Disclaimer: Naruto universe and the characters belong to Masashi Kishimoto.

Teardrop on the Fire

Temari insecurely stood before closed door.

Her aching muscles cried for rest, her body firmly demanded a shower and a bed. The look-out mission turned out to be one of the more dreadful ones. She could feel grains of sand left in her hair, clothes and lungs – it had been a long time since she'd been caught up in a sandstorm as merciless as this one, and she hoped it'd pass a long time before she finds herself in one again.

She was exhausted. Teal eyes drooped, begging for sleep, and a light dizziness threatened to overtake - yet the sand kunoichi perseveringly stood in a shadowy corridor of her own house, staring at the shut doors.

The doors belonged to Gaara's room.

He might have been there. He might have not. With Gaara, one could never tell.

Temari cocked her ears to catch even the slightest of sounds that might come from within, but the silence remained unpromising. He was probably outside, she frowned. Which was good.

If he were in, she would have to make a decision and she really wasn't in the mood for solving that kind of dilemma.

Bringing her hand to the stiff back of her neck, Temari sighed and turned towards her room.

Whether to greet him or not? Whether to let him know she returned or leave him be? With Gaara, even the simplest of tasks had a tendency of becoming overly complicated.

Temari moodily knocked the doors to her room open. The bang echoed throughout the empty hallway.

Gaara was sitting on his bed, motionless as a statue would have been. Redheaded head was buried in his palms.

In a dark gloomy atmosphere of his bedroom, Gaara seemed not to be much different from the still, lifeless furniture surrounding his bent silhouette. Weakened sun rays of this strangely less hot afternoon barely managed to penetrate the barrier of curtains dragged over the windows, shedding an odd shady light on the interior. A pale beam lay by his left foot.

For a moment, Gaara's hands shook. Then, as the pulse of pain passed – the hands went still again and his clenched teeth relaxed.

It was agonizing. It became monotone. And it never stopped.

Not for a single moment, not for once - ever since it first begun six months ago, when he firstly refused to make a kill.

For six months, the pain didn't leave – becoming stronger and more frequent, day by day.

„Gaah!" Hands pulled at the fiery locks and the boy writhe. The dull, tedious ache was coming in waves, each as insufferable as those before – without any indication of ever fading out.

He was loosing strength to endure it, strength to fight it, even the enraged annoyance it would awake.

'Enough', the inner mantra repeated. 'Enough already. Enough…'

'Boy…'

'Go away', Gaara squeezed his eyes tighter, as if the gesture could make the voice oblige the command.

'Boy, don't piss me off.'

„Leave", he snarled, unaware that his mouth voiced out the inner command.

The Voice scoffed. 'Can you make me?' Gaara remained silent. 'What? Out of points already?' it taunted, amused.

„SHUT UP!" the boy growled. The mental anguish enforced.

'Reaching bottom, aren't we?' it stated knowingly. 'So? How long do you think you can last? I can keep forever if need be… but you know that already', the creature pointed out with a smile.

His mouth soundlessly formed the word 'stop', over and over again. If it was begging, Gaara didn't care anymore.

The Voice laughed merrily. 'Boy, you'll break by the end of the day.'

Gaara didn't respond. Only his nails rammed into the skin of his palms.

The bed creaked under his weight. He lifted his legs and lay on the mattress, crossing arms over his face. Gaara couldn't remember if he had ever used this bed before the headaches started and his room became an asylum – a hideout required for moments like these.

Six months ago, he had a mission. Six months ago, he and his siblings failed at invading Konoha and Uzumaki Naruto beat him. Half a year ago, it occurred to him that maybe living offered more than bloodshed and gore, that maybe killing wasn't the best answer for everything. Maybe, just – maybe… his purpose lay elsewhere.

So, six months ago, Sabaku no Gaara decided to try out a different path.

Frankly, he didn't know what he got himself into.

It was harder than he expected. The headaches he occasionally suffered from worsened ever since the first time he restrained himself. From sharp, abrupt attacks of piercing white hot pain – or rather burning knives stabbing into his brain – to constant blunt sore. The sore was almost worse. It took the most of him.

It was Shukaku's revenge for failing to fulfill its demands.

As if the pain wasn't enough of a torment, the demon never missed a chance to voice its opinion: hissing threats and shouting insults, mocking and raging – adding to the chaos that already reigned in Gaara's mind. He couldn't stop to think clearly – Shukaku wouldn't give him a chance to recuperate.

It was hell, and the people around him weren't helping.

As the anguish grew and Shukaku became madder, Gaara's line of tolerance – which had never been particularly high – dangerously shrunk.

He found people annoying. Buzzing, pesky, irritating flies he wanted to smack! Their voices, their presence – it was their mere existence what could set him off. The more he tried not to kill them, the more he needed to.

His siblings were not an excuse. The lamely muttered apology his barely conscious self uttered after the battle with Uzumaki was the last thing he really said to them. The rage and craving for blood spill Temari and Kankuro invoked in him made him avoid them or any other form of human company.

He didn't even go out at night anymore – fearing a lit up window could enrage the monster within. This room became his sanctuary. His prison.

Sabaku no Gaara was going through a change.

… and nobody noticed.

It seemed as if not one person realized he hadn't killed in six months. Not one person recognized the efforts, the sacrifices he put into staying remotely sane. The looks he was receiving were nasty as ever, the fear and hatred addressed to his existence didn't falter for a moment.

They were blind for him. They simply didn't see – which infuriated him even more.

'My point exactly. I don't know what you're trying to prove', Shukaku confirmed.

'No!', sea foam eyes opened abruptly, their owner alarmed. He let his thoughts wander off exactly where It wanted them to. That kind of thinking could break him, and then all would be for nothing…

'Boy, boy, boy… Don't you get it? It's already for nothing! You're torturing us both for nothing! Nothing, you see?'

'No', Gaara squeezed his eyes determinedly.

'No? Look. You're being a drag for over six months now and what did it get you? – Not a thing. Cause people don't care.'

'It's not true!' he madly pulled at the red hair. The mental pressure was getting stronger – mixed with the echoes of Shukaku's grumbling.

'Prove me wrong, then. Name one person.' Gaara couldn't answer. A sudden shot of pain made him loudly cry out. He bit his lip until it turned white.

'Stop!'

'Oh, I would! It's you who's making it last longer! – If you had any sense of reason, you'd stop with this nonsense and would kill the bastards long ago – ALL OF THEM!' the Voice thundered, annoyed.

'No...', Gaara's own inner voice sounded muffled by the demon's roars. It hurt – so much.

'Do you honestly think it'll get different?! You think they'll 'recognize', and 'acknowledge', and 'respect'…' demon spat the last word. 'Common. You're a lot of things, but not an idiot. You know as much as I do it will never be like that', it continued softly, trying to sound reasonable. 'Because you and I', a sudden lash of fresh pain jolted his nerve system, 'Listen to me, boy! …Because you and I – are two of a kind. Well - more or less…' Shukaku quickly corrected himself upon squinting at the boy's general state. 'People don't change their mind when it comes to creatures like us.'

„Na…ru…to", Gaara spattered the word, almost lost in the bluntness of the agony.

'Who?', the tanuki stood confused. 'Ah, the Kyuubi brat? … Kid, don't mix things up. You and him are two different worlds.'

„Naru…to!" the boy repeated with more fury now.

'He's another case. He has people.'

„I…", tormented boy uttered, trying to make his point.

Shukaku laughed. 'Ah - no, boy. Kyuubi brat hasn't done what you have done. Or haven't you noticed how he didn't even try to kill you when he had the chance?! He's a sissy! He probably never killed anyone in his life!'

Too worn out to speak, Gaara gave out a vague mental sight that clearly showed Shukaku's defeat at the hand of the said 'sissy'.

Tanuki awkwardly cleared his throat. 'Miscalculation, nothing else. Of course, after spending twelve years in a pussy like yourself, I got a little rusty!' Shukaku angrily clarified. 'Plus, it wasn't the kid – it was the Kyuubi who gave him the power! And Kyuubi's one messy player…' it continued, suddenly lost in a century long memory lane. The silence didn't last long. 'And how would you know, you shrimp, you've slept the whole thing!' it yelled out, enraged.

Gaara lay silently. Drops of sweat slid down his brow. The pain eased a bit, as Shukaku took a softer, tender tone.

'You're a monster for them. They'll never see you as anything else.' It was a mellow statement – said in a tone one would use with a loving, but unreasonable child. 'But that was alright with us before. Remember? How we used to have fun. All that fun…' demon's voice took a dangerously sweet tone. 'Why change the old ways, huh, kid? The old ways were just fine.'

'No…' Gaara whispered, albeit with significantly less enthusiasm than before.

'Aaargh!'the demon growled, inflicting Gaara yet another mental wound. The Jinchuuriki soundlessly squirmed. 'You're a stubborn little brat, you know that! Making me go all the way out… What happened with the whole 'demon loving only himself' concept?! You forgot about that?! What happened the night we put that on your forehead?! You didn't want them to 'like' you then! Or, have you forgotten how it was? Do I really need to remind you?!', the Voice roared. 'Hated! Alone! And all messed up! Remember? Huh? … Until you let me come along. It was good then, wasn't it? We were good to each other… right? Son?' demon's laughter echoed in his mind, invoking a scar more torturing than the others. He had thought It was Mother.

Shukaku stifled the last chuckles. 'Now, putting that aside… - I truly want only the best for you, kid. After all, you're my body. If you're satisfied, I'll be satisfied. Your well-being is important to me, so why not letting me help you out? Like before, right? Remember, boy: I'm in you. I am you.'

„You're not me", Gaara stammered quietly.

The demon was quiet for a minute. '… Am I not?'

Gaara closed his eyes. He never felt more tired. And he wasn't allowed to fall asleep.

The beast within him continued sputtering its nonsense, but he didn't listen anymore. He had enough to think about on his part of the mind. The most disturbing fact was that the demon was right. All Shukaku had said was what he, Gaara, believed.

It was in vain. And it was stupid.

He had done too many things… They had done too many things… Thinking he could change all that, thinking he could make six years of terror and twelve years of hurt disappear – as simply as that…

His half-closed eyes listlessly stared at the ceiling, while the demon continued its rant.

He was a fool. Gaara saw clearly now.

How could he forget that his Path was set before him even before his birth? He was a murderer and his life was only fitting for one.

A desert. Barren. Wasteful.

His soul absorbed the blood of his victims like the sand absorbed creatures the Desert had killed. They might have vanished from the face of the Earth, but they were never entirely gone – just hidden below the surface.

People will never forget him who he used to be, so why bother to change? As the desert could never be anything but ruthless and vast, he'd never be able to be something he's not.

A choking feeling settled in his throat, bitter and pressuring. Swallowing and breathing became hard. He wasn't about to cry. He felt too exhausted and empty for that – it was a feeling one experience when they reach the bottom. A feeling of hopelessness, helplessness, and resignation.

It's over.

Bluish light made patterns above his head. He stared apathetically, not seeing them.

'… and you'll go outside of this damn coffin you locked us into and make up for…'

The demon babbled. Gaara kept silent.

A desert.

'Self-loving demon.'

Hated.

Alone.

Done for.

………………

……………

…………

………

…..

…

.

Tap.

The sound was so weak he immediately wrote it off, not bothering to question its source. It was nothing. All was nothing…

Tap.

His ears inadvertently pricked.

Tap, tap.

Gaara slowly rose his head, ever so slightly, to glance at the rest of the room.

Tap… tap, tap, tap, tap…

Aquamarine eyes widened and lips parted in confusion. That… It couldn't be…

Tapping turned to soft drumming, steady and persistent.

Gaara got to his feet and quickly walked the small distance to the round window. He pulled at the curtains and let the weak light fill his bedroom.

Tiny water drops slid down the glass and welcomed his startled expression.

Temari smirked at the dark sky, not minding the raindrops splattering against her nose, cheeks and brow. She put her hands on her hips as the smirk grew wider: „Well, what do you know?" The Sand kunoichi turned to her brother and saw an identical grin on Kankuro's face.

„What was the last time it rained in here, anyway? We were – what, five?" Kankuro squinted, shielding his eyes.

Temari didn't reply as the other villagers started stepping out of their houses to enjoy the unexpected whim of nature. People of all age came to the streets, a content smile present on every face. The youngest ones ran around the elders, some tugging at their parents' sleeves, excitedly screeching for explanation – others splashing up and down the newly formed puddles.

Bright faces of the lot reminded Temari of something that was quick to wipe the smirk from her lips.

Gaara… He shouldn't miss this. Downpours were such a rare sight here in Suna – he should be able to experience one as well, but… should she call him? If he were in the house at all – which she doubted… Would he have one of his fits if she bothered him with something as simple as rainfall? Would he even care?

The wind user let out an annoyed sigh. 'Why does everything about him has to be so complicated?!'

Suddenly, an unexpected rustle coming from the house behind her diverted her attention. Turning slowly, she halted in surprise.

Speaking of the devil. It was Gaara who descended down the staircase and stopped at the bottom of it, half-hidden in the shadows.

Temari found herself dumbfounded. From where she was standing, she couldn't make out his expression.

What should she tell him? Should she tell him anything? Why did he came anyway? What would…?

„Oi! Gaara!" Kankuro shouted back at the house, voice muffled by the shower. „Come out here! You won't be seeing something like this any time soon!", with that, the puppet master proceeded to nonchalantly stare at the leaden horizon.

Temari shot him a look of surprise. Kankuro said that? – her brother who allegedly held a grudge for every child that crossed his way, foremostly their youngest brother?

Kankuro…?

Gaara paused for a moment, then sheepishly walked out of the bluish shadows of the room and insecurely halted at the doorway. His eyes flew to the skyline.

A chilly wind carried heavy grey clouds towards the village at a surprising pace. The whole sky darkened – casting a strange, pale blue light at the usually heated streets. Many people stood in the rain and not one noticed his presence. So strange. The water had completely soaked their clothes, yet the fact didn't make them stop smiling.

„Try it!" Kankuro yelled over his shoulder.

Gaara reluctantly frowned. Water – wasn't something that agreed well with his chakra nature. The sand was useless when wet – an unhelpful pile of mud. His defense and attack would be weakened by the rain, leaving him open to an assault.

Still…

Slowly, slowly, almost shyly – Gaara of the Sand raised his arm and extended it outside the security of the roof. Big wet drops exploded against his hand and kept falling, while the weak light drew patterns on his pale skin.

Temari relaxed a bit, upon seeing his curious expression. For a moment, he reminded her of what little brothers should look like.

Teal eyes searched for Kankuro's. She blinked.

Almost frighteningly unexpectedly, Temari burst out laughing. Kankuro cocked an eyebrow. „What?" he gazed suspiciously. Kunoichi simply pointed a finger at him, unable to speak due to a maniacal laughing fit she was currently caught in. Her brother frowned. „What is it?" he groaned. His hand automatically reached for his face. „What the…?" Purple smudges stained his fingers. „Sh**, no!" he yelled.

The redhead looked up at the sight.

As he observed the soft light, splatters on his arm and listened to the rain, his sister's loud laughter and brother's curses – Gaara felt that, somehow, in some inexplicable manner, the anguish became slightly more bearable.

In the early morning of the next day, the Jinchuuriki sat on the still wet roof-tiles and observed the breaking dawn. A vast frontier stretched into the distance, basking in the soft light. The desert, blooming in a thousand shades, spread before his eyes. As he watched the peaceful, colourful scenery - Gaara thought he got the point.

A/N - Sometimes, when we manage to bury ourselves deep enough, so deep it seems impossible to get free - I guess the circumstances have to get involved (personally, by circumstances I mean God - who, in my case, decided to make his point through shoe laces. Yep, there's a story behind this!) :P

Shukaku might be out of character, but it's pretty much the way I currently see him. While Kyuubi seems to be a type of a dignified brute bully, Shukaku strikes me as a more talkative, mischievous ol' drunk with a psycho streak and an accent.

What's your opinion on the matter?