Pieces of Broken Glass
A/N: I've had this short fic posted up on my live journal for awhile, but I decided to post it up here. I'm still not sure what I think of it. It's kind of...hmm..to me.
It's set around the time when Temari heads back to Suna and Sakura heals Kankuro. Around the time right after Sakura heals him and he regains conciousness.
Humans were fragile pieces of glass from the very beginning.
Fragile.
Easily broken.
She closed her eyes slowly and let her body sag against the wall.
Don't feel.
It was a fact of life.
Especially for the shinobi.
They would all inevitably shatter.
Sooner rather than later.
Don't feel.
Taking a deep breath, her eyes slowly slid open and looked ahead of her.
Don't feel.
She hated begin a shinobi at times like these.
The uncertainty.
The fear.
The anger.
The strong, pulsing desire to scream, yell -- to cry.
It was a hard thing: to remember not to feel.
But nowhere near as hard as the alternative: letting yourself feel.
Straightening, Temari stared calmly at the door, differing from the whirlwind tossing inside of her. The words -- the actions dying to scream, to cry -- to feel.
It was hard for some people to just look at Temari. Shinobi's weren't supposed to feel, but every one of them did, and that weakness, destroyed them. That weakness allowed the grace of feeling better, but it clouded judgment. Temari had perfected the art of appearing completely apathetic at times like this. She was the picture of peaceful composure, while inside she was breaking.
Humans WERE glass, and she was no exception.
What she refused to do was show her cracks, she hid those.
And because of that, people had trouble believing Sabakuno Temari was actually human.
She didn't feel.
Except she did.
And every time something like this happened, she had to remind herself that she wasn't allowed to feel.
And this happened all too often.
That, she supposed was the problem with having brothers like hers.
One who always played with poison.
One who harbored a demon.
Two who were so near to dying too many times for comfort.
You would figure it got easier as the time passed, but just got harder. Especially when each experience brought them even closer to death.
She turned the cool knob and walked into the room.
Her brother lay in the bed staring up at the ceiling, his face devoid of purple paint, eyes blank.
At least she knew one of them was still alive.
Her hands clenched involuntarily.
One.
He glanced at her. "Hey."
Her mouth felt sticky, her tongue had trouble moving around to form words. "Hey."
"Came close didn't I?"
Temari's eyes slid closed instinctively as she felt the warm prickling behind her eyes. "Yeah."
Temari hadn't cried since the old Kazekage had smacked her to the floor and told her she was a worthless child and even worse ninja. Her arm had been broken in three places. It took her forever to recuperate. She was a child then, and she hadn't let herself cry ever since then.
Don't feel.
"Guess I was just lucky, hmm?"
"You always are, Kankurou." She opened her eyes slowly.
The boy before her no longer looked the same.
He was younger.
Chubbier.
No scars.
No paint.
No muscles.
With small blank eyes and a soft warm smile. Peanut butter stuck between his fingers and hair. His clothes covered in dirt. His nose smudged.
Small puppet plays.
Learning to cook.
Her vision cleared.
The older Kankurou staring back at her once more. He was saying something. Temari moved over to the bed and sat gingerly at the foot of it, nodding at the words Kankurou was saying but not hearing a single thing.
Don't feel.
She remembered the little kid who would help her make sandwiches in the kitchen.
And dirty the whole thing too.
The little kid who told her she could be a great ninja -- no matter what the Kazekage said.
The little kid who would throw food at her claiming to be protecting her from invisible fairies.
The boy who would always cheer her up in her grouchiest moods.
The boy who knew her so well it scared her.
The boy who would cover her with blankets and bring her a charred attempt at soup when she was sick.
The boy who would sit with her in silence when she needed company.
The boy who understood why she never let the tears fall.
The boy who told her it wasn't bad to feel.
Her little brother.
"Hey, are you even listening?" he inquired.
The tears burned behind her eyes.
"Oi! Temari!"
She wrapped her arms silently around her little brother, "Kami, you are so stupid!"
She could feel Kankurou smile. "Sorry about that, but one of has to be an idiot. Kami knows you won't be it."
Temari laughed, a cross between a sob and a chuckle. "Baka.""Hey, no worries, Tem, I'm okay."
You're okay.
He was okay.
But...Gaara.
He might not be.
She pulled back and looked at the hands in her lap.
It was so hard.
It got harder every time.
They were glass and by sheer luck, by scientific anomaly, she, Kankurou, and Gaara were still whole. They were scratched, they were dinged, a little dirty, but they were still whole. Throughout all the shit, they were still whole.
It wouldn't...
It wouldn't be fair if...after all that, AFTER ALL THAT, one of them could break.
Gaara was just as much glass as anyone else; she was sure he could break quite easily.
She just didn't want him to.
It was a fool's decision to care at all.
To care was to feel.
Pretending got harder every time.
"He'll be fine, Tem."
"You don't know that."
"I can hope."
Hope.
"We've been through worse shit haven't we? Have a little faith."
Temari sighed. "Faith?"
"Yeah." Kankurou smiled. "C'mon. I'm the idiot. You're the bitch. Gaara's the inhuman demon thing. If ANY of us was going to die, it would be the idiot first."
Another half laugh, half sob escaped her throat. "I hate you."
Don't feel.
He grinned. "I love you too, Temari."
The unfortunate thing was she was human. Wholly completely and one hundred percent human. There was no way that she could possibly not feel. She was glass after all.
Worry and fear would always keep crowding her mind.
For the little boys.
The little boys she HATED and loved with all her might.
The boys she wanted to kill and protect.
Her only family.
Humans were glass, and they would refuse to be anything else, even after all that was left was shambles.
Even when all that remained, was pieces of broken glass.
Feeling was worth it all.