Whaow... Is that me who hasn't updated in forever? I swear I wasn't holding out for more reviews (I luuv the ones I got!). I don't have an excuse, actually.

Anyways, Chapter Two... & for those of you still reading, Chap. 3 will be out soon. :D

Comparatively.

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Heavy baroque curtains muffled the sound of rain pounding on glass. The digital clock on Gaara's bedside table flashed 4:02am. He blinked, staring up at the dark ceiling. He could just barely make out the spidery crack above his bed.

Drip.

It was leaking again. Gaara's eyes followed as each drop splashed into an old teapot Gaara had found tucked away in a closet. Probably not the best thing for the job, but it worked well enough.

Drip.

Gaara stretched, used to early mornings. His body, for whatever reason, had never let him sleep more than 3 or 4 hours of sleep a night, even as a child. The constant sleep deprivation had left dark rings around his eyes. It was one of the reasons the other children had always been frightened of him, his eyes coupled with his striking hair and pale skin made him stand out a mile away in Japan, and only slightly less where he lived now.

Drip.

The clock changed to 4:15. Gaara turned over and tried to focus on his breathing. He didn't really expect it to help, but everything he'd read suggested it could help even the most hard-core insomniacs. In... and out.

Drip.

In... and out. How long had it been raining? All night? Wait, breathing.

In... and out. He wondered idly if he had any messages. In... and out.

Drip.

In... and out.

Drip.

In... and out. This is stupid.

He glanced over at his clock. 5:18 flashed back at him. Pointless too. He felt wide awake.

Gaara threw his covers at the wall, careful not to upset the teapot, and began to rummage through his hulking old dresser for something to wear. Looking at it, he couldn't help but wonder how its spindly little legs could possibly hold up something so heavy. Gaara shut the drawers carefully.

Downstairs with a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt, Gaara cleared the remnants of last night's hurried dinner before making breakfast. While going through the empty cupboards he made a mental note to pick up some groceries after work. Today, oatmeal would have to do.

He took his time eating. It had been a while since he'd had a morning off and he wanted to enjoy it. He checked his phone. His siblings hadn't called, but then, it wasn't really their numbers he'd been looking for. The rain had stopped and everything sounded loud in the silence. Gaara drummed him fingers on the table.

Enjoy it. Gaara reached for an apple from the fruitbasket on the table but recoiled when his fingers met squishy flesh. Everything was half-rotten. Gaara threw the basket's contents out in disgust and went back to his oatmeal. It was pretty good, cinnamon flavoured. Not much sunlight came through the large window overlooking the front yard. A tall row of hedges almost completely blocked the house from view from the street. Gaara glanced up at the wall clock, also baroque. If the gratuitous spiderwebs were any indication, it might have been as old as the house.

4:30.

What? How could it have only been twelve minutes? He washed the dishes, feeling a little put out, and sat back down. It really had been a while since he'd had nothing to do all morning. No, not nothing. That made it sound as if he were bored. He wasn't bored, just... unoccupied. The silence really was absolute. To distract himself, Gaara looked around the kitchen; small, but clean. Certainly uncontaminated by fruit.

So quiet. Shouldn't there at least be... the ticking of a clock? He glanced at it perched on the wall. A minute passed but the hands didn't move. Batteries must have died...

But then what time was it really?

Shit. It felt like hours since he'd gotten out of bed. If he was late he'd be made to stay after school and being late to work was not a good idea. Kakuzu would absolutely relish docking his pay. That guy loved money a little too much. Gaara bit his lip and sprinted back upstairs.

His little bedside clock flashed 4:45am.

This was getting old.

Ten minutes 'til the end of class. Just ten minutes and school is over.

Gaara had spent the remainer of the morning investigating the details of his landlord's house. Even though he'd been living there for almost three years, ever since his father had sent him to Canada for high school, he'd never bothered to go through the literally dozens of dusty volumes stacked on bookcases in the study. Many were written in an old fashioned style which was difficult to decipher and the grand majority had scribbling in the margins, criticizing the original authors. Most interestingly, between a copy of War and Peace and a Jane Austen novel he'd found a large stash of pornography. From the fifties. All of it reupholstered as different books.

Gaara had only met his landlord a few times. Once for a tour of the house ten minutes before moving in, once when he'd had to drop by to give Gaara the spare set of keys and a few times after that when the man had come to retrieve some books he'd needed for work. Apparently, Jiraiya, in addition to having the taste in furniture of an old woman from the sixteenth century, was also a pervert. Gaara grinned, wondering just what type of novels the man wrote, then stopped when he remembered where he was. Still eight minutes until class is over.

He looked up at his math teacher with impatience. The man had been lecturing in a bored voice, further muffled by the mask he always wore, about sinusoidal functions for the past 20 minutes and he sounded like he could go on for the rest of the period. Nothing seemed to faze him. People sleeping in class, people passing notes; he didn't care. He just kept talking... Gaara glanced around the room. One or two kids actually were taking notes. He could see a girl with long black hair scribbling something in her notebook. The girls around her were gossiping in whispers about who was cute and who was dating who and did she really think that rumour was true? No way. Shut up! no, you shut up!

"And that's all there is to it. Now to recap, who can tell me what an asymptote is?" Kakashi leaned against the chalkboard.

One or two math enthusiasts raised their hands tentatively, reluctant to put themselves in the spotlight. Kakashi's visible eye surveyed the classroom and settled on someone slumped over on their desk.

"Kiba would you be kind enough to wake your friend up, I would love to know his take on the matter."

Okay, maybe he did care. The girls stopped talking long enough to watch Naruto get scolded.

The specified boy leaned over and nudged him. Naruto didn't stir. Kiba nudged him again, almost knocking him out of his seat. This woke the blond up.

"Ah! What the fu-" Naruto muttered, startled.

"Ah, good. You're awake. Please answer the question Mr. Uzumaki."

"Huh? Whaa..." Naruto looked around at the board.

"The question I asked the class, maybe about... oh, one and a half minutes ago. Please write the answer on the board."

Naruto laughed nervously. "Uh..."

"I'm sorry, is there some reason that you cannot? Some medical condition I am unaware of? Perhaps you are allergic to chalk?" Kakashi took a piece and held it out to him.

"Sorry sir..." Naruto sounded more tired than sorry.

"Mr. Uzumaki, if I catch you sleeping in my class again, I will notify your parent or guardian of your behaviour." A few snickers were raised at this. Kakashi ignored them and turned to the board to draw a graph.

Naruto looked slightly confused. A number of people were still slumped over their own desks, not even pretending to pay attention. After a moment, he raised his hand.

"But sir- why am I the only one being punished?"

Kakashi spoke without turning back. "You're not being punished Mr. Uzumaki, I have simply delivered you a warning. Now, please pay attention." This answer didn't seem to satisfy Naruto and he stared moodily at the math teacher's back until the end of class. When the bell finally did ring, Naruto was the first one out the door. Gaara watched him go.

The only light in the room came from a flickering bare bulb. Gaara stared at the mountains of nondescript boxes and sighed. It was 3:40 and he was in the gang's prison-like storage room, looking for something Zetsu had requested, or rather, Zetsu had lost his favourite mirror and he wanted Gaara to find it. He checked another box for the correct date. Too recent. Or maybe too old. Itachi's handwriting was ridiculously hard to read and at least half the boxes in there he'd dated himself. Still, it was at least marginally better than Deidara's. Guess who'd done the other half?

Gaara walked over to another towering pile, wondering what Zetsu would say if he came back empty handed. He had a feeling it wouldn't be good. At the very least he'd find some reason to dock his pay. Last month Gaara had forgotten something Zetsu had asked him to do and he hadn't seemed to care, but the following week Zetsu had called him into the storage room and he'd accidentally knocked over some expensive glassware leaned right up against the door. Of course, Zetsu claimed it had been an accident and he hadn't put it there and maybe next time Gaara should watch where he was going.

Gaara could distantly hear the little bell attached to the door trilling. It was going to be a long day stuck in this stuffy little room.

Across town, a spotless black car was pulling up to 23 Elm Street.

Crisp footsteps approached the door and immediately gained entrance. Curtains were yanked shut, doors locked and bolted.

"Please, make yourself comfortable." Karin gestured towards a peeling chair in the corner in a hushed voice. It was a real honour to have the leader of Okagature make a personal visit and she wanted to show the appropriate respect.

Orochimaru ignored her offer with a look of distaste.

"The scroll... If you please." He spoke in sly manner. Everything about this man was sly, from the perfectly tailored suit he wore to the way his eyes stared almost unblinkingly at the framed painting above Karin's bed. A long pink tongue lightly traced his lips.

"Of course sir! I'll just... I'll just get it then." Karin sounded a bit disappointed but brightened as she moved towards the painting. It was a landscape; mountainous terrain spotted with trees. In a moment it was unceremoniously thrown to the ground to expose a highly polished silver safe. Karin carefully turned the knob. From across the room, Orochimaru waited with impatience.

Finally, there was a click and the little door swung open.

With trembling fingers Karin delivered the scroll, seal still intact, to the man. He took it almost before it had left her fingers. A sharpened letter opener made quick work of the wax and spider-like fingers quickly caressed the paper open. Five minutes passed in silence while Orochimaru's narrow eyes ran down the length of it.

"Arrange a meeting with Tsunade." His voice sounded pleased. A sickly looking smile tugged at the corners of his pale lips and he strode out of the room without a backwards glance.

"Yes, of course! But sir, if I may ask, what--" Karin said in slight panic.

The door shut with a loud click.

"--does it say?!"

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Ooh... what does it say?