Warnings: AU, crack!fic, cross-dressing, humor, romance (?)

Characters: Gaara/Naruto

Chapter Rating: T

Disclaimer: Owned by Kishimoto Masashi, et al.

Summary: Is your house drowning in filth? Your household falling to pieces? Enter Uzumaki Naruto, level D Kamen Maid, who dreams of putting to rights his 99th household and becoming the Queen—er—King of Maids.

A/N: Be forewarned—this is a peculiar child of a peculiar brain. Whether the reader may find anything worthy of approbation, the author cannot say—except that zie hopes the reader will show enough human respect and dignity to refrain from sacrificing zir upon the alter of the reader's indignation. Thank you most kindly for your time and for, if you may be so inclined, a memento of your visit in the form of a review. The author is, as always, the humble and pitiable servant of your entertainment.

::Kamen Maid, Onegai!::

"Quietly and efficiently, the Kamen Maid strikes, bringing order where there was once chaos, cleanliness where there was filth. With a kind smile and a perfectly brewed cup tea, she refreshes the weary spirits of her masters and moves the cogs of history without ever leaving a trace of her presence. Calm, poised and ever elegant, the Kamen Maid sets to rights all that man has allowed to go to ruin. She is the chosen agent of Heaven."

"That sounds pretty stupid."

"Shut up, brat, that's not all of it." Kamen Maid Naruto flips the stained and tattered page of his much used book and points triumphantly, blue-blue eyes blazing behind his black mask, at the block print and text now revealed. "And the one Maid who shall stand above them all, the one who has, with courage and fortitude, conquered ninety-nine households, shall be known as the Queen of Maids. She shall have dominion over all other Kamen Maids and will lead the world into—"

"It still sounds stupid," Konohamaru, the young master of Naruto's current assignment, says with a yawn as he slouches back in his seat and fiddles with the loose right lens in his green goggles. "Besides, isn't that thing talking about a girl?"

Naruto sighs loudly and shoves his precious tome closer to his nonplussed companion. He jabs with greater enthusiasm at the block print and the squiggles of text scrawled out underneath. "That's irrelevant. What matters is that I'm gonna be the Queen"—Konohamaru gives him a look, one brown brow raised—"er, King of Maids and totally make everyone acknowledge me."

"Aren't you just, like, level F or something?"

"Level D!"

The boy shrugs carelessly and knocks the book back across the glass-top veranda table. "Whatever. Doesn't this Queen person have to be, like, the best of the best? Isn't that how these things usually work?"

Huffing with irritation, Naruto snatches the book up and clutches it protectively against his chest. "Ugh, why am I bothering with this? It's not like a spoilt brat like you would understand. It's a Maid eat Maid world out there. I've just yet to find a chance to shine."

"Uh-huh. Sure." Konohamaru slides the goggles back on over his face and blinks owlishly at the blond man pouting across the table. "You might want to work on that whole perfectly brewed tea thing, though. Yours sucks ass, dude."

To say that Temari had been expecting something—someone—different would be an understatement. Yes, she knew when she saw that advertisement tucked way in the back of that three-year-old home and garden magazine at the dentist's that the person sent would be a step out the ordinary. It's just that when the word "maid" is used, even when preceded by "kamen," there are certain expectations that usually arise: namely that the bearer of the title will be female.

Dressed in a crisp black dress, lacy cap, perfectly pressed white pinafore apron and black mask, the maid before her is quite obviously male. There is nothing the least bit feminine about the lean, broad-shouldered blond standing at her doorstep, frilly apron and voluminous petticoats peeking out beneath the hem of his dress aside.

She's too strong of a woman to faint, but, damn, if she isn't tempted. She should have listened to Kankuro this time. No matter how desperate she was, no matter how lost, she shouldn't have placed that call. If the agency's name—Kamen Maid, Onegai!—hadn't been the first clue, the inebriated, foul-mouthed woman who answered should have tipped her off. The things she does for her baby brother.

"I think there's been some mistake…"

Blue-blue eyes crinkle with confusion behind a black satin mask, and the man looks down at the white card in his gloved hand. "Eh? Is this not the residence of Sabaku Temari?"

"Well, yes, it is and I'm her, but—"

"Oh, that's a relief! It would've sucked if I'd gone and knocked on the wrong person's door. Wouldn't that have been a surprise to whoever answered?" The maid laughs brightly and tucks the card away somewhere in his voluminous skirts. He clears his throat and—holy mother of the Seven Sages—curtsies. "My name is Uzumaki Naruto, level D Kamen Maid, and it is my pleasure to serve you, mistress."

A bubbling, faintly hysteric giggle trips across her lips. Ruthlessly she squashes the rest of it down, but she can feel it popping in the back of her throat. Must not laugh, but, little gods, a grown man curtsying in a maid's uniform! Kankuro would probably die if he were here. Death by laughter, what a way to go!

"Ah, yes, that's the thing. I didn't hire the service for me, but that hardly matters anyways. I've changed my mind. It was really just a—an idle curiosity or something. I'm sorry to have wasted your time, Uzumaki-san."

If you put a mask on a kicked puppy, it'd probably have the same look now pinching the blond's face. No, don't look at me with those eyes, that expression! Temari doesn't consider herself to be a soft-hearted woman, but the pathetic look on the guy's face is really too much. Oh hell. Whatever. She's the one who placed the call. Besides, the first month of service is free of charge, a trial period.

It's not like this cross-dresser can fuck up the situation any worse than it already is. And if there's even the slightest chance he can improve things by even the smallest degree…

"Come on in. I'll explain what's going on."

The sunshine-bright smile that spills across the maid's face makes hers blush a little. Damn, but he has a gorgeous grin. It totally transforms him from being attractive in the ordinary way of men, to a one of a kind original. If he were ten years older—she shakes that thought away. No, even then she'd never be able to get over the whole cross-dressing fetish thing he has going on.

This is it! This is his big chance! Yes, he can feel it!

This is the first solo assignment he's ever had. Level D Maids aren't usually allowed to manage a household alone; they're always paired with a level B or A. Not this time! Harassing Tsunade-baachan, the commanding officer of the eastern contingent of Kamen Maids, every day for the past two months has really paid off. His first C Rank assignment! He's totally pumped!

Well, that is until he sees the house he's going to be working at. It's… gloomy to put it in the nicest terms, perhaps made to seem even more so by the kempt, freshly painted houses to either side. It's not that no upkeep has been done to the gray cookie-cutter two-story, because someone has obviously been putting some effort into the small yard at the front—it's just that the whole structure breathes loneliness, hollowness, as if abandoned for years. The fact that all the curtains are closed during the day only adds to the whole effect.

This isn't the house, he decides with forced gaiety.

"This is the house," his employer says with a sigh, putting the car into park.

"This isn't the house."

Temari gives him an odd look. "I just said it was."

"You must be mistaken."

"Is your brain broken? This. Is. It."

Naturo scratches at the lower edge of his mask where it presses against the bridge of his nose and pulls out an awkward smile. "It's… lovely?"

Temari snorts abrasively and pulls the keys from the ignition. "My younger brother's something of a recluse. We have a man who comes by every other week to look after the outside. The inside is a whole other matter."

Naruto nods absently as he pops the passenger side lock and pushes the door open. Twenty-eight maids have already tried and failed to put this house to rights. Fourteen quit after their first day, citing intolerable psychological stress. Six were sent to the hospital with concussions and other injuries after a week, and resigned shortly thereafter. The remaining eight disappeared without a trace. He's heard the whole service history from Sabaku Temari. Apparently, the young master he is to serve is something of a feral beast, fiercely territorial and prone to unpredictable acts of violence. So this is a C Rank mission?

Yes, this is a household beyond the abilities of a mere maid. This place, this young master, requires the special touch of a Kamen Maid; and Uzumaki Naruto, the only male Kamen Maid in existence, is just what the doctor ordered!

Enthusiasm increased by two-hundred points! Special attack skill activated!

Temari calls her little brother's name repeatedly as she leads the lanky blond, cross-dressing masked maid inside. Both she and Kankuro have learned—the hard way—to give Gaara plenty of advance warning of their entrance, or else suffer broken bones and other injuries. When startled, the redhead's instinctive response is to lash out with as much brutal force as possible. Kankuro still has scars from when Gaara repeatedly slammed his face into a glass-top coffee table because the older sibling accidentally caught him off guard.

Clumps of gray dust swirl through the slightly rank air as she closes the door. Behind her Uzumaki coughs discreetly and clears his throat.

"It's been a couple months since anyone's cleaned up here. The last maid was one of those who disappeared." When she hits the switch only one of the four hall lights comes to life. "Gaara, are you here? We're coming in. Gaara?"

Well, it's not like she's exactly expecting the teen to come running to greet them, or even acknowledge them; and it's highly unlikely that he has gone out. Her brother hates people. Hates the outside. She's pretty positive that he also hates both her and Kankuro. Mentally she shoves that last thought away before it can stick pins in her insides. It may be too late, but she's not ready to give up

"How can your brother live like this?" Uzumaki asks, mildly incredulous.

"He just does."

Not bothering to take off her shoes, she quickly makes a circuit of the downstairs rooms: living/dining room, kitchen, tatami room and bathroom—all empty, all filthy. That means that her brother is in one of the upstairs rooms or toilet. Uzumaki trails after her, mumbling something or other under his breath as the magnitude of the mess impresses itself upon his consciousness. The phrase "Sea of Desolation" seems to be his favored description, if its recurrence in his horrified mutterings is anything to go by.

A wry slip of s smile steals over her mouth as she stalks up the narrow pale-wood staircase leading to the second floor. She really shouldn't be sending the poor guy into the lion's den like this. If she were stronger, braver, less guilty…

"That's the door to his bedroom," she says brusquely, pointing at the partially open door at the far end of the shadow-hung second floor hallway. "That's the toilet in the middle and the other one is for storage."

"Is that a dead body?"

"What?"

Shit. What has Gaara done now?

Uzumaki peers over the banister and down towards the dining/living room. She tracks his gaze to a pale arm flung over the side of the couch downstairs, the rest of the body covered by upholstery sheets.

"That's my little brother," she exclaims, pushing past him to pound down the stairs.

"So, does your brother do this often?" Naruto asks as he carefully sets the unconscious redheaded teen down on his rumpled bed. The kid is freakishly light: Naruto barely broke a sweat hauling him up the stairs in a fireman's lift. Malnutrition, dehydration, exhaustion—he makes a mental catalogue of the boy's condition.

"Yes. He doesn't sleep so much as shut down when his body can't go on," Temari murmurs from her rooted place in the bedroom door. "He just… just collapses. Doesn't matter where he is or what he's doing."

"You allow it to get to that point? Aren't you his guardian?" he demands, deliberately ignoring the Kamen Maid tenants of serenity and gentleness. He likes Temari; he honestly does, despite the short time he's had her as an employer; but to allow a minor to live like this… He's having a hard time reconciling this revolting neglect with the abrasively gentle woman he senses her to be.

"Our father is… No, that doesn't matter. I'm as much to blame for this as our father." Fabric rustles as she shifts uncomfortable under the weight of his accusation, both spoken and implied.

He quickly checks the boy's pulse—reassuringly steady—and then smoothes back the tangle of greasy red hair from his forehead. Interesting tattoo. "Love"? Almost looks like a scar.

"At least you acknowledge that much responsibility," he says quietly as he observes the unconscious form of his new young master. Even unconscious, the boy scowls—and how is it humanly possible to have such deep, dark circles around one's eyes? It's definitely not make up, that's for sure.

With a sigh he rocks back on his heels and stands up. "This isn't a C Rank assignment—more like B or even A Rank." He catches her chagrined gaze over his shoulder. "You lied."

Her dark eyes widen, her mouth opens and closes soundlessly, and then she breaks eye contact. "I… I didn't mean to—"

He waves her words away with a careless hand. This is definitely not a C Rank. Should he call the office and ask for a higher level Maid to take over? Damn it. He doesn't want to do that, to just give up like that. This is his first solo, after all. He's old enough to know when to shove back his own, admittedly, overblown ego, but… Argh.

Hell, he should probably send a call to Child Services as well. Damn. Damn. Damn. What has he gotten himself into?

"Our father doesn't care about—he doesn't know I've hired you. I don't have the money…"

Hell. Hell. Hell.

He scrubs a distracted hand through his shaggy blond hair. This is definitely a household that needs a Kamen Maid, probably needs one more so than in any of the others Naruto has helped his senpai manage. He has a duty to fulfill to the best of his abilities, and he has never lacked confidence in said abilities.

With a warm smile and decorous attitude, the Kamen Maid will overcome all adversities.

Ninety-eight households to go.

"Don't worry. I'm a Kamen Maid. I'll do it."

How am I going to do this?

Elbows deep in hot, sudsy water, Naruto scours his brain for a solution as he scrubs weeks of crusted food off of his new master's plates. He would have called for a doctor at the very least to administer an IV drip, but Temari vetoed that suggestion. Apparently, Gaara becomes even more violent than normal when encountering medical staff and their paraphernalia. The same answer had been given when he queried as to why Gaara hadn't been assigned to a professional, either psychologist or psychiatrist; and their father wouldn't hear of committing the poor kid to an institution. Family pride and all that.

A Kamen Maid not only cleans the house, but also the soul of her—his, in Naruto's case—master. Naruto's only dealt with children and middle age men before, never a teenager; and even with the former two, only as an assistant to a level A or B Maid. But if he wants to realize his dream of being the King of Maids, then he'll have to buckle down and deal! Yes, he may not be an accredited medical professional, but maids have their own mysterious ways of soothing the upset heart and refreshing the overwrought mind.

He shoves the last plate into the dishwasher, pops in a detergent block with a pre-cycle ball, and sets it to anti-bacterial. Better safe than sorry. On the stove a pot of rice gruel and another of fish broth bubble quietly. He gives them each a quick stir to make sure they don't burn on the bottom and then turns off the heat.

He's already done a preliminary vacuum of the downstairs and upstairs, separated the trash, changed out the broken lights, and scrubbed the toilet. He still has the bathroom to clean and another pass with the vacuum when the dust settles again. Oh and he should mop the hardwood floors and the linoleum of the kitchen. Probably polish the former as well.

Humming tonelessly, he pulls out the stopper in the sink, hits the garbage disposal switch and waits for the slurry of water and food particles to drain away. Should give the sink and the rest of the kitchen appliances a good seeing to tomorrow, too, he thinks, sucking contemplatively on his back molars.

At least it smells better in the house with the garbage at the curb. There's still a lingering musk of moldering fabric that he'll have to root out the cause of soon, but a few sprays of citrus air freshener have made the odor more tolerable.

Vertebrae pop as he stretches, hands raised dramatically over his head. Lemon-scented suds drip off his yellow rubber gloves and spatter across his face. Whoops, forgot about that. With a rueful shake of his head, he pulls off each glove and tosses them both into the sink.

Hopefully, Gaara will be up tomorrow if he doesn't regain consciousness by tonight; then Naruto can question him about his preferences in regards to how the blond tackles the major cleaning issues or if there's anything precious that he shouldn't touch. The house is singularly lacking in decorative embellishments inside, but one never knows.

Oh! That's right, he also needs to do the young master's laundry! He should—

Instincts kick in and he ducks just in time to miss the black ceramic mug hurled at his head. It shatters against the eggshell white wall with enough force to dent the drywall. Blinking in surprise, he straightens and turns to confront the source of the potentially deadly projectile.

Insomnia-shrouded, furious jade-green eyes bore into his beneath a tangle of red hair. "Who the hell are you?" the teen snarls, very much reminiscent of wild dog about to attack.

What a cheeky brat to try a sneak attack like that on a Kamen Maid.

"Me? I'm Uzumaki Naruto, your new Maid." Smile. Curtsy.

That could have gone smoother, Naruto thinks with a touch of regret as he hauls the struggling, hogtied redhead back to his room. The kid is monstrously strong and frighteningly tenacious. The blond man honestly hadn't expected Gaara to continue the attack after the first instance, but the teen did and Naruto had no choice but to settle Gaara down for the sake of the boy's compromised health. Good thing he always carries enough rope to tie up three or four people. A Kamen Maid must be prepared for any eventuality, and the uniform pockets can hold quite a large number of things. There's even a Kamen Maid in the Western branch who is said to secret anti-tank weapons in her skirts. A true role model.

Gaara roars something incomprehensible behind the gag tied securely in his mouth, and Naruto figures it to be less than complimentary.

"Keep squirming and I might end up dropping you, master," he sing-songs as he shoulders open the door to the boy's bedroom. He pauses there, brows beetling in consternation, and takes in the disaster of the room he just put to rights a few hours ago. The neatly made bed has been upset, mattress rammed halfway into the shallow closet, sheets strewn about the floor. The dirty clothes hamper has been dumped out, its contents scattered to every corner of the room. A vein at his temple pulses as his eyes track to a pair of dirty boxers hanging from the ceiling lamp.

Serenity and compassion, Uzumaki. Serenity and compassion. Take a deep breath. Exhale. Serenity and compassion.

"How nice. You've given me more work." You overgrown brat!

This is starting to get ridiculous. Naruto stifles a yawn with one hand while the other keeps Gaara's head firmly, yet carefully, pressed against the floor. Between his stocking-clad knees the boy bucks angrily, flailing to get an arm free from where Naruto has them pinned to his side.

"Get off of me!"

"I will if you promise not to attack me again."

"Tch."

"That's what I thought."

Thirty-seven minutes after midnight Gaara finally gives up. Naruto brings him dinner in bed and forces him to eat the cold rice gruel and broth. Gaara is seriously tempted to chuck both in the grinning blond's face, but holds back. There's a steely glint in those masked blue eyes that says, "Go ahead and try your luck."

Rage seethes nauseatingly in the back of his mind and plumps his arteries with molten fury, overripe and bitter. How dare this stranger enter his home? How dare he touch Gaara's possessions, breathe his air? Visions of heart-spurt blood fill his eyes as he sucks down another mouthful of over-salted broth. He can see it, see how to drive him away, this cross-dressing masked man—or he thinks he does. His brain tells him one thing, but his instincts scream quite another.

You can't do it, they hiss. You can't win against this one. A kernel of unease, of something reeking of fear, weighs down his stomach. There's never been anyone whom he couldn't defeat, tear apart and destroy. Never. Classmates, upperclassmen, teachers, his siblings, those nosy maids, none of them ever stood a chance against his anger, against the feverish rapture of splitting flesh and spilling blood. Hurt them. Hurt them before they hurt you, because they hurt you.

"Is it good?" the maid asks with a big smile. Gaara's heart twists painfully. That smile, he's seen it somewhere before, on someone else's face. He hates that smile, wants to dig his fingers into flesh and rip it off.

"No."

"Really? I could have sworn I got the proportions right this time. Oh well, it won't kill you. I think." Shifting in his seat at the end of Gaara's bed, Naruto pulls out something from the folds of his voluminous black skirt. Gaara tenses. A notepad. "Huh, maybe it was another quarter cup of water and a teaspoon less salt… Or maybe… Ah hell, I should have just made ramen. It's the only thing I can make anyways."

A Kamen Maid must always present herself properly before her master in the morning.

Naruto gets two pillows in the face for his efforts. He bats them aside easily. "You're taking a bath this morning, master, because you smell. Now get to it. If I have to, I will strip you and carry you there."

The boy cuts him a look that could kill and slouches his way out of bed. Naruto can't help but grin at the teen's retreating back. Look, progress already.

He changes his mind at lunch time when the boy attacks him with a butter knife.

"I'm beginning to think you like being tied up," he tells the glaring, tied-up-again teenager. "Do you have some sort of bondage fetish?"

The redhead goes mad, twisting and writhing in the chair Naruto's tied him to. The blond regards him with a mix of curiosity and awe from where he sits across the kitchen table. Really, where does the kid get all this energy from? You'd never guess he'd passed out from exhaustion and various other health issues just yesterday. Impressive. Maybe he's been possessed by an animal spirit, like a demon weasel or something?

Oh well, more ramen for Naruto.

Two more days until Gaara's two month suspension from school is finally up. Naruto cocks his head to the side and traces a gloved fingertip over the date on the calendar he's put up in the tatami room—his room for the time being. Temari, before she left on the first day, begged him to try and get her little brother to go to school. If his grades drop anymore or he gets suspended one more time, then their father will be forced to take notice—and Naruto is curious as to why she seems to think this a bad thing. There's a mystery here and it centers around the violence boiling in the redhead's blood and the troubling absence of the father.

Hmm, something to ponder while he takes his evening bath.

The consequences of attacking the masked maid in the bathroom don't fully impress themselves upon Gaara's mind until he slides open the inner glass partition and clouds of fragrant steam hit him in the face. The anticipatory throb of imminent violence deliquesces into something different, though not altogether unfamiliar.

The female body doesn't hold much of his curiosity and neither does the male, having been endowed with his own; yet, he finds himself inexplicably fascinated by the liquid play of muscle beneath the man's caramel-cream skin as he rinses off beneath the hot spray of the showerhead. That sleek musculature is so different from his own malnourished frame.

An angry surge of heat drives down into his stomach. A spasm passes through his fingers as they clench upon the wood framing of the partition. He wants to tear it down, rip that body apart, feel it break beneath his fingers. Wants to… to…

The man turns, blinking blue-blue eyes against the water dripping from his sodden bangs, and catches Gaara standing there.

Chapter End

Chapter 2 Preview: "I have a nutritional suppository in my pocket if you're not going to eat this. So, think carefully, which end is it going to be?"

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