mon·ster

ˈmänstər/

noun

1.

an imaginary creature that is typically large, ugly, and frightening.

One

The first time Gaara heard those words directed at him, he bit the inside of his cheek. It didn't hurt, just annoyed the living hell out of him.

It wasn't that it was his first time hearing those words – nor his first hundred times, for that matter – it was just the fact that they had been uttered through the lips of his of an irritating busybody who followed his team around, Sachiko.

(Why the hell had she even been there? Oh, right. To act as a simple observer for the Sand ninjas, as far as the Third Hokage had been concerned. For Sunagakure, she had been a sealer, to keep Shukaku's jinchuuriki in control.)

He had just taken Lee's arm and leg, and had subjected him to a life without purpose.

Trembling violently and through a stream of tears, she had screamed "Let him go, you monster!"

The inside of his cheek hurt, and he didn't know why.

Two

The second time Gaara heard those words directed at him, he glared through beads of sweat and heavy breathing, with Sachiko sat next to him on one panel of sand, Lee on another, a few meters away.

Kimimaro had been a formidable enemy, and Gaara had fought, fought with every ounce of chakra in his body, just to keep them alive. The scale of the battle had been massive, and judging by the tremor coursing through Gaara's body, Sachiko had understood instantaneously how lucky they had been.

She had thrown her arms around Gaara's neck on panicked instinct as Kimimaro shot up out of the ground for one last time – a useless attempt for what, Gaara didn't know exactly. It had been a stupid move to move towards him, considering how the attack had been aimed at him; she had so carelessly, needlessly almost died with him, if not for Kimimaro's preexisting illness.

Still, he had fought for them.

So Gaara didn't understand why, when she finally took in the scene – acres and acres of vertical bone shards – and her stiff arms slid off his shoulders, she whistled, "Damn, you are a monster."

Sachiko felt his resentful gaze on her for a week.

Three

The third time Gaara heard those words directed at him, he froze up, then, without so much as sparing a glance at the speaker, jumped into the trees to disappear.

Two wayward Rain nins had been passing through the Wind Country, and had happened to spot Sachiko on her own, having just parted ways with Gaara post-training. They had flirted, courted, and in the face of Sachiko's blatant dismissals, had permitted themselves to touch her without consent.

Gaara hadn't been far, not enough for him to have missed Sachiko's distressed chakra, and he had appeared in a swirl of sand and had shattered a pair of arms with his ultimate defense in the same fluid motion.

The second ninja had fallen on his behind, feet kicking out in panic to get away from the Suna's ultimate weapon. "Please, not the sand!" He had begged, getting on his knees.

Gaara had smiled when he reappeared behind the man in the next moment, a sandaled foot on his back, using both hands to pull the Rain nin's arms backwards – a scream had ripped through the ninja's throat when both limbs popped out of their respective socket.

"You monster," she had said laughingly and with a shake of her head.

It was weird, the way she had said those words; it wasn't the same way they all said it, but the words still hurt the part of his chest that Yashamaru was always talking about, so Gaara preferred to leave.

Sachiko looked for him for three days, found him on the swing, and sat with him until he stopped avoiding her.

Four

The fourth time Gaara heard those words directed at him, he growled and swatted like a cornered cat.

He had been sick, his fever through the roof as his natural immune system tried to compensate for the lack of a Tailed Beast within. Sachiko had fussed and fussed, more in one day than Temari and Kankuro had ever fussed in their lives, combined.

Gaara had never been sick a day in his life, so he had had the right to act like a petulant child, for the foreign feeling had been making him ache in all sorts of places he hadn't known could ache – his head, his chest, his stomach, his back, and mostly, his throat. He had been croaking like an unprincely toad for longer than he had ever wanted to, but Sachiko still had had no right, no right, to force feed him like some- some defenseless enfant.

She had lifted his head in one hand as the other held a spoon to his mouth. Gaara had shaken her off almost immediately, the texture of herbal porridge absolutely abhorrent on his tongue. Sachiko had tried again – three times she had tried – and Gaara had eventually managed to knock the vile bowl out of her hands.

Sachiko had watched as hours and hours of painstaking preparation splattered onto the floor. "I'm going to kill you, you little monster!" She had screamed, had then swiftly grabbed a dosing cup of suspicious pink liquid and poured it down Gaara's throat before he had had a chance to react. He had sputtered and coughed – betrayed – as the syrup coursed through him, making him drowsier by the second.

Before darkness overtook him completely, he had felt, or perhaps had merely imagined, just a ghost of pressure on his forehead.

Five

The fifth time Gaara heard those words directed at him, he finally understood what they meant.

She had seen the sand crack and crumble from afar, and false intel had dictated that the Kazekage had fallen. Sachiko had seen red, and in one fell swoop had pummeled seven of those nasty white Akatsuki things.

Her regiment had been near the central intelligence unit, and Gaara had watched as the Tailed Beast Bomb fall upon the Allied Shinobi Forces' Headquarter, no doubt obliterating everything in the nearby vicinity.

They had both died, in a way.

So when they had found each other again, beaten and bruised but finally back home, Gaara had abandoned all forms of formality, and Sachiko, her inhibitions. Sachiko had shown him, through frantic touches and unrestraint gasps, what Gaara had meant to her. Gaara had responded in kind, with aborted cries and insatiable lips, soothing every worry and every fear.

He woke up to Sachiko's big doe eyes that softened when she smiled at him. She leaned in, her lips found his once, twice. Gaara thumbed the bruises on her neck; Sachiko nuzzled the scratches on his shoulder blade. "Chie…" He croaked out, chest so full it could burst.

(Is this normal, Yashamaru?)

"Mornin' to you too, Monsta."

Epiloque: In hindsight, it probably would've been weird if they said it the way she meant it.