STRUGGLING OBEDIENCE:

-Master-

A heavy down cast of slushy white frost coated the night thickly. There were horse and buggies trotting about the roads softly, but nonetheless, the weather wasn't fair enough to have a crowd on the concrete. Even the street mongers refused to hang around in the frigid cold.

Elsewhere in the grand providence of Suna, a boy shrugged his shawl off. It bundled in a lumpy fashion as it snaked to the velvet carpet. He'd send in a servant to tidy it up later…

He was exhausted from his nightly adventure, which consisted of female caresses and whispered breaths, not that he was truly flattered by them. In all of his experiences, women have all been the same in nature. Witty at times, but always flirtatious and inviting him for uncourted love. So very unoriginal they were.

He trudged over to his cyan marble sink. It was a simple interior, but the color and classic silver spout made the design classy enough for his family's taste.

He ran his fingers through his curls, pushing his bangs off his forehead, and gazed at the oval glass reflecting his features.

A pallid boy with a soap-cleansed complexion stared back at him. Wine red locks were ruffled in artsy angles, lining the contours of his face handsomely. Upon his forehead just above his left eye, was a scar that looked to be the character for 'love'. His eyes were soft now from dreariness, but when fully rested, they were narrowed impassionate slants. He was known to have his mother's eyes-a deep ocean-green hue full of intellect and wane. The only difference between her and his eyes was the thick blackness that encircled them.

The young man sighed. He was the youngest of his royal household, yet, he did not care for the wealth, rank, or his handsome genetics. He only loathed himself more because of it.

Even so, he knew the selfish lifestyle of his would never fade, not even when he'd have a wife pressed to his back.

Yes.

A wife.

He was in line for an Omai.

God, how he dreaded the day as a child…and now that he was well into his ten and seventh year, that dreaded day was soon to come.

In two months hence actually.

This thought vexed the young master so. He looked about his room sickened by its riches and spoils. He could get no comfort from his bed, no matter the state of mental battery he took, nor could he adore the flowing silks of the curtains or flamed clay upon his dressers. He was spoiled and saw no fancies. They were just useless pieces of merchandise to him. His eyes fell upon his shawl next. Oh! The spectacle hadn't made him sore at first, but now, crossed as he was, the sight raged him.

He marched outside his room, yanked the first chamber maid he saw, and told her to clean his quarters and then the hall. She obeyed quickly enough and went about the room collecting his spewed garbs of wear. He slammed the door forcibly upon his exit and made his way down the hall. Soon enough, he was led down a path that introduced a set of the twin stair cases that spiraled down to the main floor. He took the route of the stair case closest to him and made his way down with heavy steps.

A twin set of footsteps echoed softly opposite of the young masters. Upon recognizing the sound, he lifted his glare, and almost simultaneously, the steps adjacent from him ceased.

Coming down the sister stair case was a servant boy he knew all too well.

"Lee." The young master's mood was uplifted greatly by the unexpected presence of the boy.

"I was just off to fetch you. Come with me to the major hall. Quickly now, I must confide in you again."

Lee gave a small nod, "Yes, Sir Gaara."

The hamper of rich laces and silks that Lee was holding, no doubt lady Temari's mess, was made to stand neatly with the support of a pillar from the stair's encasement. Lee then continued down the length of steps with a more refined pace than his master's. Coming to the last step, Lee paused, letting his master settle on the polished tile of the main lobby before him. Gaara looked to Lee and gave him a confirming nod to let the boy know to step down as well. This reserved manner of Lee's was refined to a sophisticated degree. Gaara had made it a habit to tease his servant for such courtesies.

"Are you some sort of machine?" Gaara said.

Lee fixed his eyes upon his master, a question mark on his face. "A machine, Sir? I assure you, I am of flesh and bone just as you are."

Gaara smirked, shrugged his shoulders, and shook his head humorously.

"What I meant…is that you are too mechanical Lee. I've known you far too long for you to treat and assist me like the rest."

A sincere smile spread along Lee's lips, "I am a servant all the same, Sir. I owe you the most humble respects, even more so than your comrade Sirs and Ladies. Even more so than the remaining few of your family."

What Lee said was the raw truth. Nine years ago, the young master had pulled Lee out from his home, which in truth, was the crete of the street. Lee had been suffering from malnutrition then, and was as scrawny and pale as death itself. Yes, Lee's life was in the palms of Gaara's hands in the most literal of terms. It was his master's putty. He could squash it, squeeze it, or safe guard it, whatever he wished—he could do with Lee's pitiful heart.

Yes…that had been long ago, but Lee held the memory of his savior closest to his heart. Gaara would never admit to such a thing as did Lee, yet, he felt the same. Ever since that time, Lee had been a valuable asset to him as a counselor and friend. In fact, Lee was the most original person he'd even had the pleasure of knowing, servant or not.

Gaara shrugged, a bit winded from the sudden nostalgic memory of Lee's nine year old self. Gaara wiped a rising blush from his cheeks and said calmly with an irritable twang, "Yes, yes. That is past, and this is present. I wish to tell you of some secrets. Follow me to the Drawing Room."

As ordered, Lee followed.

Off they walked to the glass paneled French doors of the Sabaku Drawing Room. Gaara did not flip the lights upon entry. He believed that secrets should be told in places with the absolute definition of eeriness. Yes, he admitted that the notion was silly, but so what? It made things more interesting.

The windows of the Drawing Room were raised high on the wall, down casting blue-tinted glows of moonlight on its occupants. The rays of the moon were strangely long that night, and in the darkness, Lee was lit with its gaze. The falling of the sleet made strange shadowed patterns across Lee's face and torso, making him appear as a phantom, yet, sweet-natured and quiet as always. Gaara looked his loyal companion over.

Lee was not in any means handsome. Far from it really…with his large onyx eyes and peculiar thick eyebrows. Yes. Lee was not a handsome boy-but that did not put him in the field of ugliness. Gaara liked to think the boy…eccentric. Lee had fine hair the color of the blackest ebony available. It was cut and cropped into a neat bob that lay close to his head. His complexion was that of a working individual's, someone who ran around a field doing chores, or even rummaging around the house doing the duties of the royals. Even though some child workers looked deathly old from the stress of labors, Lee was blessed enough to keep his youthful looks and qualities. He was rather tall, taller than Gaara himself, but only by three inches or so. Even though Lee dominated him in height, he was rather petite, but not a bone.

Gaara in comparison had a healthier fullness to him, just a tad wider in the torso, and fuller in the arms, but nonetheless, Lee's looks were deceiving. Gaara had seen the boy lift up urns thrice his weight effortlessly. Lee, as thin and lanky as he seemed, was actually quite lean and strong, stronger than grown men. And speaking of age, Lee was one year Gaara's senior, making him ten and eight. Regardless of Lee's oddities, Gaara enjoyed the boy all too much to care.

He cleared his throat and began, "I have an Omai coming up in the next two months Lee, and I shall require you more than ever when confessing troubles."

Lee's face was blank for a second, a contemplating moment of thought, and then, upon having come to a conclusion, smiled tightly.

"Yes, but Sir Gaara? Is it not a pleasant thing to have an eternal companion in life? Perhaps you should not need me to confess to when your mate comes to live among the house."

Gaara glanced at Lee, offended by the comment in a sense, but he calmed himself. He knew Lee did not mean to sound blunt and matter-of-fact. It was only in Lee's nature to be honest and naïve.

"No, Lee. She will be a nagging woman. You see, 'wife' is just a term linked to the pretty little ring that will adore her finger. As for me, I will be attached to her infinitely on paper. It will be quite the trouble, almost as cruel as torture I should think."

"Oh, Sir! Please do not speak so harshly of them when you have yet to meet. At the very least, I should think her to be very beautiful."

"At the very least you say? I should think her beauty would be at the very most."

"Sir!"

Gaara shrugged at Lee's surprise. A smirk played on his lips. He inched closer to the boy. Once he was a fair foot away, he said, "Be shocked if you want, but I'm ending this subject, for it is not the secret I have come to tell you. I presumed you'd known of it." Lee's head sunk a little at Gaara's words.

In the servant quarters, he had heard rumors of the arranged marriages planned for the Sabaku children. It was all so real now. He did not know what to say, so he remained silent.

Gaara's smile only widened at Lee's display of guilt. He then decided to have his fun by teasing the boy a little.

"Have you ever known the pleasure of a woman, Lee?" Gaara watched Lee's face closely. The tanned complexion of his skin turned so rosy, Gaara almost worried if Lee's blood was too high. Obviously, the answer was a 'no'.

"Sir, why do you inquire such crude things? Please, do tell me the subject you so wished to speak of before you changed it."

Gaara sighed. His tactic had only worked for a brief moment, but oh well. He had his fun.

Gaara shrugged, "Of course."

The young master paced the tile floor a minute, looked back to Lee and sighed. "I dread a wife in two months…but in the next two days, I am to hold a meeting with the Hyuga heir…" Gaara grunted. "…I hate those stiffs. Especially that brat…"

"Master, Neji I presume, Sir Gaara?"

"Yes, yes, that one. With his unkempt hair and his tacky attire…"

Lee tilted his head. "Do pardon me, but he seems quite the gentlemen…always neat with the most combed locks and starched garbs, ironed to crisp stillness. It is truly a wonder how he never wrinkles them as he goes about his day." Lee looked off in the distance, lost in wonderment on the art of ironing fine garbs of wear.

"Call him what you will, but he is only a bastard child. He inherited his royal seat simply because his uncle could not conceive a male with his wife, who, mind you, died upon having a girl by the name of Hinata. She however, turned out to be a failure at conversation, but seemingly very charming, or so I've been told."

Lee frowned, but said nothing on the matter. As far as he knew, the Hyuga's and the Sabaku's have always had bad relations since the beginning of time. Apparently, someone had stolen someone's family heirloom, and upon that, reached wealth and ranked among the Lords, Counts, Magistrates, Kings, and Queens. But then again, that was a story…there were many others. Someone stole someone's fiancée and eloped, or someone mimicked the style and etiquettes of one's preferences in wide landmarks and manor estates, or someone this, someone that, or someone did someone else. Alas, the madness between the two families have stilled and simmered. Now, only silver tongues slander each other's names.

Gaara dragged a hand down his face and mumbled, "Lord…give me strength." Lee chuckled lightly, but stopped immediately when Gaara's eyes shot him a look.

The young master smirked, "And what is so funny?"

Lee shook his head calmly, "Oh. Nothing, Sir Gaara. It is…humorous to see you swear so often."

Gaara grinned, "What can I say?" He shrugged his shoulders coolly and placed his hands inside his slack pockets, "It is part of my charm."

Lee laughed at his master's vanity, and in turn Gaara's grin became a full blown smile.

Lee giggled between broken words, "You are. Too. Much..!" He caught his breath and wiped his smile away. Gaara scratched the back of his neck, not sure what to think of Lee's comment.

While Lee straightened his posture, Gaara leaned against a cool ceramic pillar. The eerie glow of the night casted a breathtaking light on the young master. Like a little spotlight on a stage prop, or a beam from a candles flame lighting up a beautiful picture in the night.

Lee blinked. He had always known his master to be handsome, but with the light, he almost seemed…doll-like. Being that beautiful so naturally had to be…

"…unreal..."

Gaara quirked his head at Lee's whisper.

"…Did you say something?"

Lee shook his head and smiled, "Oh, no Sir. Only a cough."

Gaara stared at Lee for a moment longer than what would have been deemed appropriate for casual misunderstandings, but he broke his gaze and glanced at the floor solemnly.

Have their conversations always seemed so short of breath? Not that he could remember…What has changed in the nine years of their close bond?

After a moment's passing, Gaara opened his mouth to say something, anything really, but a loud crack interrupted his peace of mind. A piercing ray of hall light speared Lee with loud colors—distorting the deep shadows of the night. A beautiful blond girl was standing in the doorway with a hamper over flowing with laces and dresses at her hip. Her usual plush face was painted red with madness.

"Can you peasants do nothing? I asked you to simply get my clothes to the washing maid, but no. Instead, I find my lady wears on the steps toward the major hall!" Temari marched forth and yanked a stunned Lee by his ragged shirt.

"…!" Temari shrieked, throwing Lee away from her as she looked to her hand, which, was gritted with specks of dirt and snow. "Oh…disgusting. You servants are good for nothing. Always so damned filthy… and what excuse do you have for this?" She pointed at Lee's figure, which, in the light, was somewhat rundown and homely.

Lee tried to smile, "Oh, I was attending the Rose Gardens as addressed by the house master, Sir Baki, Lady Tem-"

"Enough of this silliness." She glared icy daggers at the servant boy.

"To your duties. Now."

Lee bowed solemnly and lifted Temari's hamper, but as he pivoted to go, a hand gripped his wrist and pulled him back toward her. She leaned into his ear and whispered, "If I am to see you again on these estate floors today I will have you dragged out to the Post, and you will be Dorian's tool for the evening. Do you want that?"

He rubbed his forearms nervously…they were bandaged up in cloth, cloth that he had been told to wear to hide his scars from the public eye.

Lee lowered his shoulders and shook his head.

"…No, Lady Temari."

"Then go." She grumbled.

Calmly lifting Temari's hamper, he did as he was told and was gone.

Gaara glared at his sister as soon as Lee was out of view.

"You are always so quick to punish. I guess it is no longer a wonder why you are called The Wicked Bitch by other royals."

"As you are called, The Monstrous Tongue. Do not tempt me today, Gaara." She flipped her hair back with a hand and sighed. She rested a fist on her hip and rolled her eyes.

"Only two days to prepare for the Hyugas...uh." Temari pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. "Lord, give me the strength…I need a miracle."

Gaara blinked. So that's where he got it from.

"Goodness…none of my dresses are ready, nor are the curtains, the dining cloth, and, oh! So many preparations! I am up to my neck in this madness, and yet your brother Kankuro is cascading through the streets in taverns and what-have-you. And here you are, fooling around with your servant workers who are in no means obligated to pedestals like you and I." She huffed and crossed her arms.

She caught Gaara's eye and frowned.

"Needless to say, you have always been defiant with the rules concerning Royal matters. Quite frankly, I am tired of your spoils. You are to be wed. Have you forgotten that?"

Gaara shuffled his feet and looked off into the blackness of the room. The moon had shifted its rays elsewhere.

"It is two months too soon to be fussing at me for something as trivial as marriage." Gaara grinned wickedly. How he loved mischief, especially when the opportunity arose for it.

"Are you not yet twenty, sister? Where then is your husband? Oh that's right. Your marriage date is four years late."

Temari flushed at the words.

"This…is no time to get on my relations."

And truly, Gaara knew his sister's status.

When he was but ten and two, he spied his sister with a servant boy of the Nara household by the Rose Garden, holding hands and sweet talking. At a dinner party at the Uchiha's manor estate in Konoha, he had let his sister's love interest slip his tongue, for Temari had offended him in the ways of accusing his relations with Lee, his child servant, of being awkward. His father, having been present at the dinner, had gotten up after hearing the accusation, and slapped Temari hard-knocking her right out of her dining chair, and the wine from her glass cup had spilled all over her satin dress.

Even though the Uchiha's had been the only witnesses, rumors spread throughout Konoha about how the daughter of the Sabaku household was having an affair with a peasant.

This, consequently, was strange, yet, exciting news among other Royals. But, as with any such news resulting in royal and servant relations, the public spat and disgraced the notion. A woman of a royal keep being labeled as a lover to a servant was as good as being inferior, or even infertile among young royal masters.

There was, in truth, no real hope for Temari to be wedded in her lifetime.

Temari looked fit to cry, but she stood firm and took in a breath.

Gaara rolled his eyes.

"Very well. I know you did not race down the steps for your health. What have you come down here to tell me that a servant could not?"

Temari glanced at her feet and then the wall.

"I wish to speak on the matter of the Hyuga heir…we can no longer have this feud, or whatever it is, between our families. Especially now. You are to be wedded soon. We cannot have such slander on our namesake since, when you are wedded, will be taking on the crown…seeing how our brother is a mess of a man, and father is ill with brain fever."

"How he has not died and gone to hell yet is a mystery of life."

"…As I was saying Gaara. In two days hence, the Hyuga heir will be here. If he is to ask you for any favors, any items, or anythings, you are to respond with said favors, items, or things. We want their good intentions as they do ours. It is time for amends. So Gaara…I say to you this: Don't you dare screw this up. And I mean for you to watch your mouth. Don't even mention his uncle, or the heiress Hinata. Do you understand?"

"…"

"Gaara!"

"…Yes."

"God…if our good name didn't rest on your fiendish soul, things would go so very smooth." Temari straightened herself and fluffed her ponytails. She took another gander at the lonely room and her brother. She bowed her head. She looked...tired, sickly even, but she said nothing more. Gaara glanced at his sister's expression and frowned. The very site of her dampened spirits made him spiteful.

"And? Is that all you had to say?"

"…Gaara…" Temari shook her head solemnly, "Honestly. I fear for you."

"Honestly you say? For once in your life, your wicked heart has melted its ice? And how does it beat? Does it tremble?"

"Stop with your riddles! I am fairly concerned for you."

Gaara dropped his face in his hands and sighed loudly, "Why then."

Temari cleared her throat, which, in a sense, sounded broken. Gaara however, did not care enough to lift his face out of his palms to see if she was crying or not. He honestly didn't care if she was having a stroke. He wanted her out of his quiet room.

"When we were young you seemed so much like a boy-a naive and sweet child-but now you say such wicked things...hideous words and names that not even a demon could conjure up. It is like you have sealed what I knew to be Gaara in a chrysalis, and morphed him into…something disgusting. I wonder sometimes…if you are even human."

Gaara was silent for a time.

No. He was not shocked to hear his own sister say that. He had expected a statement like that from Temari for some time. It is not the first time he had been talked down to like that. Many women, even some men, have told him such. In fact, he knew that she still blamed him for her naked and sad status as an inferior woman.

He cared not for what she, or anyone for that matter, thought of him.

Gaara leaned further into the pillar he was propped up against. He was crossed.

"…You do not think me human. What else could I be?"

Temari paused, and then looked him in the eyes.

"The devil wearing skin."

Gaara smiled, and then laughed.

Laughed, laughed, laughed!

Temari flinched and stumbled in her heels a second.

Gaara caught his breath, gasping softly, but still had a smile on his face. He glared ice at Temari.

"Fine. The devil I am."He pointed to the french doors she had swung open earlier, "Get out." Temari's lip twitched, and slowly, crumbled.

She began to sob.

"I fear this is the first time I've seen you look ugly. It is quite the sight, actually. I am sure others would run than stand and see you break in two. As would I, but I am chained to you by blood and cannot. And look! You still stand here snotting up your neck handkerchief! Take yourself away and be gone from my sight."

Temari spun around quick, but too quick. She slipped and fell on her hands and knees. One of her heels had broken. Despite the priceless shoe's condition, Gaara's laughter chased her away. She slammed the door on her way out of the Drawing Room. Gaara placed a hand on his shoulder and rolled his neck softly. He stayed silent a time in the blackness of the room. He then smiled.

I don't need her. I still have Lee. That is enough of a friend to have for life.

And with that thought, he embraced the dark peace of the Drawing Room for an hour more, listening all the while to the madness of the servants scurrying feet, running around preparing for the Hyuga's arrival outside the french double doors his sister had slammed.