Suna was known to be a rougher district; you could almost be guaranteed to find yourself in serious trouble if you wandered within its boundaries at night. To most that happened to live there, it was a dark haven of self-disgust where only the worst of the worst resided; it was a loveless hole of self-induced misery. And it was this misery that kept the most profitable business in town running. The business was a small, local bar- it may or may not have had a name in the past, the sign had fallen off nearly a decade ago- the locals simply referred to it as "That place down the road". It was shabby, cheap and dirty; soft, off-orange light flickered feebly through the grimy windows; the jukebox (an item which was slowly, scratched track by scratched track descending into the depths of "unusable hunk of crap"; from which it would never return) played music which was always the type you hear but don't really listen to, because it never struck you as a sing-along. Of course, the employees knew all the words of all the songs, but as there were only ten to fifteen that actually worked; this wasn't too much of a feat.
The bar had a few regulars; a hapless, hopelessly perverted, romance writer by the name of Jiraiya for one; he seemed to have a very interesting way with the ladies around town (translation: not once had he paid for their "services"). This writer was far more interesting to have a conversation with than he looked, as his years of searching for new ways to describe "romance"- whatever that meant- had left him with a more than sufficient vocabulary for good conversation and he certainly enjoyed a chat himself; though it nearly always involved innuendo or direct commentary about sex- (what could he say? It was in his nature!) Though if he were ever to veer off the subject with someone, it would be in a conversation with one of the bar's youngest employees: a blonde, with her shoulder length hair often pulled into four quick, un-brushed pigtails and a short fringe which she was constantly shaking out of her startling green eyes- eyes which held the cold, aloof look of a princess; and yet contained the warmth of the most giving mother. She was slender and of below average height, but built sturdily, and stronger, much stronger than she looked; her well-toned arms and calloused, short-nailed hands were well used to handling the gun she kept in her bag. Temari was her name.
I do it for the sake of tradition, Jiraiya-the-writer told himself; that's why I sit in the same seat every day; in the same bar, drinking the same drink. He guessed that maybe the monotony of his current habits were what was giving him writer's block. Temari-the-barmaid agreed wholeheartedly, she near pleaded with him to change seats; order something else…
"Just don't change bars. You're half my paycheque." Temari said brusquely one evening, "Now, what part of your new book are you stuck on?" Temari had been given- as now one of Jiraiya's best friends- a sneak peek of his latest novel.
"The protagonist's quivering member" he quipped sarcastically "the whole thing's just so…"
"Identical to everything else you've ever done. Monotonous. Dull. Overused." she responded automatically, "So you keep saying." She grinned cheekily
"What happened to writing it for the sake of art?" he sighed resignedly
"Money… corruption… alcohol…" She shrugged with a raised eyebrow and gave him his drink- not needing to ask what he wanted. "Have you thought about another genre?"
"Thanks love; and no."
"Oh! Oh! Write a thriller! With a government conspiracy! And a murder! Murders are always good!"
"Only intelligent people will read that!"
"So?"
"They're the minority."
She snorted and stared around jumpily, waiting for something. "Damn it! I told Shikamaru I needed to get out early today! That lazy fuck!" she slammed her palm on the bar, "I'll kill him. I swear!"
"Why? Why do you stay with him?" Jiraiya asked in despair, "A beautiful young woman such as you wouldn't be hard pressed to find another, more active and interesting lowlife to date, surely?"
"He's really smart; and funny…" she responded softly.
"And…?"
After a pregnant pause, she said slowly, "Yeah… that's about it…"
"Change of subject" he roared heartily after another awkward silence, "How old is your brother now?"
"Sixteen, that's why I'm leaving early, we're going to have a little party at the institution; he's been looking forward to it so much! Apparently he has a little friend there that he wants me to meet."
"Sweet. Wish him a happy birthday for me." Temari nodded absently, still peering out the window into the dreary street where her ridiculously lazy boyfriend should be appearing any moment.
"He's always late on Mondays…" she frowned confusedly.
Temari hurried out into the crisp, January air, snow falling from the almost unnaturally grey sky and into her hair, dampening it; half of her was in a hurry to get out of the cold; half of her was not looking forward to going back to her tiny home, as she avoided the messy apartment as often as she could; all of her hoping to god her other brother, Kankuro, had bought their youngest sibling a cake instead of trying to make one himself…
She power-walked toward their small apartment, praying that she wouldn't detect any smoke as she ran upstairs; unlocking the door and shutting it extremely quickly (you could never be too cautious). "I'm home, you ready?"
"Shhh!" Came the reply, "The dragon is sleeping!" her younger brother poked his head around the doorway of the tiny kitchen. He ran a hand through his unkempt, reddish-brown hair, sending what seemed to be flour flying into the air.
"Tell the dragon we have to go!" she huffed, but still lowered her voice "…and how in the hell did you get flour in your hair?"
"Cake is the enemy…" he whispered and shrugged, as if that explained it.
"Why didn't you buy one?" she hissed, rubbing a tea towel roughly over his head.
"I had no money! I meant to borrow some off you this morning, but…"
She rolled her eyes, "Here's a thought! Get a job!"
"Hey, I tried!"
"When?! When you were fourteen?!" She stuffed half the tea towel into his open mouth as he tried to argue again, "Shh! The dragon is sleeping" she mocked him "and I don't need any more stress this afternoon; just take this- and remember-"
"He hates the sponge cake; yeah, he's my brother too, remember?"
She chuckled, "Sorry. I'm just… it's just… bad day…"
Kankuro's expression darkened, "If that- … if Shikamaru had anything to do with it- I swear…"
"No… well, yeah… he was late again; I'm starting to get really sick of it…"
Kankuro bristled, "Does that mean I can kill him now?"
"Gaara wouldn't like blood on his cake, sweetheart."
"You never know…"
"That's not funny."
"Okay, fine… after today?"
Temari punched him on the arm, "No. Get the cake. I'll wake the dragon." She ordered, shoving him out of the door; the disaster zone that remained of their poor excuse for a kitchen could wait. She'd make Kankuro clean it…
"The dragon" was, in fact, the code name of the third occupant of Temari's tiny apartment. The dragon was rarely woken unless absolutely necessary (for example, the last time Kankuro had tried to cook- Temari's previously long hair had caught on fire). The dragon usually spent his time sleeping or working or getting stupidly drunk with friends who, frankly, looked at Temari completely the wrong way. The dragon was also occasionally referred to by Temari in conversation with Jiraiya as "Bio-dad"; the man who had given them life and then… well, nothing much else actually (Temari was making more money than him at the age of twelve). Yes, the dragon was their father.
"Dad?" Temari called, shaking his arm as he slumped over the desk "We gotta go soon."
"Ugh…What the fuck for?"
"It's Gaara's birthday, silly!"
"Hmgghhh…"
"Come on, up you get!"
He waved a hand half-heartedly at her before rising and trudging off to the shower. Temari sighed, (vaguely wondering how Kankuro had managed not only to get flour in his hair, but on the laptop) and set off to her own room, which was not, in fact, a room but one third of a room. Temari often felt a little depraved at being forced to share a room with her younger brothers until the age of nineteen; but so long as she still had somewhere to sleep, she was fine with it- rarely being home anyway- she usually stayed at her friend Tenten's house; but it had become near impossible of late to have any peace at her house what with her, frankly, far too feminine boyfriend constantly around (perhaps Tenten's frequent- and often public- molestations were the result of compensation- or perhaps that's how a normal relationship went). Temari sighed again. Though she pretended to hate all of them, she would have given her right arm to have a decent man to irritate people with; her boyfriend could rarely be bothered to move away from the television set, let alone pay any attention to his lover.
She searched through her drawers for something to change into, settling on Kankuro's clothes instead (she never had much mind for dressing like a woman) figuring he wouldn't mind as he stole her money often enough…
"Happy birthday, Gaara!" Temari squealed, pushing her father and Kankuro out of the way and hugging her youngest brother with near-deadly force before they could; presenting him with a small package. They'd made good time in coming to the town of Konoha in only half an hour, normally it took twice as long- and Temari was ecstatic that she had so much extra time to spend with her youngest brother.
"Thanks, sis. And hi…" the newly sixteen-year-old Gaara stood before them; his hair was a mess, as though he never bothered to brush it; his smile was strained as though he'd never learned to do it properly and his eyes, beautifully green though they were, were surrounded by unnaturally dark shadows: he had the sadly frail and dishevelled- though well cared for- look of a person who was plagued by nightmares and lack of sleep. "What's going on with you guys?"
"Nothing much" Kankuro said, placing the birthday cake (the kind of cake that you're hard pressed to find any form of cake amongst all the chocolate) on Gaara's small dressing table.
Gaara smiled wanly, "Are you still seeing Shika… something or other, Temari?"
"We're still together. Seeing each other, however, has become less frequent. He can never be bothered to go out anywhere…" Temari laughed, Kankuro scowled.
"This the Nara kid?" Their father inquired gruffly out of the blue. Temari started before nodding; she hadn't been aware that her father knew her boyfriend's name.
"Come on, open your present! Open it!" Temari insisted.
"An mp3!" Gaara gasped "but- that's really…"
"It's got all the songs on our computer on it already, and the charger is there. We all pitched in. We figured you deserved a fairly big present this year… don't worry about money!" Temari chuckled at Gaara's concerned expression.
He sighed, but didn't argue; instead, picking up a small, leather bracelet from the table, "look what my friend made me…" the three guests admired the delicately decorated bracelet, "He's got a real eye for detail, huh?" they murmured agreement. Temari had honestly never seen anything handmade that was so cleverly designed and sighed; wondering where some people got their talent.
"Is your friend coming to see you soon? I wanna meet this guy." Kankuro said, still eyeing the bracelet, "He could seriously sell this crap."
"Worry about your own job. Or lack thereof." Temari snapped, instantly regretting speaking harshly as Gaara flinched; Temari was well aware that that motion was indicative of a violent mood swing, so she hastily changed the subject. "So, um… how have you been, y'know, feeling lately?"
Gaara shifted uncomfortably, "The medicine's working, I guess… but… I'm not sleeping much… I- I can't remember any of my nightmares- but they wake me- and they scare me anyway… So I'm a little tired" he answered honestly (Gaara was rarely anything but honest).
"I noticed" she sighed, and ran a hand through Gaara's hair, resting her thumb over one of his delicately shaped eyes and the dark shadows that surrounded it, she prodded the brutal, still red scar of the kanji for 'love' above his left eye (he had cut it into his own skin during a particularly bad turn), clicking her tongue.
"Sorry I'm late, Gaara. I had to sneak off… the head nurse'll probably kill me when she can find me, but it's worth it. I'm treated like a two year old…"
Gaara smiled again as a cool, calm voice flowed through the air like silk from the doorway; where a ridiculously handsome man was standing. Part of his long, dark hair was pulled into a loose ponytail and the rest framed his thin, flawlessly defined features, complimenting his pale skin. Strange care lines that looked as though they had nothing to do with lack of sleep slanted downwards from his eyes, stopping at the bottom of his high cheekbones, his lips were curved into a sincere, but calculated looking smile; he looked nothing short of exotic and sexy… but what looked most exotic about him was his eyes; at first, Temari had thought it a trick of the light, but as he moved closer, she noticed that they were in fact, red.
She barely stopped her jaw from dropping as Gaara's new friend strode over to her, hand outstretched, "You must be Temari. I've heard rather a lot about you, Gaara adores you." he said. She took his hand, her own rather limp, and smiled with considerable effort.
The man turned to Kankuro and their father in turn and shook their hands. Temari noticed that Kankuro was just as disconcerted by the stranger's good looks as she was, though not quite as tactful; he was openly gaping at the picture of masculine beauty before him, envy apparent in his every fibre.
"Yeah, this is Itachi," Gaara introduced his friend, "-and that's my father, and my brother, Kankuro."
Itachi nodded regally at them, smiling that warm, yet calculated smile at the still-gaping Kankuro "I was going to bring party hats, but someone's having a bigger get-together downstairs." His eyes rested on Temari; she felt a strange, leaping sensation somewhere in her chest.
After several minutes of cake eating, and pleasant chit-chat (in which Temari discovered that Itachi had an excellent sense of humour, if a little twisted), Gaara broke the comfortable silence that had fallen, "Itachi came here a few days after I did…"
Gaara trailed off, obviously remembering the day he was committed. Temari remembered the day with a pang as well; they had taken him straight to a psychologist after he had, with a hysterical edge in his voice, told Temari "the voices" wouldn't stop and collapsed in uncontrollable sobs. The psychologist had said he was suffering some kind of personality disorder as a result of a great trauma- but, she had explained, Gaara's mind had, to put it simply; "deleted" the trauma- he couldn't remember a thing. Later that week he had attempted suicide- the same psychologist deemed him too dangerous to stay in their apartment unsupervised any longer. They were told there was no way to be rid of his disorder, but with proper treatment and counselling, he could lead a normal life in time. That was just over a year ago… Temari smiled sadly and took hold of Gaara's hand.
"You'll be home soon…"
"When we started talking, I thought he worked here" Itachi said matter-of-factly "You could go home any day."
Gaara looked at him gratefully, "You too"
Itachi shook his head, a coldly defiant look on his face "No. They still don't believe me. I'm not going home until I tell them something I myself don't believe." He frowned, "It's fine by me though; I'm safe here. Even though the food's not the greatest." He smiled that smile again as though he were careful to let them know he was still sane enough to crack jokes.
After an awkward silence, Kankuro asked timidly "What- what is your story?"
"My father's trying to kill Me." he said simply, and, after seeing Kankuro's expression "You can think what you want. Believe me, it doesn't bother me anymore..."
"Itachi Uchiha?" a pretty, plump woman poked her head around the door "There you are, you naughty boy!" Itachi rolled his eyes "Your little brother's come to visit you, isn't that nice? Oh, are you having a party?"
"Happy place, happy place, happy place…" Itachi hissed under his breath to Temari and she barely stifled a laugh as he turned around, and obviously fake grin plastered on his face "Thanks." He shook everyone's hand again, his weirdly attractive eyes gazing straight into Temari's as he shook hers, their handshake seemed to take quite a while…
"Come on, sweetheart, you don't want to keep Sasuke waiting, do you?"
Itachi shook his head, "No, no." he coughed awkwardly, "Bye… Temari…"
Temari wondered about the handsome stranger as she changed into her pyjamas that night. He truly was fascinating, and to be honest; Temari couldn't see what was dangerous about him at all. She wondered, in a fit of wild imagination, if what he was saying about his father was true… though quickly scolded herself for being ridiculous. She walked out of their tiny bathroom into their shared room where Kankuro was already lying on his own bed, staring at the dark ceiling and looking concerned. She threw a nearby cushion at him, "What's got you so worried?"
"Nothing, nothing." He replied, rolling onto his side and grinning at her as she hopped into her own bed, "Just… well, that Itachi guy couldn't take his eyes off you…"
"What? Really?" Temari tried to keep the girlish giggle out of her voice he's a mental patient she had to keep reminding herself. Just… a particularly handsome and intelligent and funny one…
"Yeah, really. It was sort of sweet…"
"Why don't you just hurry up and say that you're gay?"
"Not this again!"
"If you were gayyyyy… you'd probably go out with Gaara's friend"
"Goodnight, my beloved sister."
"And he would sayyyyy… 'How did I end up with this?'"
"That doesn't even rhyme!"
"Things don't have to rhyyyymmmeee … because I am awesoommmee. And. You. Are. Not."
"GOODNIGHT!"
A/N: Yes, it's a low security ward… a very, very low security ward… 0.0 SHADDUP! REVIEWWWWWWWWWWWW hands out cookies