her fresh wounds, letting go only long enough to discard their clothes.

********************

Their hands were still joined even when he was done, when he rolled off her to lie beside her on the tangled sheets. Temari shifted towards him, burying her face against his chest as Gaara wrapped one arm around her and held her almost gently. She didn’t bother asking if she could stay this time. If he wanted her to leave, he could tell her.

But she couldn’t fall asleep. His words were still eating at her and she wanted to know what he truly meant. Was it still about control? She doubted he was simply afraid that she was manipulating him. He had complete control over her and could determine her every action if he wanted to. The problem had to run deeper than that, but she couldn’t quite figure out what it might be.

An hour later, she decided that attempting to sleep was obviously futile and she sat up abruptly, Gaara’s arm dropping from around her shoulders. He looked up at her with slightly narrowed eyes.

“Gomen,” she said softly. “I can’t sleep. I’m going to shower. Want to come?”

“No,” he answered sharply, as she knew he would.

“Fine,” she said with a slight edge to her voice. “When I’m done, I want you to come with me…”

“Where?” he asked, sitting up as well.

Temari didn’t answer as she untangled her hand from his, earning a glare from Gaara. Without another word she stood up, not bothering to pick up her discarded clothes as she headed for the door. She was sure Kankuro would be asleep by now and wouldn’t see her.

“Temari…” Gaara called after her, the threat clear in his voice.

She still said nothing as she opened the door and strangely enough he did nothing to stop her.

********************

When she exited the bathroom a short time later, a towel wrapped around her body and water dripping from her hair onto her naked shoulders, she almost expected Gaara to be gone. She stopped in her room only long enough to pull on a long t-shirt and underwear before going back to Gaara’s door. It was already open and she found him sitting on the edge of his bed, fully dressed and wearing his gourd. She hesitated only briefly before forcing her fear and uncertainty to the back of her mind, letting the unexplained emotions of bitterness and frustration take over.

“Come,” Temari said shortly.

His eyes narrowed in another death glare but he said nothing, standing up silently and approaching her. He followed her as she went downstairs and entered the other wing of the house, going through a long corridor before finally coming to the small greenhouse that she maintained as her hobby. This one held no medicinal plants, just flowers and other greenery that she deemed “pretty”.

She walked in to the middle of the little artificial garden, sitting down on the bench she had set there. Gaara stopped in front of her, the glare still obvious on his face.

“No sand here,” Temari said absently. “I’m sick of all the sand.”

It was probably stupid to say that to Gaara, the god of the desert, but at the moment Temari didn’t really care. Surprisingly, it didn’t seem to bother him either.

“That doesn’t work with me, Temari,” he said quietly.

“Nani?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow in question.

“I told you before,” he answered, folding his arms across his chest casually. “I know why you do all this. You act confident just to make it seem like you’re not afraid. But you are. You’re afraid of failing. You’re afraid of me.”

“You assume too much too,” she sneered.

“No,” he replied calmly. “I know. You think by acting like this you can show you have power over me. You don’t. You never will.”

“You’re here,” she observed.

“I wanted to see what you would do,” he stated indifferently.

“Will you tell me what it is that’s really bothering you?” she asked, frowning slightly.

“I told you, nothing,” he replied impassively. “You don’t matter enough to bother me.”

“Whatever,” she spat back, rolling her eyes.

Gaara said nothing, still standing in front of her with that impossibly calm expression. Her small outbursts seemed to have no effect on him whatsoever and somehow that was even more frustrating than the violent retaliation that she was anticipating. When several minutes went by in silence, Temari finally decided to drop the act. At least her affection usually warranted some kind of a response from him and that was better than this cold indifference. She reached out tentatively and placed a hand over his.

“Gomen,” she murmured.

“Don’t apologize,” he replied with a smirk. “I don’t care.”

“Will you stay here?” she asked softly, gently tugging his arm down and interlocking her fingers with his.

The only response she got was a sudden swirl of sand twining around his legs, as if to remind her of her earlier statement. If she wanted to get away from sand, she would have to get away from him.

“Just stay,” she muttered, shaking her head.

Gaara smirked again and in an abrupt movement pulled his hand out of her grasp and disappeared in a flurry of sand. Temari sighed. She supposed that was fair. She had walked away from him in a foolish attempt to show dominance, now he was leaving her. He wasn’t mad at her though, she knew that. In fact, for the first time his actions made perfect sense to her. He simply wanted to show her that her act was futile.

She remained in the greenhouse, sitting on the bench all night, until she was forced to leave and get ready for another day of training.

Tainted Dreams - Chapter 4

2008-05-23T16:36:54Z

Surviving the Desert (Part 3)

Despite his show of indifference, Gaara came back to her every night, appearing as soon as she was alone and staying until she had to leave in the morning. He would even remain beside her while she slept, leaving her completely unsettled and unable to get any real rest. On the first night Sakura had almost told him to leave. But something stopped her.

She wanted him there. She had no idea why, but she did. She was drawn to him, just as she was that first night when she witnessed him murder the Oto nin without so much as a second thought.

It would be easy to conclude that what she liked in him was the danger. The relationship certainly supplied enough of that. Gaara did not fail to remind her every night that he could kill her, that he would kill her if he so desired, that her life was completely under his control. And despite the intimacy of their relationship, Sakura still knew very little about him and could not truthfully say that his threats were empty. She had seen what he could do and she knew well enough that he showed no hesitation in hurting her. She didn’t know if he would eventually cross that line and kill her, whether intentionally or not.

That wasn’t it though. It was something deeper. She saw something in him that was hidden far below the surface but she was sure it was still there. A light at the end of the tunnel. He accepted her, he wanted her, he appreciated her for who she was in a way that no one else did. It didn’t matter to him if she was weak, if she succeeded in every mission, if she wore her hair a certain way… He didn’t judge her the way that everybody else did. Perhaps because he himself had been judged so many times in his life.

Sakura didn’t allow herself to wonder whether or not Gaara really cared about her. She didn’t expect him to say it if he did and his constant claims of the opposite did not particularly disturb her. It was Gaara, it was to be expected. He probably had no idea how to care for somebody. And she knew from the way he looked at her that love was still a concept as foreign to him as it was when they first met. But some part of her that she would not admit existed believed that even if he didn’t care about her now, eventually, with time he would grow to feel something for her.

What she did know for sure was that she loved him. It was not the same innocent, childhood love that she once held for Sasuke. This was something different, darker, in a way. There was resentment, apprehension, pain and fear mixed into the emotion. Sometimes she just wanted to get away from him, escape this whole crazy situation and forget him. Other times, she wanted to stay by his side forever.

It was confusing, and it terrified her to think that she had no idea what he really wanted or what he expected to come out of their intimacy. But regardless of how hopeless it may have seemed, she did love him, and she was not willing to give up on the chance that this relationship might really develop into something meaningful.

So she accepted him every time he came back, no matter how much she might have still feared him. It was only a week, but even in that short time she learned that his insanity ran far deeper than she could’ve imagined from all the documentation and hearsay. His moods could change almost as if a switch was flipped. In one night he could show a range of personalities that made her think no normal person could ever contain so much pain and hate and still survive. But he wasn’t normal. She had always known that. And it seemed that with her he didn’t bother to pretend otherwise.

More often than not he was violent, demanding, making her surrender to his every command. Sometimes he was distant, withdrawn, almost as if he didn’t want to be there. Sometimes he could even be gentle, catching her completely by surprise when his touch was not accompanied by pain, when his kisses were soft and lingering. Strangely enough, those times felt the least personal, his movements oddly mechanical, going through the motions, as if he was attempting to play a role. A monster acting human.

What shocked her most were the times when he broke down, when he showed the torment that was inside his mind. He was vulnerable then, needy, like a broken child, trying to find something in her that had been kept from him his entire life, something that could show him he was alive without the endless flow of blood and screams of helpless victims. His eyes bore into hers, searching for some confirmation, forever seeking acknowledgment of his existence.

“Tell me I’m human. Tell me I’m normal.”

The words were laced with so much pain that it almost made her weep.

“You’re not,” she would whisper, knowing she could never lie to him.

He would lash out at her then, channeling all his anger at the world towards her. He would pin her to the bed, snarling as he looked down at her with a look that was intended to be malicious but showed only his pain.

“I’ll show you. I can be like them. I can be like everyone else.”

I can make you love me.

“You’re not like them, Gaara, you never will be,” she would answer, wilting under his hate-filled eyes. “But I… I accept you.”

She could never say what she really felt. She had given him everything, but that was one thing she was afraid to relinquish to him. Her deepest, darkest secret. The one thing he could truly destroy her with. Had already destroyed her.

I’ve always loved you.

“You hate me. Just like everyone else.”

“I could never hate you, Gaara.”

He would release her then, sitting back on her bed almost shyly, as if he was suddenly afraid to touch her. Those times he would let her hold him, pull him into a tight embrace as she stroked his tangled hair. Those times she saw that he was still a child, forced to grow up by the cruelty of the world around him, tortured, rejected. The fear he elicited in others was only a mild reflection of the fear he felt himself. Those times she understood why his siblings stood beside him even as they trembled in fear – making up for the guilt that would last beyond a lifetime.

He never acknowledged if her presence made any difference. He would remain rigid, silently resting his head against her shoulder, never returning her embrace. She could not begin to guess at the thoughts that ran through his head.

Just tell me I’m not alone.

********************

It was a day before the final round of the exams. Only one night left before they all had to face off and fight each other. Only two more nights until she would have to leave Suna.

Gaara wasn’t at the training grounds. She supposed that wasn’t surprising, it wasn’t like he actually needed to train. His siblings, however, were there, and they approached her just as her team was leaving for the day.

“We need to talk,” Temari said, the forced smile on her face unable to conceal that something was bothering her.

“Alone,” Kankuro added quietly.

Sakura nodded to her teammates and sensei, silently assuring them that it was alright. The siblings waited until the other three were out of sight.

“You have to stop what you’re doing,” Temari said sharply, her cold words cutting through Sakura like a knife.

“Naze?” she flared up instantly, defiantly.

“He said he’ll kill you,” Kankuro answered shortly.

She fell silent, unable to hide the shock and pain from her eyes and finding no sympathy in the siblings’ ruthless faces.

“We can only guess at his reasons,” Kankuro continued, his voice expressionless. “I assume he would rather kill you than let you go.”

“Why are you telling me this?” she asked, trying to find the lie in his words.

“The alliance,” Temari answered bitterly. “The Hokage wouldn’t be happy if Suna’s weapon murdered her apprentice.”

“And what am I supposed to do about it?” she almost whispered, fighting to hold back the tears as she found no trace of deceit in what they said.

“Run away, hide, find a way to say no to him,” Temari said with a shrug.

“Could you ever say no to Gaara?” she murmured, her voice wavering between resentment and pain.

The siblings glanced at each other, as if sharing some unspoken secret, before lowering their heads in unison. She did not dare ask what he may have demanded of them that they could not refuse. She would never know all his secrets.

Sakura left without another word to them. She had always known that he might kill her. But despite all the evidence to the contrary, she still didn’t think that he would. He wanted something from her, no matter how much he denied it.

********************

“What do I mean to you, Gaara?”

It was only hours after the siblings approached Sakura. Gaara had her on her knees in her bed, her back to him as his hands rested on her waist. Looking away from him, she finally found the courage to say what she was thinking since the first night. Gaara paused for a moment, before leaning closer towards her.

“Nothing,” he breathed in her ear.

The sob caught in her throat as he pulled her back, forcing her to lie down on the bed as he moved around her, positioning himself on top. His eyes were cold and strangely intent at the same time as he looked down at her.

“I meant what I said too,” he said evenly, his low voice making her shiver involuntarily. “I will never love you. I will never care.”

“Then why do you keep coming back?” she asked, trying to find the hate she should feel but discovering only anguish.

He tilted his head to the side, considering her silently before answering calmly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“You’re mine.”

********************

“Is it true that you will kill me?”

It was morning. He was about to leave. The exams were starting in less than two hours. He stopped in his tracks and turned back to where she still sat on the edge of her bed, the sheet tugged around her body to cover her nudity.

“I want to,” he answered quietly, looking at her with unwavering eyes.

“It doesn’t have to end when I leave,” she said, the desperation clear in her voice – a plea for her life, a plea for his love.

“You know that’s a lie,” he stated calmly, as if it didn’t matter to him at all.

“We can find a way to see each other,” she tried again, reaching out and grasping his hand before he shook her off irritably.

“Suna never does anything for me. They would never accommodate me just for…” he broke off, finding no word to describe what this relationship was.

“But Gaara… I…”

She almost jumped back as he suddenly placed two fingers over her lips. She was even more shocked to see the emotion filling his eyes.

“Don’t say it,” he said quietly.

She watched silently as he leaned down towards her, replacing his fingers with his lips before whispering against her mouth:

“If you say it, I will never be able to let you go.”

Her arms wrapped around him in a hopeless attempt to keep him with her. She hid her face against his neck as her body shook with silent sobs.

“I would stay with you if I could,” she whispered through her tears.

“You can’t,” he answered with the same brutal honesty that she used with him when he begged for some acknowledgement that he could be normal.

I love you.

I can never love you.

********************

The exam passed and he didn’t kill her. Kankuro beat Sakura in the second round, never giving her a chance to fight Gaara. In the end, all three siblings and Sakura were promoted to Chunnin. The very next day, her team had to leave. Gaara did not come to her that night, and as Sakura sat on the bed knowing that tomorrow she would be gone, she knew that a part of her would remain here with him. What was going back was only an empty shell. And she could do nothing to change it.

The next morning, she was surprised to find Gaara and his siblings standing some distance from the gate, watching the teams from the various villages leave. Gaara’s face was a scowl while Temari and Kankuro nodded to the departing shinobi with forced politeness.

Sakura did not quite know what made her do it. It was as if her hands moved on their own, pulling out a paper from her back pocket and scribbling a hasty note. She followed Kakashi and her team towards the gate, whispering quickly for them to wait for her as she turned towards the siblings. She could see Temari and Kankuro tense up immediately while Gaara remained impassive as she handed him the note with shaky hands before abruptly moving back.

She watched him take a step back to ensure his siblings could not see the writing as he opened the note, his eyes slowly travelling over four simple words written in dull black ink.

‘I love you, Gaara.’

He stared at the note for what seemed like an eternity, everyone seemingly too afraid to ask him about its contents. Then slowly his hand curled into a fist, crushing the note into a ball. When it appeared like he had squeezed it almost into nothing, he opened his fist, letting the small piece of paper lie on his open palm as a small swirl of sand obliterated the remnants into unrecognizable dust, sweeping it away into the wind, leaving nothing but a memory, still painfully sharp in their minds. Gaara did not even look up at Sakura as she turned to walk through the gate. He did nothing to acknowledge what she said as she left Suna, perhaps forever.

Her scars would never fade. But it seemed that she had scarred him too, below the surface where he could hide it, let the wound fester and decay, finally finding what he had always wanted and knowing that it could never be.

Pain Binds Us - Chapter 19

2008-05-18T08:54:16Z

Chapter 19 – Trust

It was barely dawn when Temari stirred, her sleep disturbed by the feather light caress of fingertips along her cheek. Her eyes opened to the darkness of the room and for several moments she couldn’t understand where she was or why she was being touched. Slowly her gaze drifted upwards to find Gaara watching her with a strangely vulnerable expression on his face. Temari almost gasped when she suddenly realized that she was still lying against him, that he was still holding her. She stopped herself just in time, managing instead a slightly bewildered smile. She hadn’t expected him to still be there and her barely awake mind could not quite comprehend the situation.

Gaara continued to gently stroke her cheek, making Temari all the more confused about what was happening. She decided that it was too early and simply too messed up to try to analyze this, so she ignored her frantic thoughts and leaned up to kiss him. He pulled her closer towards him as their lips locked, making her slide on top of him, her hand travelling up to run her fingers through his tangled hair. She gasped against his lips when she felt his erection press against her thigh, but she didn’t pull back, instead swinging her leg over until she was straddling him.

Gaara broke the kiss, his arms encircling Temari’s waist, a small shiver passing through his body as she gently pressed against him. She pulled back from him slowly, supporting herself on her outstretched arms, her hands gliding along his chest gently while he watched her silently. Her back arched slightly and this time the brush of skin against the wetness between her thighs made her draw in a sharp breath. The firm pressure of Gaara’s hands on her hips stopped her from moving any further.

“Temari,” he said quietly with that same almost desperate look in his eyes. “Tell me you won’t leave me.”

It was odd to have her own words thrown back at her like that. He seemed needy, childlike in his insanity. For a moment, it brought back all the guilt Temari felt in the beginning with the knowledge that she should be a sister to him, should act like siblings were supposed to act, help him, show him that he was loved. She should be the one to stand back and give him guidance. She should let him go. She shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t touch him the way she did, shouldn’t want him, shouldn’t hope that he would stay with her forever. But then, who else would ever love him the way that she did? Who else would accept him? The thought suddenly made Temari jealous and she decided she never wanted to see Gaara look at anyone else the way he looked at her.

“Never,” she answered fervently. “I need you, Gaara.”

The answer seemed enough to satisfy him and his hands left her hips to travel up along her body, curving around to the front to caress her breasts, fingers toying gently with her nipples. She moaned softly and allowed herself another tentative movement, rubbing against him lightly. This was countered with a firmer squeeze of her breasts, the brush of nails across flushed skin, the look in Gaara’s eyes turning to the lust that was so familiar to her now. She thought it was strange that he allowed this, that he seemed content to give her this much control. But she supposed he would only let her control it to the extent that she still did what he wanted.

Temari dragged her fingers slowly upwards along Gaara’s arms, finally placing her hands over his and crushing his palms into her breasts. Another cautious movement of her hips allowed her to rub teasingly along the length of his erection before stopping so he was positioned at her entrance. The slight narrowing of his eyes and the way his nails dug into her skin suggested that he wasn’t going to wait much longer and Temari smirked, relishing being able to tease him the way he had teased her, if only for a few moments. Her hands dropped, palms resting instead against his stomach. She bit down on her lip to stop the moan from escaping as she guided herself down onto him, the quiet hiss issuing from Gaara’s lips making her tremble.

Only after he was fully inside her it occurred to her that not only was this the first time that she had initiated this, that she had actually taken control rather than simply allowing Gaara to do whatever he wanted, but it was also the first time that he was not hurting her. Before it was always her pain that led to this point, he would always ensure that her skin was coated with blood before he did anything. The dried crimson droplets still clinging to her skin from the previous night testified to that fact.

But now… it seemed to really be just sex. Temari didn’t know whether it was because she was doing it or because something really had changed between them. She decided not to think about whether this made the whole situation better or even more depraved.

“Temari,” Gaara murmured, eyes locked on hers, his expression suggesting that he enjoyed this new position as much as she did. “I…”

He broke off, as if not sure how to finish the sentence. Instead he finally allowed his hands to release her breasts and reached around behind her, wrapping her in his embrace and pulling her down towards him. Temari arched an eyebrow in question, leaning closer, hands trailing up along his body, the gentle brush of fingertips against his skin eliciting another shiver from her brother.

“Nani?” she whispered softly.

“I want you… oneesan,” he hissed against her, his voice filled with desire and anger, all remnants of the childlike vulnerability disappearing from his face.

“Gaara…” she breathed, lips moving against his, ignoring the familial term. “I’m yours.”

Her fingers dug into his shoulders to steady herself and slowly, tentatively she allowed her hips to move, gently gliding upwards before sinking back down again. Gaara’s lips parted in a silent gasp and she smiled against him, remaining close enough that her breath mingled with his while she could still watch the lust growing in his eyes. His hands slid down to her waist, the insistent pressure of fingers against her flesh forcing her to move again, guiding her in her slow pace. Temari moaned, tongue flicking out to trail along his parted lips before he caught her in a deep kiss, exploring her mouth, making her tremble against him.

Her breasts were crushed against his chest, nipples rubbing against his skin with the movement of her body as she rolled her hips, forcing him to glide in and out of her smoothly. Gaara’s hands slid up along her back, nails dragging along the skin, not quite enough to cut through the surface but leaving behind red lines nevertheless. Temari’s soft cries of approval were stifled against his lips as he continued to kiss her, tongue entwining with hers, the unspoken passion between them making her momentarily lose her pace.

The continuous motion of her hips gradually became more insistent, allowing him to slide almost all the way out before forcing him back in again. She murmured something incomprehensible against his lips before finally breaking the kiss, pulling away from him and leaning back, driving him even deeper into her.

Gaara watched the sensual movement of his sister’s body through lowered lids, mesmerized by the flexing of her muscles, the motion of her breasts in sync with the rolling of her hips, the subtle sheen of sweat glistening on her skin, the contrast of his own unnaturally pale fingers against her darker tone. Slowly his eyes travelled down to where he could see himself disappear inside her, his tongue flicking out to run along his lips instinctively, remembering the mingled taste of her blood and arousal. His nails dug into the skin at her hips, forcing her to increase her pace.

Temari whimpered softly, obliging the unspoken command, her movements becoming sharper, rougher. She bit down on her lip to stop the screams from echoing in the room, her eyes closed, head thrown back, hair cascading in tangled locks behind her shoulders.

Gaara’s gaze lifted to her face once more as her body began to shake slightly, watching her features light up in ecstasy as she moaned his name. She arched her back, impaling herself on him forcefully. His hands trailed up along her body, palms enclosing her breasts hungrily. He gave no warning before his nails cut into the skin, making Temari cry out softly. He paused for a moment before sharply dragging his hands down, carving shallow lines into her flesh and causing small droplets of blood to appear on her skin. Temari screamed, the motion of her hips becoming jerky and unsteady. Gaara’s fingers trailed up along the wounds and a small shudder passed through her body.

She forced herself to open her eyes, to look down at him, to watch his lips move as he hissed her name as if in a plea for more. She continued to move for as long as she could, even as her muscles began to contract and waves of pleasure passed through her body. Another scream escaped her lips, this time full of passion and longing, and she drove herself onto him almost violently one more time before collapsing on top of him.

Gaara’s arms wrapped around her once more, her blood smearing over his chest as she panted against him in a desperate effort to catch her breath. He allowed her only a momentary pause before he moved, rolling her over and positioning her under him while he was still inside her. His thrust shook her entire body and Temari let out a deep moan, grasping at the sheets around her in an attempt to steady herself. He leaned down and caught her lip between his teeth, effortlessly piercing the skin and drawing blood into his mouth.

A few more deep thrusts wrung another orgasm from Temari, and this time the constriction of her muscles and his name murmured in broken gasps brought on his own release. Gaara gasped against her lips, the taste of blood lingering in his mouth, the feeling of her under him, accepting him as she did, nearly overwhelming. He remained on top of her even after he stopped, holding her, almost as if he didn’t want to let her go. She returned his embrace, stroking his back gently, a content smile spreading on her lips.

It was wrong, she knew it was. She no longer had any basis to say that she didn’t have a choice. She had accepted this, had willingly allowed it, and now had done this herself, had almost forced it really. At least Gaara had the excuse of being fucked up in every aspect of social interaction. Concepts such as morals, taboos and the idea of right and wrong held no weight for him whatsoever. She wasn’t sure what her excuse was anymore. But somehow, she could no longer think of any good reason why she shouldn’t want this.

After several minutes passed with Gaara remaining on top of her, arms wound around her tightly and eyes locked on hers, it became apparent that he had no intention of releasing her. Temari glanced sideways to the clock on his bedside table, eyes widening slightly when she realized she would barely have enough time to get ready before they had to leave. She turned back to him slowly. This was a rare moment and she didn’t want to break it. Staying with him like this was almost worth all the trouble they would get into if they didn’t show up for training. Still, she was the eldest, she should be the responsible one. Not to mention the fact that Kankuro would undoubtedly come looking for her if she disappeared without explanation.

“Gaara,” she said quietly, the tentative note in her voice giving away her reluctance. “We really should go.”

He tilted his head to the side slightly as if in contemplation. It was a simple statement, and yet the way she said it was somehow odd, uniting them in a way. He hesitated for another moment before finally pulling back from her and allowing her to sit up.

“I’m going to shower,” she said softly. “You can come if you want.”

“No,” he said sharply, looking away from her as he stood up from the bed.

Temari raised an eyebrow briefly, silently wondering how his mood could always change so fast so drastically. In the blink of an eye, he became distant and cold, almost sulky. It occurred to her suddenly that this seemed to always happen when she pulled away from him. Perhaps she had simply never noticed this in him before because every other time except for the first night it was always him that walked away. His reaction to her withdrawal from him when they were on the roof the previous night never caught her attention because she associated it with Shukaku’s influence. But the way he seemed to be unexpectedly irritated now suggested that it was in fact his own response to anything that he could interpret as her leaving.

She wasn’t sure what she could do about this. It was a rather childish reaction and had it been anyone else, she would’ve laughed at them. But with Gaara, his insecurity was only natural. After all, anyone who had gotten close to him in the past did so only in an attempt to kill him. Temari wanted to offer him some comfort, to reassure him, but she had no idea how to do this effectively. She had never had much experience being a big sister. Kankuro never required that sort of emotional confirmation, the love between them was always unspoken and never needed to be verified. And really, what could one say to reassure Gaara, who believed in loving only himself and destroying every other being in existence around him?

She decided not to dwell on it now, when there was simply no time to remedy the situation. Gaara was already pulling on his clothes by the time Temari tore herself away from her thoughts and managed to stop the shaking in her legs enough to stand and pick up her discarded robe. She gave him another tentative smile as she watched him attaching the straps and sash around his body. He did nothing to acknowledge her as she put the garment on and walked to the door. But when her hand touched the door handle, he abruptly appeared behind her, grabbing her free arm and pinning it behind her back as he shoved her against the wall.

“I don’t believe you,” he hissed into her ear, the hate in his voice making her tremble.

“About what?” she asked uncertainly.

“You’ll leave,” Gaara nearly snarled. “Everyone leaves.”

This confirmed her suspicion. It seemed that watching her walk away triggered his vulnerability. She supposed that this probably implied something about what he truly felt about her, but at the moment she couldn’t allow herself to contemplate this notion. However angry or upset he might be and however much she might want to make him feel better, right now they both had somewhere to go. She wasn’t sure what he expected her to do. She was a shinobi just like him. She had duties, missions. She couldn’t simply remain in his room just because he was afraid she would leave.

“I won’t,” she answered softly. “What can I do to prove it to you?”

He said nothing in response, but he released her arm, remaining behind her with barely an inch separating their bodies. After a moment, Temari allowed herself a tentative movement, edging back slightly and letting her back brush against his chest. Gaara remained still and she slowly turned to look at him over her shoulder, the murderous intent evident in his eyes. Forcing herself to subdue her fear, she leaned into him, one hand remaining on the doorknob as she twisted back to give him a timid kiss, the other hand brushing over his arm lightly, reassuringly. He lingered only for a moment before pulling back.

“Why do you assume I won’t kill you, Temari?” he asked coldly.

“I don’t,” she answered softly, trying to remain as calm as possible under the circumstances. “I just… don’t think you’ll do it without a reason.”

“You can’t control me,” he hissed, his teeth bared in a scowl.

So it seemed control was still an issue. Perhaps she would pay for her boldness after all. But if he wanted her to love him, to want him, if he was afraid that she was lying to him, then what she had done should have reassured him rather than make him angry. And he accused her of not making sense. Temari had to force herself not to roll her eyes and remember that he really could kill her with even the minutest provocation as a viable reason in his mind.

“I know,” she offered her neutral reply, knowing there was no point to argue.

“You don’t know,” he snarled. “You pretend to know. You pretend to care. You pretend to want this. You’re afraid of me.”

“Gaara,” she said quietly, her brows knitting together with concern. “I’m not lying. I know you know that. I care. I want this. I wouldn’t come to you if I didn’t.”

She chose to ignore the rest of his statement. He would know that a denial would be a lie. She knew him more than anyone else in the world. She knew exactly what he was capable of and how frail his grip on sanity really was. Not only had she seen him murder countless ninja and civilians alike with no effort whatsoever, but he had also threatened to end her life more times than she could count. That fear would not disappear so easily – especially when his threats continued.

She supposed though that she couldn’t blame him for being on guard the way that he was. Just like it would take her time to get over her fear, it would probably take him time to trust her affection.

“I’ll kill you,” he hissed, eyes locked on hers. “Then you’ll know. Then you’ll understand.”

That made no sense to Temari whatsoever. His twisted logic eluded her, no matter how much she tried to comprehend it. Gaara remained still, saying nothing else, merely watching her with that same expression that made her think he could kill someone just by looking at them. She leaned closer to him once again and pressed her lips to his, if only to have an excuse to break the eye contact. He remained stiff and unyielding.

“I won’t leave you, Gaara,” she murmured against his lips.

He smirked suddenly and in another moment he took a step back, cold and stoic as always.

“I don’t care,” he stated calmly, as if it was her that started the whole conversation, as if he hadn’t just demanded a confirmation of her motives. “Go.”

Temari blinked with a hint of confusion in her eyes. Yet again, this made no sense. Why ask her for this only to say he didn’t care? But that was nothing new. When had anything about Gaara ever made sense? Temari shook her head slightly, deciding that being upset about this would be pointless. Instead, she merely gave him another small smile before finally opening the door and leaving his room.

********************

Gaara said nothing to Temari during their quick breakfast and remained silent on the walk to the training grounds. This was nothing unusual and Temari acted as if everything was normal, maintaining a quiet conversation with Kankuro until they arrived at their destination. When they approached Baki, they found him to be more irritated than usual, glaring at the siblings as they neared him.

“We need to talk,” Baki said as soon as they were stopped in front of him.

“What now?” Temari asked with exasperation.

“Kazekage-sama wants to know,” Baki answered, turning a stern face to Gaara, “If you had any particular reason for killing the guard two days ago.”

“Hai,” Gaara replied coldly.

“And that would be?” their sensei inquired through clenched teeth.

Temari curled her hands into fists to stop the trembling in her body. She had sensed the presence of the guard when she was on the roof with Gaara and she knew what he intended to do when she left. She knew that Gaara had killed the guard for what he had witnessed, and for one terrifying moment she expected him to answer the question truthfully.

“He was in my way,” the youngest sibling replied with a vague shrug, making Temari exhale the breath she was holding in relief.

“That’s not a reason,” Baki sneered.

“It’s all you need to know,” Gaara stated, the challenge clear in his voice. No one dared question his motives.

Baki glared at his student for several long moments, attempting to find something to say that would reassert his authority but leave him alive. Eventually he was forced to concede his defeat and turned his annoyed gaze to Temari.

“And you,” the older man resumed as if he had not just been shown up by a genin. “That little show you put on a few days ago was rather interesting. Since when do you attack your fellow shinobi?”

“You expect me to stand by while some asshole calls my little brother a monster?” she asked venomously, glaring at her sensei.

Baki’s eyes widened at the statement, seeming suddenly at a loss for words.

“I wasn’t informed of that,” he said finally, his voice quieter.

Temari only sneered while Gaara glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. That was at least the third time that she had used him as an excuse for her actions in his presence. He wasn’t sure if he liked it. It seemed to imply a connection beyond what he was willing to accept. He found himself unwittingly contemplating the possibility of bonds once again. It was decidedly odd. He chose to ignore this for the moment.

Baki meanwhile had turned his attention to the older brother.

“Kankuro,” he said sternly, seeing the puppeteer immediately straighten. “Although in principle I agree with what you said to Kazekage-sama, he wishes me to tell you that if you do it again you’ll be removed from this team.”

Temari looked over at Kankuro with surprise. She had no idea he had gone to talk to their father without her.

“You can tell him to fuck himself,” Kankuro replied calmly. “If he expects me to look the other way while he’s sending assassins after Gaara, he’s even stupider than he looks.”

Temari snorted at the comment, ignoring Baki’s reproachful look.

“What did you tell him?” Gaara questioned quietly, momentarily catching Kankuro by surprise before he composed himself again.

“I simply offered to kill whoever he was going to send,” he answered with a sly smirk. “Since you would do it anyway, I figured it would save him the trouble.”

Gaara did not reply, but the glimmer in his eyes showed that he was amused by this. A small smile crept over Temari’s lips. It seemed that things really were changing. Gaara hadn’t told either of them that this wasn’t their problem as he always did before. Maybe he really was starting to accept the idea of being a team, a family.

“Look, I told you I don’t agree with this either,” Baki said with a frown. “But you three need to learn to respect authority if you hope to survive as shinobi.”

“You wanted teamwork,” Temari said confidently, hand on her hip in her usual cocky gesture. “With us as a team, you should’ve known what you were getting.”

“Try to keep it on the battlefield next time,” Baki stated shortly.

“Sure,” Kankuro said sarcastically as he began to unwrap Karasu’s bindings.

“We’ll try,” Temari echoed, moving into the rehearsed position for training.

Gaara remained silent as he watched his siblings, his thoughts hidden behind a dispassionate stare.

Pain Binds Us - Chapter 18

2008-05-12T20:57:32Z

Chapter 18 – The Meaning of Love

After Temari was out of sight Gaara’s gaze slowly turned upwards towards the roof of a tall building some distance from where he stood. He formed a one-handed seal, disappearing in a flurry of sand and instantaneously reappearing on the distant rooftop. His appearance was marked with a loud gasp of the shinobi standing watch only steps away from where Gaara materialized. The malicious grin on the jinchuuriki’s face was enough to make the guard move back until he was at the edge of the roof.

“Enjoy the show?” Gaara hissed.

“Gaara-sama,” the shinobi exclaimed nervously, unable to find anything to say in his defense.

What he had seen had shocked him enough, but being confronted with it was more than he could handle. Gaara didn’t love, everyone knew that. All the villagers heard the story of the scar on Gaara’s forehead. When the guard saw Temari approach the jinchuuriki, his first thought was that she was going to die and he would have to be the one to tell the Kazekage about it. But when he saw Gaara pull his own sister into his arms and kiss her with all the passion no one would’ve ever associated with the monster, the nin had to reevaluate everything he’s ever been told about Shukaku’s container. Before he was interrupted by the jinchuuriki himself, the guard was rehearsing the best way to inform the Kazekage that his children were apparently involved in an incestuous relationship.

“Have you had a chance to report it?” Gaara inquired casually, ignoring the nin’s panicked stammering.

“No,” the guard answered, shaking his head firmly. If he had stopped to think, he would’ve realized that was not the answer that would save him.

The shinobi had no chance to reconsider what he said as Gaara raised his hand, immediately encasing the helpless man in a hard cocoon of sand. Gaara’s hissed words barely reached the nin’s ears before he was crushed beyond recognition, leaving behind a puddle of mangled human remains as the sand rushed back into Gaara’s gourd.

********************

A couple of hours later, the same twisting spiral of sand announced Gaara’s arrival in Temari’s room. He had assumed she would be asleep by then and did not hesitate in stepping up to the side of her bed. His eyes drifted lazily over her prone form, hair tossed haphazardly over the pillow, left arm turned just slightly to reveal the cleaned cut on her skin. Gaara’s tongue trailed along his lips slowly as he looked at her. The only thing stopping him from destroying her peaceful dream was her invitation. Even if he woke her up just to hurt her, just to fill the night air with her anguished screams, it would still seem like he was giving in to her. He didn’t want to give her that power. But leaving didn’t seem like an option either.

He contented himself with just looking at his sister, remembering what she felt like, what she tasted like, the sound of her screams and pleas in his ear, the way the pain lit up her eyes every time she said she wanted him. A quiet hiss escaped Gaara’s lips at the memory, his expression animalistic and soft at the same time. As if unable to stop himself, he leaned down, reaching out and letting his fingertips brush almost imperceptibly over Temari’s cheek. She parted her lips in a silent sigh but did not wake up.

Gaara smirked slightly as he withdrew his hand, wondering what she was dreaming about. He was reminded of the night he stood over her bed in the hospital, the first time he really noticed her, really paid attention to her existence. Back then he imagined that she was running from him even in her dreams. He supposed that now she would probably dream of his gentle caress and wish that the next time he came to her would not bring more pain. Gaara found himself wondering what it might be like if he didn’t hurt her, what she would feel like in his arms if she wasn’t bleeding. Would she welcome him without fear, would she whisper his name with affection instead of submission, would there be happiness in her eyes instead of despair?

Would she say she loved him again?

He found that he couldn’t really imagine it. He had grown accustomed to Temari’s pain. He craved it, he needed it. Her pain was what made him notice her, what made him come back almost every night. When he saw her silent surrender every time he undressed her, it was almost enough to make him forget his own torment. He was sure that if there was no pain, it would not be enough to relieve his loneliness, to make the emptiness of his existence sting just a little bit less, if only for a few moments.

But wasn’t he told once that it was love that healed all wounds… not pain?

Gaara suddenly wished that he could hold her the way he did when she was too tired to know he was there. Even when she was in his arms earlier that night, she was not really relaxed. She was still afraid. He could practically feel her anticipation of the inevitable pain. She expected him to hurt her. And yet, she came to him. She sought him out when he didn’t come to her, as if she truly enjoyed being with him. He knew guilt was nothing more than Temari’s excuse for allowing him to do what he did. He knew she meant it when she said she wanted him. Was it love? He didn’t really know. He couldn’t pretend to understand what that word was supposed to mean.

When he started this, he hadn’t thought about where it might lead. In the beginning, he supposed he was just playing with her, passing the time by finding new ways to torture her. But now… he wasn’t sure anymore. It didn’t bother him that she was his sister. That relationship has never held any significance for him and that fact hadn’t changed. But the possibility of forming a bond was strange to him.

If she loved him, did that mean that he loved her?

Gaara shook his head silently, deciding to put those thoughts aside. Pain was what he knew, it was what was most comfortable to him. There was no reason to think of anything else. Allowing himself to get close to someone had only ever hurt him. She was no different. Even if she did want him, even if there was more there than he had initially planned, he had meant what he said to her. He couldn’t care, it was not in his nature. Whatever she might feel did not change their relationship. Gaara hesitated for only one more moment before leaving her room in another soundless teleportation, giving Temari no chance to discover his presence.

********************

Temari woke up at the sound of her alarm in the morning. She sighed as she turned it off, disappointed that Gaara didn’t come to her even though she hadn’t truly expected it. She got up and dressed in silence before heading downstairs. She found the living room deserted and walked into the kitchen to begin preparing breakfast. Minutes later, Kankuro came downstairs, pulling on his gloves and hood as he approached her.

“Hey,” Temari called to him casually.

“Mm,” was the only response she got as he wandered into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee.

“Good morning to you too,” Temari said with a smirk.

Kankuro mumbled something incomprehensible before taking a sip as he leaned back against the kitchen island to watch his sister fiddle with pans on the stove. Temari shook her head with resignation, concentrating her attention on the cooking.

“Should I bother asking how you got that cut?” Kankuro said finally after several minutes of silence.

Temari glanced down at the long gash still clearly visible on the inside of her forearm. Strangely enough, Gaara had never left wounds so deep and so obvious.

“No, you shouldn’t,” she answered calmly.

“How do you put up with it?” her brother asked quietly. “It’s not like you to be so… submissive.”

“You know it’s different with Gaara,” she replied distractedly, her eyes downcast.

“But why?” Kankuro pressed. “Is it really what you want?”

“I can’t pretend I don’t wish he wasn’t so cold,” she answered with a sigh. “But it is what it is. I can deal with it if it means being close to him.”

She paused, finally looking up at her brother’s worried face.

“I love him,” she added softly.

“I know,” Kankuro replied with a casual shrug. “I care about him too.”

Temari smiled sadly. If only they had been able to say those words to their little brother years ago, perhaps everything would’ve been different. But it was pointless to dwell on the past.

Their conversation was cut short by the sound of footsteps descending the stairs. Moment later, Gaara emerged at the entrance to the kitchen, looking over his siblings with the usual passive expression. Kankuro craned his neck to give his younger brother a half-smile before turning his attention back to his cup. Temari, determined to show no weakness, flashed her best arrogant smirk. Gaara’s eyes narrowed at the gesture, his look calculating as he glared at his sister, as if contemplating his next action.

After another moment, Gaara moved further into the kitchen, stepping past his brother and moving up behind Temari. She froze, uncertain how she was supposed to react to this. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Kankuro stiffen noticeably, looking at them over the rim of his cup warily. When Gaara’s fingers touched Temari’s back, she shivered involuntarily but remained resolutely still, waiting to see what he was doing. Slowly his hand slid down her back and wrapped around her waist. Temari tensed up immediately, realizing that he was doing this only to see how she would react in front of Kankuro. It took a moment before she summoned enough courage to reach up and interlock her fingers with Gaara’s just as he had done the previous night. As soon as she did this, he instantly spun her around to face him. With his free hand, he traced the cut on her arm, nails scraping along it and making her wince slightly.

“Don’t do that again,” he said coldly. “Next time I will kill you.”

“Nani?” she whispered, unsure if he was referring to the wound or the fact that she approached him at all.

Gaara merely smirked, giving her no response and leaving her wondering what he meant. He lingered only for a few seconds before pulling his hand sharply out of Temari’s grasp and taking a step back without a word. Temari turned back to the stove slowly, showing no hint of how unsettled his actions made her as she turned off the burners and moved to pull three plates out of a cupboard before separating the food. Moments later they were sitting together at the table, once again putting up the façade of being a family despite everything that happened.

“So, do you figure we’re better at teamwork yet?” Kankuro asked no one in particular in an effort to break the silence that fell between them.

“I think we’re as good as we’re ever gonna be,” Temari answered, knowing that he would get no response from Gaara. “But I think the Kazekage might want something more.”

“It would be nice to be a chuunin,” the puppeteer said thoughtfully. “I don’t know why you didn’t take the test last time, Temari.”

“Because I wanted us to remain a team,” she replied with a scowl. “You know that.”

“You chose to stay?” Gaara asked quietly, looking over at his sister.

“Hai,” she answered, turning to him with a smile. “I told you, it’s not the village that keeps me here.”

Gaara’s eyes narrowed slightly, head tilting to the side as if in contemplation.

“Nani?” she prompted gently.

“You’re strange,” he muttered before lowering his head to return his attention to the food once more.

Kankuro could not suppress a stifled snort at those words, earning a glare and a kick under the table from Temari. For a moment, they actually looked like bickering children, the way siblings were supposed to be. Until Gaara looked up again, leveling them both with the familiar death glare and making them both fall silent.

********************

That night Temari didn’t bother waiting for Gaara. She wasn’t sure if he would be mad at her for coming to him without invitation, but she decided it was worth the risk, not only to see him but also to find out what he really meant that morning. She waited only until Kankuro was in his room before knocking on Gaara’s door.

“Come in,” came the impassive reply.

Temari slid inside the room and closed the door behind herself silently. Gaara was sitting on his bed as usual, looking up at her with a blank gaze. She hesitated briefly before approaching him, deciding that if he could be bold enough to touch her in front of Kankuro she should at least have the right not to ask permission before coming to him. When she got no reaction from him, she sat down on the bed beside him. Gaara’s expression was unreadable as always as he watched her. Trying to ignore her uncertainty Temari leaned towards him, in an effort to test herself as much as him, moving closer until her lips met his.

She was surprised when Gaara returned the kiss, his arm coming up to wrap around her and press her against him. She allowed her hands to glide across his chest gently as their tongues entwined. She remained pressed against him even after she pulled back, a small smile playing on her lips.

“Since when are you so attached to me, Temari?” Gaara asked, the cold indifference in his voice bringing her back to the reality of the situation.

“I always was. You just never noticed,” she answered softly. “Does it bother you?”

“No,” he replied with a smirk. “Makes it that much easier to break you.”

“You’ve already broken me,” she said quietly.

“There’s always more,” he stated cruelly. “You’re still breathing.”

She said nothing in response as he shifted, rolling her over and pinning her down on the bed under him. His hands ran over her body, gliding along the silk fabric of her robe before effortlessly untying the sash. Temari looked up at her little brother with barely concealed emotion behind her eyes.

“Gaara,” she murmured. “This morning… what did you mean?”

He considered her silently for several moments, his eyes narrowing slightly, contemplating his answer.

“When I want you to bleed, I’ll do it myself,” he answered finally, his cold voice making her tremble slightly. Temari guessed that was not the real answer, but she chose not to question him on that.

“Alright,” she replied, unable to keep herself from smiling slightly. “But… you always want me to bleed.”

He paused once again, his gaze meeting hers and seeming to scrutinize her.

“You don’t make sense, Temari,” he said finally. “Why are you here? You hate me but you want me. You’re afraid of me but you keep coming back to me.”

“I don’t hate you, Gaara,” she said gently.

“You said you do,” he countered with the usual lack of emotion.

“I just hate this situation,” she replied, wishing she could take back those words, even if she did mean it then. “I hate that everything has to be so fucked up.”

“You said you hate me,” he pressed, apparently not inclined to let her off the hook so easily.

“I was angry,” Temari answered with a sigh.

She could find no way to tell him that she only said that because what she felt was the exact opposite. Explaining love to someone like Gaara was beyond what she was prepared to deal with. He wouldn’t believe her even if she said it. He would only mock her with it, torture her with those words.

His fingertips brushed over her neck slowly, gaze locked on hers, lips almost brushing against hers as he leaned down towards her. Temari shivered involuntarily, the intensity in his eyes seeming to burrow through her soul. She saw her own reflection there. Even with the insanity, the hollow empty void in that pale blue glow, his eyes still looked so much like her own. The only part of them that showed their resemblance, demonstrating unmistakably that they really were family.

She couldn’t bring herself to say that she loved him. Not when she no longer meant those words as a sister, not when there were so many implications behind the statement.

“I don’t hate you,” she repeated quietly. “I could never hate you, Gaara.”

“Even though I don’t care about you?” Gaara questioned, sadistic, cruel. “Even though I always hurt you?”

She was suddenly glad that she didn’t say it. Even without the words, he was mocking her just like she thought he would.

“Hai,” Temari answered breathlessly, seeing no point in denying it when it would only prolong the argument.

He smirked slightly before pulling her into a kiss, silencing any questions she may have had about this unusual interrogation.

********************

Temari’s body trembled in his arms when Gaara finally stopped. He traced his tongue along her bottom lip, capturing the remaining crimson droplets as she panted quietly. She murmured his name under her breath as her legs wrapped tighter around him to prevent him from withdrawing. He arched a brow silently at the gesture.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” she asked quietly.

It took all her courage to ask that again after the response he gave last time. She still didn’t truly expect it to be different. But she had to try. After everything he told her, after the way he revealed his secrets to her… Maybe… maybe this really meant something.

Gaara looked at her silently, considering the request. He didn’t want to admit to himself that he wanted her to stay, wanted to see her peaceful and unafraid as she was when he watched her without her knowledge. He found himself wondering what it would be like if she slept in his arms willingly, knowing that he was there. Would she be afraid that he would kill her in her sleep? Would she be unable to relax knowing that she was sleeping with a monster?

“If you want,” he answered finally, keeping his voice impassive to conceal his thoughts.

For a moment Temari thought she didn’t hear him right. It took a few seconds to realize that he really did say what she thought, and another few to notice that he was looking at her with an expression devoid of malice and hate, waiting patiently for her to release him. Snapping back to reality, she gave an uncertain smile as she untangled her limbs from around Gaara. He rolled off her carefully and leaned back against the pillows, watching her out of the corner of his eye.

Temari hesitated for a moment before edging closer towards him. She was surprised even more when he shifted his arm to allow her to rest her head against his shoulder. She looked up at him with sudden shyness as she draped her arm over his chest while his fingers traced slowly down her back before coming to rest at her waist, his thumb rubbing back and forth over the skin idly. It was odd, she thought, not entirely awkward and not entirely comfortable. She hadn’t truly expected Gaara to permit something like this, and now that it was happening she found herself instantly on guard, afraid that it would be another trick to hurt her in the end.

Still, she had to admit that being with him like this was worth all the risks she was taking. Tearing her eyes away from Gaara, Temari pulled at the sheets tangled around them, dragging the covers up over them both. She forced herself to relax, nuzzling close to the warmth of her brother’s body and lulled into a false sense of security by the comforting brush of his fingers. She had allowed herself to fall this far into this insanity. She could at least pretend to feel safe in Gaara’s detached embrace. Even if it was nothing more than a show of affection, a mocking pretense of love, at least he was with her.

When Temari looked up again, she found Gaara still watching her, his expression inscrutable as always. She smiled softly, sliding one leg over his to press even closer to him. The depravity of the situation occurred to her as she felt the slow dripping of blood that continued to stain her thighs. The only place she felt even a semblance of happiness was in the arms of her little brother while she still bled from the wounds he had inflicted. She realized there had to be something utterly inhuman about that. Perhaps Gaara had twisted her even more than she realized.

“Gaara,” Temari murmured, her eyes locked on his. “Tell me you won’t leave me.”

“It would be a lie,” he answered indifferently.

“Naze?” she asked cautiously.

“I don’t know if I will,” Gaara replied calmly.

And just like that he had revealed that it wasn’t some big elaborate scheme, that he didn’t know what the future held anymore than she did. She didn’t know if he intended to give such an insightful answer and she wasn’t sure how she felt about it. There was some comfort in thinking that she was simply a victim to his sadistic plan. But if this, whatever it was, was real… that made it that much more dangerous, more frightening.

“Then tell me something that will make this OK,” she said with a soft sigh. “Tell me I’m not stupid for trusting you.”

He considered her silently for several moments. That statement in itself seemed wrong. He knew she didn’t trust him, or else she wouldn’t have asked the question in the first place. She may show less fear than anyone else, but even that was forced. If she didn’t want him, she would never have approached him. She would’ve been as distant and hateful as everybody else. But it was that yearning for some sort of a bond with him that set her apart from everyone else, that allowed him to bend her to his will as he did.

“I don’t know what would make it OK, Temari,” Gaara said quietly, pausing to watch the disappointment in her eyes before continuing. “Because I don’t know what makes it wrong.”

Temari said nothing in response but the corners of her mouth quirked upwards in a small smile. It would have to do. From Gaara, she couldn’t really expect anything more. She leaned up and caught his lips in a soft kiss.

He yielded, allowing her to maintain the pretense. As their tongues entwined and his sister’s body pressed closer to him, he found himself wondering what she really felt about him, almost wishing for her to speak those words again. But then, it didn’t truly matter to him. He didn’t expect her to love him. As long as she stayed, as long as her blood stained his lips and her screams replaced the whisperings of the bijuu, that was all that mattered. Love was an intangible unrealistic concept that meant nothing to Gaara.

When Temari finally broke off, she buried her face against her little brother’s neck as he held her to him with all the tenderness he said he would never show. As she drifted off to sleep in his arms, she wondered what he would do all night. She supposed he would probably simply leave, wander the empty streets as he always did with the images Shukaku showed him as his only company while she was forced to remain behind, unable to provide him any comfort.

Pain Binds Us - Chapter 17

2008-05-07T21:46:09Z

Chapter 17 – Monster

Gaara gave Temari no opportunity to talk to him when he disappeared as soon as they were dismissed for the day. That night he didn’t come to her room and she wondered if he was really mad at her. For three days, he gave her no chance to approach him, making her worry grow exponentially. On the fourth night, she was determined to confront him one way or another. She waited until Kankuro was in his room for a couple of hours to be sure he was asleep before leaving. After ensuring that Gaara was not in the house, she went to the outskirts of the village where she had searched before.

It didn’t take long for her to find him, sitting on a rooftop of an empty building and looking away into the silent night. He made no move whatsoever to acknowledge her as she came near him. At least he didn’t attack her – Temari thought that had to mean something. She approached him cautiously, giving him every opportunity to stop her before she set her fan on the ground and sat down beside him, leaving enough distance between them to maintain the appearance of being nothing more than siblings sitting together.

“Gaara,” she began slowly, not sure how to formulate her question without sounding like an abandoned lover. “Why… are you avoiding me?”

“I’m not,” he replied indifferently, not bothering to look at her. “You weren’t bleeding.”

“Nani?” she questioned uncertainly. “What are you talking about?”

“After training… you weren’t bleeding,” Gaara elaborated with slight irritation.

“Was I the other times?” Temari asked with surprise.

He merely nodded in response. Temari frowned slightly, thinking back to the last couple of weeks. Gaara had always wounded her so much that she never considered that some of the cuts may have actually come from training. She didn’t pay attention to whether or not she was bleeding when she showered at the end of the day, attributing any blood she may have found to wounds caused by Gaara.

But those last words he said to her and the fact that he hadn’t been around her more than strictly necessary since then could not be a coincidence. She found herself wondering if he was making an excuse, covering up what he was truly thinking.

“So you don’t even notice me if I’m not bleeding?” she asked bitterly, deciding to test his claim rather than voice her thoughts.

Gaara just shrugged – she wasn’t sure if that was meant to imply that he didn’t know, didn’t care or didn’t think it was worth answering.

“Do I mean nothing to you at all?” Temari whispered, hating herself for sounding so needy, so hurt.

“I told you what you mean,” he replied in the same emotionless monotone. “If you don’t like it, leave.”

“You would let me leave?” she questioned slowly, finding herself fearing his answer.

He remained silent, leaving her wondering again if he didn’t care or just thought the question didn’t need a response.

“You won’t even look at me if I’m not screaming in pain,” she said sharply in frustration. “I should leave. I should never have let myself care about you. All you do is hurt me.”

Once again, Gaara gave no response, almost as if he wasn’t even listening. Her emotions seemed completely irrelevant to him. Temari was at a loss. She didn’t know how to deal with this when she wasn’t sure what the problem was. Was he mad at her, did he think she was the same as the villagers, or was it something else? He said he had broken her. Maybe now he didn’t want anything more, maybe he was done with her. She couldn’t bear that thought. Even if every time he touched her she told herself that she would do anything to make him stop, she knew that this pathetic pretense of a relationship meant everything to her, that she couldn’t live without it.

Temari hesitated. If she tried to touch him, he would probably only push her away, if not kill her. Waiting for him to reveal the truth was beyond futile. And it didn’t look like anything she said would have any effect on him. That left only one thing. If he meant what he said, then blood would catch his attention again. If not... Well, she would deal with that if it happened.

After another moment of consideration, Temari reached behind her back and pulled out a kunai. Gaara did not react to this, and she didn’t pause to consider if this was because he didn’t think she would attack him or because he didn’t care since he knew she couldn’t hurt him. She pressed the kunai to her exposed forearm, closing her eyes as the tip of the blade sunk into her skin. A low hiss issued from Temari’s lips as she dragged the kunai up along her arm, carving a deep gash in her flesh and sending a stream of deep crimson over her skin.

“Will you look at me now?” she whispered, opening her eyes to find Gaara already looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

“What do you want from me, Temari?” he asked quietly as he turned to her, taking her injured arm in his hand, almost as if unable to stop himself.

“I want you to…” she broke off on the last two words she intended to say, knowing that it would be a foolish request.

“Nani?” he pressed.

He moved closer, turning around fully as he reached out with his free hand and ran his fingers along the cut, his eyes locked on her with something almost like sadness. Temari refused to answer even as he leaned in towards her, as he brought her arm up and pressed his lips to the wound, trailing his tongue over it slowly and eliciting a quiet moan from his sister.

“Nani?” he muttered again, lips moving against her skin.

Gaara shifted into a kneeling position, one arm snaking around Temari’s waist, hand resting on the small of her back. He looked up, the blood gleaming on his lips as he spoke again.

“You want me to love you? To care about you? To be gentle with you?”

Her silence and the almost hopeful glimmer in her eyes were answer enough. She was caught by surprise when he pulled her towards him, spinning her around so her back was pressed against his chest as he positioned her body between his legs. His arms wrapped around her possessively, one hand tracing idly up and down along the wound. Temari rested her head against her little brother’s shoulder and let out a quiet sigh. It seemed almost relaxed. For a moment, she may have almost believed the lie – until his voice, murmuring affectionately in her ear, ripped her out of her fantasy.

“You know I never will.”

As Temari turned her head to look up at him, Gaara’s fingers moved under her chin, tilting her head back away from him. It seemed he didn’t want her looking at him. She knew him enough to realize that meant he was vulnerable, that he didn’t want her to see his weakness. Perhaps the careless words of the foolish chuunin, the actions of the guards, the unspoken accusation in Kankuro’s gaze, maybe even her own fear had cut him deeper than she thought. Temari waited for the inevitable pain, his retaliation against her, whether physical or mental. He always hid his vulnerability behind violence.

But this time it seemed different. The hand under her chin moved to rest against her neck, but lightly, almost gently. The fingers gliding over her wound remained careful, no nails cutting into the violated flesh. This was unusual. Temari wasn’t entirely sure how to deal with it. She had dreamed of receiving affection from him, but now that she was faced with it she realized there was something missing there. There was no meaning behind it. The gestures seemed to mock caring more than anything. It was as if he was doing it only to show that he could never be like that.

When his barely audible whisper ghosted across her skin, it made her question all of those sentiments.

“Do you want to leave, Temari?”

The sound was filled with raw emotion, all the vulnerability, loneliness and pain that she thought he would never show. This was far worse than any wound he could’ve inflicted, worse than any words of hate.

Perhaps he simply didn’t know how to be gentle.

“No,” she answered breathlessly, dropping the kunai she didn’t realize she was still holding to run her fingers over his arm. “Never.”

“Then why do you keep saying it?” he asked quietly.

“Maybe… because I’m afraid,” Temari replied uncertainly. “I should want to leave.”

“Naze?” Gaara breathed, leaning down, nuzzling his face into her hair.

“It’s wrong,” she recalled the old argument, knowing that it was pointless to say that now. He knew as much.

“I already told you that means nothing.”

“I’m afraid that you’ll discard me,” she finally answered truthfully. “You can hurt me but I can do nothing to you. It scares me.”

“It should scare you,” he hissed in her ear, the animalistic ferocity returning to his voice even as his caress remained tender on her skin.

“Gaara…” she murmured, unable to say anything else.

“I need you, Temari,” he nearly growled in anger, his arms wrapping around her securely, holding her to him as if he was afraid she would somehow escape.

Temari allowed herself only a momentary pause to wonder if that was meant as an answer to her statement, if this time he really did say it to show that he cared, that he wouldn’t simply let her go. She didn’t want to ask, afraid of dispelling the illusion.

“I won’t leave you, Gaara,” she replied gently.

“I’ll kill you if you leave,” he snarled in response. “You belong to me.”

Temari murmured her quiet assent, allowing her eyes to slide shut as she forced herself to relax in his arms. Whatever he meant, whatever he was thinking or planning, at least he was with her, holding her as she had always dreamed he would. For now, that was all that mattered.

********************

When several minutes passed with Gaara doing nothing more than continuing the gentle stroking of the wound on her arm, Temari began to wonder what this sudden softness meant. He had just finished telling her that he would never show such care towards her and now he was doing it. This made no sense to Temari and she could only wait for the pain and torture that would surely follow this tenderness. After half an hour went by with no change, she almost wanted to ask him what was going on but stopped herself for fear of breaking this rare moment. She was sure that this could not be simply what it appeared, that it would not come without a price. But it was still what she had dreamed of and she did not want to ruin it with a question that would undoubtedly provoke an answer she didn’t want to hear.

When nearly an hour had gone by and Gaara still gave no indication of stopping or explaining himself, Temari could no longer stand not knowing and she turned her head to face him. The movement was slow, cautious, expecting him to stop her again or revert to the usual violence. But she certainly wasn’t expecting him to lean down towards her and catch her lips in a gentle kiss. It took a moment for her to recover from her surprise and allow their tongues to entwine with unusual tenderness. Temari was breathless by the time Gaara broke off and met her gaze with an odd sort of intensity.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asked quietly.

She nodded, not trusting her voice, afraid that she would say too much, reveal too much of her feelings that he would undoubtedly use against her. As it was, he already knew more than she would have liked.

“Your eyes… still have so much pain,” Gaara murmured under his breath.

“I still don’t know what you truly want,” Temari replied softly.

“What I want?” he said thoughtfully. “I want something you can’t give me.”

“Nani?” she asked gently.

He glanced away from her, looking up into the sky, a small frown creasing his face. After a moment, Temari followed his gaze, her eyes widening slightly when she realized what he was looking at.

“It’s a full moon,” he confirmed what she had already seen. “He wants blood. Yours.”

A shudder passed through Temari’s body no matter how much she tried to suppress it. She remained silent, forcing herself to stay still despite her instinctive urge to flee. If she tried to leave now, he would kill her. If she stayed… she didn’t know what he would do.

“You’re afraid of me,” Gaara said quietly, still looking away from her.

“No,” she replied softly. “Not you.”

“It’s the same thing,” he answered indifferently.

“No, Gaara, it’s not,” Temari said, frowning slightly. She paused, taking a deep breath and willing herself to talk about the one thing she tried to avoid her entire life. “Shukaku may be sealed in you, but you’re not him.”

Gaara smirked slightly, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye before looking away again.

“Are you sure about that?” he asked sarcastically.

She was about to answer when she realized she didn’t really know. She assumed, she listened to the stories that were always told about the Ichibi, even read some of the files that were made throughout Gaara’s childhood. But she didn’t truly understand what it was like. Was the bijuu’s consciousness really separate from its container? She didn’t know. And if it wasn’t, what did that mean about her chances of surviving this night?

“Do you know, you’re the only one that ever willingly approached me,” he stated impassively, cutting off her contemplation.

Temari’s eyes widened slightly, surprised that he would say something like that. Gaara didn’t show emotion unless it was hate, and this comment bordered dangerously on admitting something she wasn’t sure she was ready to deal with, even if she had asked for it.

“Years ago, I used to watch you and Kankuro,” he said, gazing off into the distance, almost as if speaking to himself. “I used to wish you would talk to me like you did with each other.”

“Gaara…” Temari whispered, anguish surfacing in her voice. His pain still overshadowed her fear and all she wanted to do was comfort him. “I wanted to.”

“You were always afraid of me,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “But he always talks to me. Always. He never stops.”

Gaara paused, his nails starting to dig into the wound on Temari’s arm that had already stopped bleeding. This brought her full circle back to fear again – fear and guilt. She wasn’t there for him, but the bijuu was. He had never talked about this before. He had never admitted that his alienation from the rest of the world actually affected him, never discussed what it was like to live with Shukaku’s presence forever sealed within his mind. The fact that he was doing so now and she had no idea why scared her.

“He never really says anything,” Gaara resumed his monologue, ignoring Temari’s unease. “But I always know what he means. I feel what he feels, I see what he wants me to see. He tries to confuse me, make me believe his thoughts are my own.”

Temari was reminded of that first time, when Gaara had forced her onto the floor and done things that she would’ve never thought him capable of. She remembered what he told her then, recounting Shukaku’s stories of his own sexual exploits. The thought made her tremble once more. It seemed he was going to answer the question he had posed to her, whether she wanted to hear it or not.

“Sometimes it nearly drives me insane,” Gaara said slowly, emotionless despite the gravity of his words. “Sometimes I can’t tell what’s real anymore.”

He stopped, glancing down at the blood starting to appear again under the scraping of his nails. His eyes focused on the wound, as if using it as an anchor to remind himself where he was, what he was doing.

“He always wants to get out,” he continued quietly. “He wants me to give in, to go to sleep. He screams in my head, claws at my mind, trying to break free. He tries to exhaust me with the struggle until the only way I would have to relax would be to sleep. Sometimes I think that death would be better than this.”

The comforting words that Temari tried to find died in her throat as he turned to her, his eyes showing a strange mixture of childlike fear and savage insanity.

“Even if I kill you,” he said, barely above a whisper. “He’ll only want more.”

Ignoring the way Temari’s eyes widened in response, Gaara moved his arm from her chest and caught her hand, interlocking his fingers with hers. The gesture almost made her jump. That was something she would’ve never expected from Gaara. But then, this entire night was unusual.

“It hurts, Temari,” he breathed.

Her eyes stung as she blinked back the rising tears and all she could do was squeeze his hand in a futile attempt to provide some comfort.

“What I want…” he murmured before pausing again. “I want it to stop. I want his voice to disappear. I want it to be quiet. I want to be able to sleep, to rest just once in my life.”

“Gaara…” Temari whispered, her voice trembling noticeably. “Can I do anything to help?”

“No,” he mouthed. “There’s nothing you can do.”

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, feeling utterly useless and hating herself for being unable to relieve her little brother’s pain.

He watched her silently for several minutes that felt like an eternity, observing the anguish in her eyes, watching her lip tremble slightly as if she wanted to say something else but couldn’t find the words.

“Now you know,” he said finally. “So stop asking me. I don’t care about you. I can’t. I don’t expect you to give me something that’s impossible. Don’t expect it from me.”

So it did come with a price after all. In a way, this was simply another way to hurt her, using his own torment to cause her pain. He had shown her how little she could do for him. He had explained the depths of his pain, his insanity. The turmoil he lived with every moment of every day and the control it took to subdue the bijuu was beyond anything she could imagine. And now no matter what she asked of him, it would seem petty and selfish. He had essentially deprived her of the ability to ever question his motives or his feelings, making it seem like she owed him this, like she should be grateful that he even allowed this much. In a way, Temari supposed that was true. She doubted that Gaara had ever revealed this to anyone else and the fact that he confided his vulnerability to her meant that he trusted her at least a little.

She could find no adequate answer to what he said and chose instead to lean up towards him, locking her lips with his as if to say that she understood. His nails dug further into the wound on her arm as he deepened the kiss, eliciting a quiet whimper from Temari. Her fingers gripped tighter onto Gaara’s hand, this time to reassure herself, to remind herself that he took her hand even if he said he didn’t care. Minutes passed before Gaara finally broke the kiss, looking at his sister calmly as if he hadn’t just told her the very secrets of his existence.

“Anything else you want to know?” he asked mockingly.

“The hitai-ate,” Temari said quietly, ignoring his sarcastic tone. “You said you were going to tell me.”

“I said I might,” he countered with a slight smirk.

He paused, his hand leaving her wound to trace over the village symbol tied around her neck, the one article of her attire to which he continued to show unusual care ever since the first day. Temari waited silently.

“It’s the only thing that unites us,” he said after a moment, the usual detachment in his voice making the statement seem almost insignificant. “The village is the only thing keeping you here.”

“Gaara,” she murmured, rendered nearly speechless by such a statement from him but forcing herself to find a response nonetheless. “It’s not the village that unites us. It’s this…”

She raised her arm to show the blood still clinging to her skin as his eyes followed her movement. Gaara arched a brow in question.

“We share this blood,” she explained, only a small frown on her face indicating that she was still uncertain about saying something like this to him. “You’re my little brother. Whatever happens, we’re family and that won’t change no matter what. I’ll always be there for you.”

Gaara looked at her in silence for so long that she thought he wouldn’t answer. When he spoke again, it was so quiet that she had to strain to hear his voice.

“It was never really about the blood.”

Temari could’ve sworn in frustration if she wasn’t afraid of provoking him. His talent for twisting her words and making his statements so vague that they nearly lost all meaning was infuriating. She had no idea if he was referring to her comment about being a family, his earlier statement about why he hadn’t talked to her in days, or this entire relationship. A sly smirk on Gaara’s lips indicated that he understood her irritation and he cut off the question she was about to pose.

“Go home, Temari,” he said quietly.

“Alright,” she answered, biting back her angry retort with an obvious effort. Arguing would be pointless, she knew that. “Do you want to come with me?”

“No,” he replied stiffly. “There’s something I need to do.”

She nodded, guessing what he was referring to but choosing to ignore it. She brushed her thumb over his hand gently, remaining in his arms despite what he said, reluctant to leave the comfort of his embrace. He still hadn’t provided an answer and she wasn’t sure if he would avoid her again as soon as she was gone.

“If you want, wake me up when you come home,” she said softly.

“You don’t need to give me permission,” Gaara stated indifferently.

“Right,” Temari replied, a smug sneer on her face, making a show of her usual confidence.

Gaara said nothing in response as he finally retracted his hands from her and allowed her to pull away. She stood up and turned to face him, seeing him rise abruptly, his hand flying up to his head. A low hiss escaped his lips as sand began to swirl around his feet. It was odd to see such a sudden transformation. She had only seen him like this when he was provoked during a fight. She supposed this had something to do with the fact that he had released her. Temari frowned and reached out towards him.

“Don’t,” he said sharply. “I… He wants you to die.”

Gaara pulled at his hair, fingers trying to claw into his brain to stop the pain. He shot Temari a venomous glare that made her drop her arm and take a step back, instinctively reaching for her fan. She didn’t need his explanation to know that at this point there was nothing she could do. Staying around him would only make it worse for both of them.

“Go,” he growled, teeth bared in a vicious scowl.

Temari turned without a word, grabbing her weapon and disappearing before he had a chance to carry out his threat.