Hello there! I'm here to be trash, and offer what I hope will be a well written Gaara/OC story. I won't be focusing on romance, so much as the confused mind of a perturbed boy who needs help! However, eventually, I do hope it'll get shippy, but that will be in due time, depending on how things progress in the first place. Anyways, there are some mild triggers in here, mostly mental institutions being used in a modern day era, and PTSD. I'm sure I can come up with more, but I'm a little eager to get this first chapter out there! I hope you all enjoy :)

They said I was like Doctor Quinzel before the Joker got his hands on her. Passionate, strong willed, determined, intelligent. She was a genius for her time, a woman of vast intellectual proportions, until one patient, whose name none knew, sunk his fangs of insanity into her seemingly hardened mind, and planted the seeds of chaos. They had rooted in her mind, the vines slowly being nourished by the daily sessions she had more than eagerly thrown herself at, and she was none the wiser. He made her dance, tugging at her strings until her mind was gone, and she was left the shell of a woman who used to be brilliant. She still was, but she wasn't Doctor Quinzel anymore. She was Harley Quinn, lost in the game that the Joker spun with deft fingers, and she was more than willing to stay in the moving stasis that was her new life.

I want to say I am flattered, to be compared to someone such as her, but in actuality, I was almost embarrassed. Like Harleen, I threw myself at my work, picking at only the most dangerous minds. Unlike her, I didn't do it for the money, I did it solely for the thrill. The adrenaline rushed through my veins and it would cause me to twitch in pure anticipation of what was to come. There was nothing more intriguing than working with minds proclaimed to be so deranged, that was was no help for them. I knew better. They played their doctors, toyed with their diagnosis, hiding behind curled lips that were pulled back in a grin so malicious, that it would send a shiver down one's spine. The hairs on my arms would prick, causing goosebumps to race down my arms and legs. It reminded me that I was human. Looking into the eyes of these people, it was grounding.

He called himself Gaara. His files listed severe emotional instability, a history of blackouts which ended in violence, sociopathic tendencies. He was diagnosed a sadist, bipolar, schizophrenic, insane, narcissistic. He was a psychopath, according to the paper that I had received, and I carefully ran my nails along the fine print, lips curled downwards in a frown. Most of these didn't fit together; they were puzzle pieces of multiple puzzles. No matter how much one shoved and twisted and yanked at the pieces of cardboard, they just didn't mesh. They stuck out awkwardly, making it terribly clear that there was something wrong, however, they didn't know what was wrong. He played upon this confusion, worming himself deeper into a hole that the doctors were certain there was no way out of. He was six feet under by now, trapped and fully accepting that he was going to suffocate.

That's when I was contacted. I had been out having dinner with my mother, as per usual for a Wednesday, when my phone had rung. I rarely turned it off, given my profession, and after offering an apologetic look towards the woman that gave me life, I had tapped in the password, and quickly pressed the technology to my ear. The faint ringing of my professor's voice alerting me that this was giving me cancer, but I was able to push it off without skipping a beat.

"Hello, yes, this is Doctor Breen." I went silent, listening to the Asian accent that was heavy through my iPhone. Pursing my lips, my eyes narrowed in displeasure, when the man on the other line introduced himself. Kakashi Hatake. The man was known in the medical world, or at least, in my medical world, given that he had a degree both in psychology and psychiatry, with near perfect marks on any and all testing. In his prime, he had known Obito Uchiha, at least, he had been one of the few who knew him before he flew off his rocker, as the news explained. A mass murderer, obsessed with creating the perfect world, utopia. Where his psychosis had stemmed from had been unclear, given that he had killed himself before he could be properly analyzed by those who were trained to handle fragile minds such as his. Hatake had been twenty at the time, and had blamed himself for what had happened, for not seeing how his friend had slipped, but from from journal entries, it had been found that he had taken an interest in his family history. Everything had gone downhill, and it was then that the institution in Japan was closed down, and moved to Canada. The original plan was America, but the lack of care those who suffered from mental ailments was shockingly low, so the colder part of the world was then chosen.

He had been informed of my status, how I was currently without a patient. My last one had just recently been reintroduced into society, and I was rather reluctant to leave her. Karin was.. She was different, that was for sure. She wasn't a bad person, but her obsessive tendencies caused quite a few problems with the legal systems, which resulted in quite a few treaty and order violations. She should have by all means ended up in jail, but she didn't, pleading insanity and disability to control her "love". It had gotten her away from the possibility of being behind bars, and had landed her in the "nutter" as she fondly called it. It was then that she was placed in my care, and we began the intensive work towards her recovery.

To say that she was my easiest patient would be quite a lie, but to say that she was my most difficult would be a lie too. I generally worked one on one with my patients, as I find that focusing on one at a time helped me provide better care for those placed within my care. Word had obviously passed that I was indeed free again, but it seemed that Doctor Hatake had been the one to get to me first. The joys of being so highly demanded.

I had to apologize to my mother for taking that phone call. She had all but waved a hand and dismissed the notion that I should even be sorry, as it was my job. I offered her a weary smile, pressing my palm to my forehead, and complained about how catching a break seemed to be the most difficult thing in the world. I worked with those who were locked up, arms fastened to their sides, usually doped up on a concoction of pills, and that even paled in comparison to a night to myself, by myself. I was now presented with the option to travel to America, and to leave my home country of Ireland. I did it often, that wasn't the issue, but the patient he had mentioned.. Due to the confidentiality act, he couldn't say much, but made it quite clear I was a last resort. They were at the end of their wits if they were willing to ship such a highly sought after psychologist. Pure, logical desperation, calculated and precise, had caused them to reach out, and my own curiosity and intense love of all things "broken", had caused me to answer.

Dinner had gone by slowly, given that I was itching to get home to look at the file that had been faxed to me. Now this, did indeed break quite a few rules, but Hatake had to be certain that I was the woman for the job. I would be the fourth doctor, he had said. What had happened to the previous three was not mentioned, but the details would surely be in his file. It was mandatory, a file would be incomplete without reasons to prior dismissal. During my weekly outing with my mother, it had begun to rain. This put a scowl on her face as she muttered something about her bones growing weary, and the cold liquid not helping with her old age. I rolled my eyes, pressing a kiss upon her cheek, and making my way to my car. The rain water was indeed cold, but it was nothing a warm shower couldn't fix, but despite knowing that, I still felt a pang of pity for my mother. She was getting old, and the dreary weather of our homeland didn't suit her exuberant personality.

The drive back had been just as painful as the rest of dinner was, and I had practically broken into my own home. A complex case of ethics, offering a challenge to minds that were seemingly unchallenged. He had sold me on his words alone, but I had to be sure. Dropping my keys had elected a string of profanities from my mouth, and I fumbled with them, shoving them roughly into the lock, and rushing inside, only pausing to remove my shoes and click the lock on the car door. The last thing I needed would be to be robbed or something along those lines, when I was so focused on other things. It was a flaw of mine, one that could prove to be fatal, if I decided to actually sit and think about it. Alas, I was blinded by the possibility of something I had never faced before, and I took a moment to breathe as I sat down, my chair swirling. My hands had shot out and I had greedily reached for the papers. This was the metaphorical moment of truth; I had a whole report to read after all.

That's essentially how I found myself on the next plane to Canada, my heels clicking on the pavement as I made my way towards the institution. There weren't many of them left, or at least, none that were advertised as openly as this one. It was in a more remote area of Ontario, still suburban, but not as bustling with activity as Toronto was. That isn't to say there weren't people everywhere, there were, but there were less people, something I greatly appreciated. I wouldn't call myself anti-social, but I fit the textbook definition of such a thing quite perfectly. I liked to say I had refined taste in company, preferring minds that were always one step ahead of your average Joe. Sadly, I rarely found that outside of those who were dubbed unfit to reside in society. Karin had been an exception, and the thought of all the time I had spent listening to her /gush/ about a Sasuke Uchiha made me cringe. She didn't even know the man, outside of what she had read about his tragic history, and in her mind, that had triggered her misused saviour complex, and thus the harassment had begun.

It had started out as love notes, and had progressed from there, until she had broke into his house, and lay upon his bed, completely and utterly convinced that they were engaged. That was certainly not the case, Sasuke had stressed that after he had called the cops, and I was only called after she broke out of a hospital, to see him. It had been disconcerting to say the least, but it had given me strength to tolerate her company. She had not been caught for weeks, and then had been admitted into the institution full time, against her will. Rearing my head up, I let out an audible gasp when I almost walk into the door. My right hand moves forward, and I push it open, scowling as I move to the registration desk. The lady sitting there seemed normal enough, until I read her name. Ino.. Ya.. Yamanaka? Was everyone Japanese here?

Clearing my throat to get her attention, Ino looked up at me, her eyes bluer than the ocean, and I paused for a moment, cocking my head to the side. "I'm here to see Kakashi Hatake."

"Name?" she asks briskly, looking down at her computer. A bubble is popped.

"Ciannait Breen." I answer. She was quite clearly used to this, though a brow raised at the name I had given her. Clearly, she wasn't used to someone who had actually come from Ireland, or at least, she wasn't used to someone who had such an odd name.

"Floor twelve, room five eighty two."

And with that, I'm off, having no interest in further conversing with her. I also had an appointment to make, and while I wasn't as jetlagged as I could have been, the tiredness was creeping up on me quickly. Pushing my hair behind my ears, I step into the elevator, and press the corresponding number for the floor that I was heading to. The initial lurch made me squeeze my eyes shut, as I felt my stomach rise to my throat. A hand pressed to my chest, I lean against the railing, and quietly pray for this torture to be over. It ended just as quickly as it had started. I sent a mental thank you to whatever God or Goddess that was potentially up there, before making note to ask where the stairs were. A little bit of exercise never hurt no body, or at least, that's what I had to tell myself to make twelve flights of stairs seem less daunting.

Had I been a patient, I would have sat down and looked at the sickly green walls with great distaste as I await for someone to come fetch me, but given that I am not a patient, I walked right up to room five eighty two, and knocked. Loudly. The door opened after a minute, and I caught my first glimpse of Kakashi. He was tall, towering over me, with a fierce scowl resting upon his features. An eye was missing (the rumors were finally true), and he barked out his question of who I was, and just what I wanted. He also told me I was interrupting his nap, and I stood there for a moment, unsure of what to say. He was napping on the job? I chose to ignore commenting on such a thing, as we would probably get off on even worse of a foot than we had just gotten off of. Introductions were made, and I was looked up and down, scrutinized, if you will.

"I didn't think you'd be so short, Doctor Breen." he said finally, amusement clear in his voice. My fingers twitched at this, curling tighter around my purse. If there was one thing I learned, it was to keep my mouth shut. A sharp wit and a tongue that was practically barbed wire didn't get me anywhere, and instead, I forced a tense smile to my face. "Do come in."

The room isn't pasty and disgusting. It doesn't look like vomit, and I breathe a sigh of relief. There was only so much of a colour I could handle, as odd as that sounded. It had to do with my mentality, I suppose. I never saw a shrink myself, and I never really took the time to sit and analyze my own irrationality. My job was to help others. I don't need help, at least, that's what I managed to convince myself. Sometimes, reality raised it's head, and reminded me that I was human too; far from perfect.

"I take it from the excited phone call, and the fact that you're here, that you've indeed made the decision to take him on as your patient." he says mildly, sensing my unwillingness to say anything. I really wasn't fond of social interaction.

"It would appear so." I respond, continuing to look around. Despite the job he boasted, he had a life, with what seemed to be a child, of who looked nothing like him. Blond hair and bright blue eyes that even put Ino's to shame. He had odd markings on his face, and I wasn't sure if they were scars, or shoddily applied makeup. Either or, I once again, kept my observations to myself. "Is there any chance I can see him today? It was a bit of an obtuse phone call, but I dislike not working, and since my last patient has been cleared, I would very much appreciate getting down to business."

"The files you've sent me are interesting. It appears nothing adds up. Do you have any reason as to why such a thing has occurred?" I was beginning to pry, not minding myself as much as I should have. I was working now, my mind reaching out for any and all possibilities that could be brought to the table. Was her new patient manipulative? Just what did he suffer from? Was there potential for it all to be an act? I shook my head.

Kakashi seemed uncertain of what to say, I don't blame him. I came off strong, and I cleared my throat, feeling my face burn red in my embarrassment. I was out of bounds, launching my findings so abruptly, but the white haired man waved it off, a small smile curling his lips upwards after a moment of consideration.

"I think, Doctor Breen, you shall have to see for yourself. I'll have him brought up. I take it you won't mind security in the room with you? He has.. A bit of a reputation that he enjoys keeping intact." Kakashi said, moving his hand to his pager. I nodded, a wave of anticipation washing over me like a tidal wave. It was all I could to to not quake in my heels and practically vibrate with excitement.

"Lovely. Give me a moment to freshen up. I have a standard procedure I go through, if you don't mind."

Who freshens up before seeking the attention of a madman? Why, I did. I found that keeping a strictly professional appearance was the only way to insure proper interactions between patient and myself, and only after sometime working with them, did I ever even remotely drop my mask. I pulled my hair into a ponytail, the brown locks moving compliantly into the thick elastic, and I set my purse down. Any and all jewelery was taken off my body to prevent any sources of weapons (I've had a few crafty patients), and I removed my heels. Feet now bare against the cold floor, I padded out the door, clipboard in hand (One would be amazed at just how much a purse could hold, if packed properly), and towards the room with the murmured number. It appears I was early.

The door was open, and I curled myself on one of the provided chairs, legs folded under me. A hand is pressed against my chin, as I drum my fingers against the pliable wood, humming quietly to myself. It didn't take long for two rather buff men to enter the room, with a pale, and terribly pale boy in tow. His hair was a vibrant red, almost looking like blood when oxygenated, and there were rings of black around his eyes. My brows furrowed. Insomnia was mentioned, but the extent to which he suffered was clearly neglected. Never before had I seen such a severe case. Upon his brow, on the right side of his forehead, was a tattoo, with some Japanese lettering on it. As I didn't exactly speak Japanese, I was unsure of what it said. I would ask later, if the opportunity presented itself. The thing that struck me the most, wasn't his hair, those black rings, or his shoddily done tattoo, but his eyes. They were a shade of stunning teal, almost turquoise, and the rage that swirled within their orbs made me incredibly uncomfortable. I had seen people who were angry before, at everything, but this.. This was different. This was hatred. I wet my lips with my tongue, my body coming alive as my pupils widened, and his gaze met mine.

He quietly made his way to the other couch, and I was quick to wave off the guards. I didn't need them there, especially with him chained up as such. They treated him like an animal, which, in actuality, wasn't wrong. He was an animal. They all were, they were just the more intelligent form of them. However, he was being treated like an animal compared to human standards. The chains and my breathing were all I heard, before the cushion made a small sound, and he was sitting down, looking at me with those unwavering eyes of his. He was trying to read me, and I simply looked at him, making it quite clear that his usual intimidation tactics weren't going to work.

"Gaara, yes?" I ask quietly. He says nothing. I expected as much. "My name is Doctor Breen, and I've been called in to help. I suppose you've heard that quite a few times by now, so you aren't going to put much thought into it. That's perfectly alright."

Still, he says nothing, and I nod my head, scribbling something down. The guards look uneasy, and I do not blame them. "I came here all the way from Ireland. It rains a lot there, and from what I've seen, it looks a bit nicer in Canada, less wet."

His eyes hardened, and a small scowl began to creep its way onto his face. He clearly thought this was pointless. I jotted that down too.

"But anyways, I'm not here to pick at your mind, or push you into things you aren't comfortable with. The whole point of verbal therapy is it only works when both parties are interested. I can tell you're not." Trust issues. Anger problems. His hands were clenching and unclenching. I appeared to be hitting a nerve, or at least, I was angering him.

"It was nice to meet you, Gaara." I say, rather cheerily. Standing up, I offer him a small smile, and he glares back at me, displeased with having been brought out of his room just to deal with that rather pitiful interaction. I was less than pleased, but showing frustration, agitation, it would only fuel his silence on. "We'll be having sessions daily, for at least an hour. We don't have to talk, but you're required to be there."

If looks could kill, I would be six feet under right now. It was exhilarating.

There you have it! The first chapter! Hopefully, everyone enjoyed it! If there are any issues or errors, please let me know! -Zachie