The idea left from a random name I made up for an example (we were given a task to name romantic books, which I figured could be anything and I was pissed of by that). My friend wanted me to do a fic from that name and she wanted it to be a PeinxBlue one. So I did... though it's more centered around leaders thoughts and the pairing itself is a bit left behind. Well, sorry, but I couldn't help myself.
Annyway, sorry about all the grammar mistakes, hope you get at least the half of it... if possible. I tried my best, so please show some mercy. Or feel the power of ignoring!Pein and blue both belong to Masashi Kishimoto. Be informed.
He could here the familiar sound of china shattering as he closed the door behind him. He laid a bored look on the remains of the broken vase that where scattered all over the floor. He kicked the piece nearest to his foot in an attempt of gathering them in one place, but which of course made a rather tiny effect on the mess. He didn't remember how many vases he had broken before that, but it made all the same to him. He'd soon get another, he always did. It had become a sort of a habit of his. Buying a new vase, that is. Maybe it would have been cheaper to buy a new table or at least place the vase somewhere else, but in the depths of his heart he really didn't want to do that.
He didn't feel any joy of buying a new vase, it was rather a pain in his ass, but he had get used to the sound that always greeted him when he entered the room after closing the door. For some reason he thought that the broken vase reflected his own current position: viewed as a leader of, if he dared to say, mentally disturbed S-class missing ninjas. Even so, he had never even thought about thinking the possibility of throwing them out of the organization. He didn't care about their mental status, there was a slight change of his own insanity, though that wasn't the crucial point either.
He could even say he had grown fond of them, as fond as someone who hardly ever met them in person could be. But he had observed their every move, he knew exactly what they were doing even at the very moment and was very certain that he also knew what they were thinking of. He knew them, even they didn't know him, not that he mind. And being insane was a part of them, them who he supposedly cherished. Even this was true, they made his life as unstable as they were themselves. Just like the vase that never stayed in balance on the table and eventually felled on the floor breaking into pieces.
He walked in to his room throwing the bag he was holding on the floor, where it landed safely on top a pile of sheets. In mere seconds he had already closed the door roughly behind him. He rounded his room a couple of times before sitting on the chair near a wooden desk. He rocked a little trying hard to clear his thoughts. He wasn't sure what the feeling he had was, it wasn't grief, he'd recognise such a simple feeling like that. It was always the same feeling, but every time he failed at grabbing a hold of it, for long enough to force some sense into it. Before that could happen, he always lost the track of this feeling under the problems he was assigned to solve. Not to say it was a great lost; the feeling was rather uncomfortable.
Yet, he wanted to give it a name, give it a purpose, to understand what he was trying to tell himself so badly. Something wasn't right, that was a clear message. But he wanted to know what it was that made it so incorrect. What was the real reason it felt like it shouldn't have happened. And maybe it shouldn't have. But he shouldn't know that and not at least care so much about it. He could have said he felt insecure, or that his felt like his goals were now a step more far away, but he knew it was something far more personal than that. Something wasn't right in him. He created a problem that normally wouldn't have been there. He created it alright, but he wasn't causing it. He held a hand on his face in light frustration.
He always succeeded at keeping himself calm, however, the thing that had helped him get even this far at sorting out his thoughts. Something not all of the members of the organization could do. It had occurred to him already after that most dreadful event, he hadn't figured out a word that described it correctly. He had been the only one who knew about the feelings rumbling over the person he had observed at the time. Even the object of the observation himself didn't know this. He had been too blind, too unstable to realize how the accident affected on him and even before it happened. He had to admit though, it had affected much worse on the observed than him. He had not been able to recognise how he felt, now that it was too late.
Not a surprise though; those had been very powerful feelings and it made them more complicated. The thing that he also was pushed down with hard missions he was bound to do also made a great effect on his incapability of ever finding about his true feelings. Leading to an undeniable fact that he indeed did know them better than they did themselves. He should be glad about that, it would only lead to much bigger problems. He heard a knock on his door and turned around in his seat. Without an answer the door was opened and his partner had made her way to his room. He glanced at her waiting for her to say the fist word. She took a step closer her eyes travelling around the room and then finally stopped as she reached him.
"I heard about what happened", she said softly her eyes never leaving him.
He turned back to his desk, unable to look at her since she already knew something about how he felt. Nothing he hadn't already discovered, but too much to be revealed to someone other than himself. After a moment she moved even closer, kneeling beside him. She turned his head gently to the side so he was now facing her. She locked her gaze firmly on him leaving him no choice but to look back. She seemed to be reading him like a book and when she had reached the bottom, she closed her arms tightly around him without saying another word. She stood back as to see how he had reacted to the sudden shown of affect.
He hadn't moved an inch and kept staring at her, his eyes moving quite rapidly around her face. He stood up pulling her with her. Still holding her hand he absently stroked her hair. Even though he knew she didn't feel like he did, she somehow knew how he felt and thus she was always there to comfort him when something happened. She was the only one in the organization who you could actually count as mentally stable. Of course, no one there could be perfectly clear – for apparent reasons. She had always been indifferent to what happened to the others, she didn't know them like he did.
Because the others, including him, weren't like her what came to that particular thing, it most likely someway affected on their sanity leaving them a bit more shocked than they were already. It was pointless to try to deny that they weren't a bit crazy to start with, but still. She didn't have those feelings, feelings that he felt every time another accident came on the way - it was different with the others. He knew how they felt, no one knew how he felt, not trying to be pessimistic. He didn't care if others knew or not, if they did they should tell him too, the only one he wanted to know being himself.
He looked slightly down at her affectionately seeing something in her eyes that he had never noticed before. He wondered if it had always been there, or whether it was a whole new kind of a feeling. He had seen it so many times, he was able to recognise it even it was just a little glow she failed to hide. Slowly he draw her closer pressing her lips gently against his. She looked slightly surprise, but didn't fight back, being actually quite submissive. She pulled back a few minutes later staring into his eyes.
"Not now. I know he was like a little brother to you."
A little brother. He had never thought of him like that. He hadn't thought of that from any of them, to be clear. But somehow it seemed fitting, a name he had been searching for. He felt the need to protect them, them who he felt this towards to, even though they caused a lot of headache for him. Yet, it didn't explain why he felt like he had lost a part himself, not them. He looked down as felt something being pressed in his hand. His partner, who happened to stand right there with him, closed his fingers around the thing he was holding. A flower, the one she had been wearing on her hair. As he was still looking at his hand, he realized she had started walking towards the door.
He raised his head to ask her about it, but she gave him a confident smile closing the door in front of him. He turned the flower in his hand carefully examining it. Then he walked towards his bag which he had thrown on floor earlier. He lifted the bag from the floor and opened it taking out a red vase with black stripes on it. He walked trough the room into the bathroom connected to his bedroom. After he had filled the vase with water, he returned to where he had stood a moment ago. He put the flower in the vase placing it on the spot that his every vase had been before that. Staring at the vase for a while, he stripped his clothes off and hid under the blankets in his bed.
Days later, it had occurred to him what had been missing lately. He still had the same vase, standing steady on the table near his door. He had been quick to discover it was because of the water, a rather unstable substance itself, which was holding it down preventing from dropping on the floor and breaking. And the more water was lost the more unstable the vase became. The vase was still a bit unstable, as he was himself, realizing it had been the missing point in his metaphor. They hadn't been making him fall, they had been holding him still. They had prevented him from breaking apart. And every time he lost one of them he was one step closer to falling.