"OI, DUMBASS, JUST GET THE KAMI DAMNED DOOR ALREADY!"

"SHUT THE HELL UP, YA OLD HAG! GET IT YOURSELF!"

I stood outside the house, rocking back and forth on the balls of my feet as I stared at the door. The shouting continued, accompanied with quite a few bangs and whistling of wind.

Kami, what the hell did I get myself into?

The door opened, a redhead popping out from behind it. He was sickeningly pale, his cobalt eyes light and rimmed with shadows due to lack of sleep. He was dressed in a dark maroon yukata that matched his hair, darker scarlet vines snaking in a floral design across the fabric. He seemed greatly amused for some reason as he listened to the loud profanities and crashes.

"Hello, Shikamaru," Gaara said in greeting as he pulled the oaken door to their temporary home open. "She's in the kitchen."

I scratched the back of my head, the plastic wrap of the Yamanaka's lilies becoming slick from sweat. Gaara glanced back into the interior of the house as a harsh, ringing sound echoed through the household.

Gaara winced ruefully. "Damn. That's probably the fourth pan they've broken since we've started making mochi."

"How long has it been?" I asked curiously, wondering how long this ruckus of exploding pans and shouted curse words had been going on. It's a wonder that the neighbors hadn't started complaining yet. Not that anyone with self-preservation would bother Gaara of all people.

Gaara pondered for a moment. "Half an hour? Of course, that's not counting the cakes, and brownies, and chocolate, and. . . "

I sighed, acknowledging the Sabaku Siblings' incredible talent for decimating perfectly useful things. First Temari and Gaara felt the need to destroy a large portion of Konoha's forest (although, granted, it was back when they had less control than now, although that wasn't saying much), and now they had found a way to make even cooking one of the most lethal activities on the planet.

Those three were freaks of nature, nothing else to it.

Gaara gestured for me to follow him as he turned to head back inside. "Come on in, Nara."

I noticed a stain of brown on his yukata, right at his shoulder blade. "Um, Gaara, you've got something there. . . "

Gaara, still walking, shrugged. "Kankuro got mad and threw a brownie at me."

"You just stood there and took it?"

". . . You'll see."

Knowing Gaara, probably not. I'd be surprised if Kankuro was still alive.

The living room looked as if a cyclone had passed through, which was probably the case considering that Temari was one of inhabitants. Kunai knives were stuck everywhere, embedded in the walls, hanging from the ceiling, everywhere; there was even one stuck to the doorknob. Books were scattered all over the floor, ranging from manga to encyclopedias to huge, thick adventure volumes. I could swear I even saw Icha Icha Paradise among the trash. Mounds of soft sand were piled up on one particularly overstuffed plaid armchair, a humongous gourd perched precariously on top. Gaara's, probably. Chocolate boxes and wrappers littered the floor, along with papers and movie DVD's. A few fruits were piled up next to the coffee table, mangos, lychee, strawberries, watermelon, and a pineapple.

I nudged one particular wrapper with my toe. "Hershey's Dark Chocolate?"

Gaara nodded solemnly. "Yes. We usually eat dark chocolate for dinner."

I raised my eyebrows. "Dinner?"

"Sometimes breakfast, although Temari prefers white chocolate with coffee. Actually, I agree with her."

"I'm guessing you eat milk chocolate for lunch?"

Gaara regarded me with narrowed eyes, suspicious. "How did you know?"

Freaks of nature, definitely. Eating chocolate twenty-four seven? My mom would have a heart attack.

He led me into the kitchen, banging the door open as he called "Temari! Kankuro!"

I stepped into the screwed up mess of a kitchen, looking around sheepishly.

If possible, their kitchen was more bombed up than their living room. Bags of flour were piled on the floor, sparkling sugar heaped in snow-like masses. Several splotches of what were possibly former brownies had collided with the wall, oozing down slowly like sludge. A huge lizard-shaped puppet was plopped unceremoniously in the middle of the room, its back heaped with pans, pots, and trays. Even more kunai knives were here, some stuck into batter, others evidently used to stir the sticky contents of pots.

Temari stood near the open window, a light breeze drifting into the room, silhouetted against the dusk sky. Her back was turned to me, but I could hear bangs as something collided with tin.

"Tema?" I called, only to be answered by a shout from the opposite side of the room.

"DAMMIT, HE CALLS YOU THAT TOO?"

Temari sighed as she turned around to face us. "Yeah, he does." Then she turned around again, heading out the door. "Gaara, I'm getting changed. Keep Kankuro from killing Shikamaru, okay? If he's ripped to pieces, he won't be able to take me to the festival anymore."

I glanced opposite the room, finding a burly brunette boy glaring daggers at me. His hands were twitching suspiciously as he silently cursed me to the underworld, a thin blue string of light attached to his fingertips. His fingers jerked a bit, and a puppet near him started to raise its arms, threatening to drop a platter of chocolate that was balanced dangerously on its stick-like appendages.

Before the screwed up, barely humanoid mannequin could drop the plate, though, a cocoon of sand wrapped around its joints, freezing the puppet's arms in place.

The boy glowered even more darkly as he eyed me with murderous intent. "Dammit, Gaara, are you protecting that dumbass bastard?"

Gaara shrugged nonchalantly. "I couldn't care less about what you do to him. Just don't drop the chocolate. I want my chocolate."

"That's very heart-warming," I commented. "It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside."

"It should," Gaara told me. "The last person who tried to date our sister ended up strung by his ankles from the top of your Hokage monument thing."

"No, that was the one before that. The most recent one was the one that you buried in a pit of scorpions and a Rock Lee doll, after I tied him up with chakra strings," the burly boy corrected, scrabbling fruitlessly at the sand wrapped around his legs.

"That's a severe punishment. What'd he do?" I asked, wondering what horrendous feat that boy did to get stuck with a Rock Lee doll for all eternity.

Gaara thought for a moment. "He called our sister 'as gorgeous as the sun itself'."

"Oh." Needless to say, I was slightly confused. I thought compliments were good? "That's. . . very unacceptable."

"Of course it is," Gaara said as he picked up a chocolate from a random plate on the floor. "Anything remotely gushy or romantic is immediately taboo. See, can you see Temari blushing if you told her her eyes were as beautiful and pale as the moon?"

"No," I admitted.

"Of course not," Gaara stated, examining the candy pinched between his fingers. "Her eyes are teal. They're not white or any freakish color like that. Makes me wonder whether that moronic fool was colorblind. Anyways, can you imagine Temari giggling if you told her she rivaled the love goddess in beauty?" Before I could answer, he said, "No you cannot, and to hell with you if you can. Now, imagine Temari sighing with content when you hold her hand outside under a cherry tree."

I just stared. That was so completely un-Temari-ish it was scary that anyone could think of that. "That's. . . just one of the scariest things you could ever tell me to imagine, Gaara."

Gaara nodded in agreement. "You see? Those other boys replaced our sister with a generic little pathetic sap that just happened to look like our sister. That is unacceptable. We want someone who likes our sister for who she is, not what she looks like."

"Or maybe we just don't want any dumbass to like her," the brown-haired boy grumbled. Gaara rolled his eyes.

"Kankuro, if Temari heard that, you'd be half-way to Kiri no Kuni by now."

"Well, she didn't, so I'm fine."

"Oh yes I did, Kankuro, you dumbass!" Temari's voice shouted through the second floor.

". . . Bullshit."

I was still staring at the boy Gaara called Kankuro. Kankuro caught me staring, narrowing his eyes to slits as his fingers began twitching again, only to be stopped by a sheen of sand.

"Whaddaya want, you lazyass—"

"You're Kankuro!" I demanded, wide-eyed with surprise. "The last time I saw you, you—"

"—Wore more makeup than our sister," Gaara finished effortlessly, nibbling at a chocolate. "I told you, Kankuro. Everyone's surprised when you're not wearing makeup."

"Just like everyone would be if you suddenly grew eyebrows?"

"Not as surprised as when you actually use your brain."

"Ah," Kankuro said in a mocking tone. "That explains why I'm so constantly surrounded by astounded admirers."

"Or maybe they just want credit for discovering a new species," Gaara murmured quietly. "A very useless, space-consuming one at that."

I sighed lazily. "As much as I enjoy your troublesome insult fest, can I sit down?"

"Yes," said Gaara.

"Heck no," said Kankuro as he glared at me. "Go to hell."

"Already there," I muttered as I slid onto the sofa. "Now, if you wish to rid the world of my pathetic existence, I'll be right here."

Kankuro's eye twitched as he reached suspiciously for a particularly sharp kunai that was stuck in a glass vase along with a bunch of azaleas.

I turned to Gaara as he flicked his wrist, another wall of sand coating Kankuro, leaving him looking like a sand dune with some very angry face stuck randomly in the middle of it. "Why do you keep weapons with your plants?"

I wasn't really sure I wanted to know the answer. Gaara could make even nursery rhymes as horrifying as torture tactics. Ibiki would've been so proud.

Gaara nodded as he flipped another candy into his mouth. "Mm. I think it's good to keep weapons as close at hand as possible. Kankuro just likes kunai knives period. And Temari thinks they look nice."

Typical Sabaku Siblings.

Kankuro made a disgruntled noise, drawing our attention back to the main doorway. Temari bustled through, picking up random boxes as she heaped platters of chocolates and trays of sweets into them. She threw one stuffed box to Gaara, who caught it skillfully, before lobbing one at Kankuro, who was just barely able to grab onto the container.

"I'll give you guys a break from the wreckage you two produce so efficiently—"

Kankuro coughed.

"—And we need to drop these off, okay? I promised to send these to Nara-san and Yamanaka-san. They're selling confectionaries at the festival."

She scooted another stack out the door before lobbing a shuriken at Kankuro, who was eyeing the boxes with mutinous hate. The shuriken embedded itself in the wall just half a centimeter from his ear.

"Next time, Kankuro, it'll be your head."

"Why am I related to psychos?" Kankuro demanded of the ceiling, as if the long piece of wood would suddenly launch into a meaningful lecture of the reason of existence. "Why?"

A shuriken and sand projectile smacked into the panel on either side of his head.

"Remember what I said, Kankuro," Temari called back as she and Gaara walked out the door. "Offer stands. Besides, I think you'd look better without that useless thing you call a head."

I sighed and picked up a box, making my way out the doorway slowly before the two psycho assassins could kill me too.

An hour later we left my mother's stand, her and Yamanaka-san calling out their thanks as we left. Temari was laughing happily as Gaara munched on a sweet bean cake, Kankuro frowning dejectedly after my mom had called him 'sweetheart' after thanking us profusely. The festival was alive with troublesome activity, fireworks, lanterns; everything that could be lit was lit. People rushed around the stands, holding bowls of ramen or dango, little kids squealing as they played games like ring-toss or tried to catch goldfish. The sky was dark now, making the bright ruckus even more noticeable.

"Awfully degrading, being called that," Kankuro moaned, tugging at his black and purple festival yukata. "Sweetheart. Seriously?"

"Of course," Gaara said, finishing of the cake. "You're terribly cuddly, you know that?"

"No."

"Well, now you do."

"Go die in a hole, Gaara."

"I'd rather not."

Temari was still chuckling as her brothers lapsed into a "I-wanna-kill-you-but-Temari'll-kill-me" silence as they glared at each other, Gaara nibbling on a chocolate cookie and Kankuro biting into a grape jelly that he had bought from a vendor. Temari pushed both of her younger brothers forward toward a turtle-catching stand, the man behind the table hollering out loudly as he waved a banner. The miniscule turtles waded around the tank lazily, drifting here and there like clouds. Dammit, what I wouldn't give to watch clouds.

"Catch a turtle," Temari ordered as she dragged all three of us towards the stand. Gaara stared at the tiny reptiles for a moment before yanking Kankuro towards the game with him. He paid the man and dipped the mesh net into the water, sweeping the trap but failing to catch any turtles. Gaara growled in frustration as he continued his attempts to snare the little reptiles, all who avoided him with almost amusing ease.

Kankuro tapped his foot impatiently. "C'mon, Gaara, can we go? I wanna watch the Kabuki puppet show."

"No," Gaara stated, determination gleaming in his eyes. "There is no way, I, Sabaku no Gaara, Kazekage of Sunagakure, will lose to a bunch of pint-sized bony-shelled reptiles that are slower than that lazy Konohagakure chunin over there. If I can't catch one of these things, how will I protect my village?"

I frowned as Temari burst into another round of giggles. She took my hand and dragged me away from the game, off towards the hills that rose from behind the festival, me lagging sluggishly behind her.

"Gaara, are you dumping sand in the water? You idiot! Fat lot of good that'll do you when your special chakra-infested sand's useless from being soaked up with water!" Kankuro's complaints followed after there was a large splash from behind us.

"Shut up, Kankuro, or it'll be you next," Gaara's menacing voice retorted.

We walked farther up the hill, away from the loud shouts and bangs and lights and troublesome crazy ramen-obsessed blondies that were rushing around wrecking havoc. The grass was a lush green, the smooth surfaces of the green stalks a grayish-white tint from the clear moonlight. Up here none of the artificial light shone on anything; instead, everything glowed from gleams the pearl-like moon that hung in the sky produced. Stars winked, small and sparkling, like miniscule, bead-shaped diamonds resting on dark purple, almost black velvet. There were soft gusts of wind, gentle and caressing, nothing like the brutal tempests Temari unleashed on her enemies. Temari turned to grin at me, the moonlight illuminating her face. I could finally look at her without any threats of psycho, overprotective brothers.

I'll admit, as troublesome as it was, my heart began doing jumping jacks—even though I probably never did jumping jacks in my whole life. She looked—and I'd never admit this to Gaara—beautiful. Like, knock-out beautiful. She was dressed in a light lavender kimono, flowers traced in a darker violet wreathing in a spiral around her figure. A scarlet obi was wrapped around her waist, the superfluous fabric tied in a bow at the back, the cloth draping down and flowing slightly in the breeze. Her chaotic, golden hair was up in her usual four pigtailed look, a lily placed next to one atop her head. Her teal eyes were bright, crystalline blue and green mixed in one, her mischievous quirky as she smirked. There was only one thing I could compare her with—the traditional Japanese princesses who were said to be so beautiful they made the sun pale in comparison.

Not that Temari was anything like a traditional princess. Traditional princess got locked up and forced to wait for some handsome hero to come save them. This Suna princess? Temari would chop up anyone who dared to pen her up in a tower to little, atom sized bits, blow the remains all around the world, and walk leisurely to freedom, carefree as if she eliminated evil kidnappers every day. Which she did, of course.

Oh, and she'd probably kick the ass of any guy who was presumptuous enough to assume she needed saving while she was at it.

"What, struck dumb all of a sudden?" Temari chided, poking my bicep with her sharp nail. "Really, crybaby, I thought you were above that, with all your high and mighty macho act and whatnot. Or maybe I was right; you aren't as strong as you pretend to be."

I grunted, dissatisfaction clear in my tone. "Still on that crybaby thing?"

"Of course. You'll be hearing it till the day I die."

"Troublesome. With your attitude, I wouldn't be surprised if that day came real soon."

She grinned in a feral way, causing my heart to thump and flop around uselessly as she leaned forward, her nose inches from mine. Stupid, useless, troublesome vital organ.

"I may have lost to you, once, but do you think anyone else would fare better?" She leaned closer, her fingers trailing up my arm as her eyes glinted with humor.

Crap. I couldn't think of anything to say.

Her mouth pressed against mine, and I was floored, unable to do anything. Great. What's the point of having a genius brain when said brain goes dysfunctional the second someone kisses you? Yeah, perfect. Real smart, having something that won't even work right when I need it to. Bad enough that my brain had started malfunctioning the second she'd gotten me to take her to the festival, but this? Letting her kiss me without any opposition? Love seriously made people stupid.

I gasped for breath the second she broke away. My brain had shut down so much I'd forgotten to breathe. Dammit, what madness was this? I couldn't even perform natural functions. It was a wonder my blood was still being pumped throughout my body.

Temari watched me smugly as I floundered internally. "What's this? Is the cranky little genius blushing?"

I heated up so fast was a wonder I didn't burst into flames.

"You know, I could assassinate you right now," Temari commented as I tried to regain my usual visage of irritation. "Lucky for you, we're allies with Konoha. So no killing."

I righted my chunin vest, not trusting myself to look the troublesome woman in the eye without my brain malfunctioning. Her fingers pushed my face so that I was looking down at her, as if she knew what I was trying to avoid. What a drag.

"Troublesome," I muttered sourly as I turned around. Her arms wrapped around me before I could leave, though, her lips inches from mine.

"Too bad," Temari whispered as she kissed me again. "Gotcha."