The SandCastle
A/N – An update! But…this will be the last update in about…a month…or three…depends how my classes go.
And by the by…ya'll won't find out who the father is…for a very long time. XD
God given speed, lights out and pie
Gaara hadn't slept, so he had stayed up with a headache that went to the beat of his steady pulse. This headache was a tumor he blamed on karma, and it worsened come morning. He pressed the heel of his hand to his right temple, where it throbbed the most and wandered into the kitchen.
He needed sleep and medication and some soothing tea to rid himself of his ailment, but he didn't have any of those. He needed to wake up and eat, which required coffee, which he had none of either.
Gaara stared at his empty counter for a long minute, contemplating on the fact that he'd forgotten to pick up the most useful thing to him besides his .45 or his favorite Harpy blade. It was the closest Gaara came to actual shock and disappointment – obsessive compulsive staring and long moments of silence.
This just made his fucking day, didn't it now?
Gaara wiped a hand over his face and rested it in his palm, breathing heavily. The headache pounded worse than ever, but strangely, there were no sounds of ambulances blaring past, sirens or yelling or heavy traffic. Gaara only heard morning birds chirping away on a tree that grew next to the buildings.
If he closed his eyes and strained his hearing a little, he could the breeze whisper past.
The headache seemed put in the back of his mind while Gaara reveled over his newfound epiphany.
He couldn't remember a time or place where it had been this quiet, except the streets after a shootout. His hand fell to his side, and he looked up at his ceiling without opening his eyes. The quiet before the storm, the calm before the fire, he'd heard it all but this had a different definition that didn't belong in any sense of violence.
This was what people from the country or small towns talked about.
Some sort of calming natural serenity that city people didn't have, a balm-like sensation that made breathing easier and where time just took a rest stop. Gaara waited, stood there in his kitchen, in front of his coffee-less countertop, and breathed in the air that came from a crack in the window.
It wasn't thick. It didn't smell like a power plant, or the heady scent of too many people or car exhaust.
It smelled like he imagined fresh water streams smelled like, without adding the piss and excrement that animals contributed.
The headache ebbed away and Gaara let his shoulders droop a little.
A pounding at the door made his temples throb and his eyes snap open.
"Gaara! Gaara! Wittle baby brover…open the goddamn door for your sister!" Temari's voice carried through his door like a bulldozer.
Suddenly Gaara's morning wasn't as tranquil as he'd first imagined.
TSC
His sister was a raving maniac on the road, swerving and passing, cussing and waving around the bird to drivers and pedestrians alike. Gaara did nothing from his side of the car, instead looking out the window while Temari drummed her fingers to a singer from the U.K. His blonde sister, with her catty dark green eyes had been a surrogate mother for him while their own mother had run to god knows where.
His father hadn't had time for any of them though he planned their lives out for them. He remembered him as a tall man who skulked in the shadows and ruled other politicians with an iron fist. He had arranged for foreign guerillas to kidnap normal citizens, businessmen and other politicians to create a sort of chaos that issued out terror like candy.
No one knew who was going to be taken.
His father had later been found out, tried and had gotten off with only a fine, and a national apology as well as a withdrawal from his office. When several industries collapsed and counterfeit money had been added to the equation, his father had suddenly vanished from the country.
Temari had been left to pick up the pieces.
When she was supposed to marry a man an ambassador's younger brother who owned a chain of electronics that were advancing quickly in the world, she became an infamous fashion designer; a true King Kong of the fashion world. Kankurou, who was supposed to run in office as well became a chef and ran his own chain of restaurants.
Gaara…he was a whole other story himself.
"We interrupt this station for an important broadcast, due to trips at the power plants, there is a very likely chance of power outage. So please have a flashlight, a lantern or candles handy nearby. On further note to those who ride the Only Express Way buses, drivers are currently on" - Temari turned the radio off.
"'Kay, we're here." Temari pulled into a parallel park and got out of the car, her hair tied up in their standard quad pigtails, designer dark brown pants with prints of medium purple flowers at the hems.
Gaara stepped out and stared at the elaborate sign. "We already have reservations, besides Kankurou missed his wittle brover. After we eat, we'll go shopping because god knows you can't shop for crap."
The redhead walked beside his sister, the sunlight hot on his skin and the city air thick, this place was noisy. The doors, tall French doors with wide panels of glass were opened by a man in a white collar. "Madame, Hanajime-san has reserved your table in the back, near the garden."
Temari nodded and walked past the man while he kept his head bowed respectfully. Gaara followed his sister, past the people in their dresses that cost an arm and a leg, people who whispered at them behind their hands.
The garden was a spacious area but had only one table. Hanging jasmine vines and moonflowers crawled along the walls, herbs in pots grew; rosemary, basil and cilantro – the ground was made of cobblestones and had a little pathway to the lonesome table.
Temari sauntered her way to it, placing her purse on the ground before she stared at Gaara. Her little brother always stared at the garden.
She waited, while he stood as still as David, before time seemed to move again.
He sat across her and folded his hands together. "What do you want to talk about?" Gaara could never comprehend the art of beating around the bush to make the blow easier.
Temari fiddled with the violets in the slim vase of water, plucking at the petals. "What makes you think I called you out here to just talk about something?"
"Is it about the girl?"
Temari's hands stilled. "You don't have to do this for a living you know."
Gaara looked away. "It's a little late for regret."
Temari sucked on her lower lip. "It's never late for redemption."
Her brother stared at her, with those large bags under his eyes, those glass eyes that reflected only the world around him. "How is she?"
"Hypnosis…works surprisingly well." Temari paused. "Why did you kill her mother?"
Gaara didn't look away, but he didn't answer either. "I don't know."
Temari's hand slammed on the table and the vase trembled. "You don't know? You don't fucking know? Was it some sort of passing whimsy? Huh?"
"She was calling the police. I reacted." He put it so simply, sounding cold while he felt so hollow.
"Jesus fucking Christ," Temari rested her forehead on her palm, cradling it. "Why Gaara? Why?"
Gaara didn't answer and watched his sister's strong shoulders sag. He didn't hear any sniffles or heavy breathing. She was holding her breath, so she could let it out in a big whoosh as if she tossed her troubles and stress along with it.
Out of the corner of his eye, Gaara saw a slave in a white collar stroll down the cobble pathway.
"Today's supposed to be our day, so let's just deal with it another time." She raised her head, "I think I'm gonna go for Blanquette de veau, and a glass of mineral water," she spoke to the waiter who bowed to her.
"Very good Madame, and you sir?" the waiter looked to Gaara.
Gaara paused to look at the menus on the table, "The Coq au vin and a Schlenkerla Rauchbier." The waiter bowed and took their menus before disappearing from their line of vision.
Silence reigned between the siblings. "Gaara, do you still think about looking for her?" Temari glanced at him.
Gaara looked at the white table cloth. "Sometimes."
"Why'd you stop so suddenly, didn't you nearly find her when you went to Belfast?" Temari went back to plucking at the violets with her manicured nails.
"The feeling of being unwanted."
Temari momentarily stopped plucking at the violets before she ripped a whole head off the flower, cutting it from its stem with a nail. "Yeah…yeah."
The atmosphere didn't lift until two dishes came, carried by the waiter and shortly after him arrived their brother.
Kankurou came without his apron or chef's hat, instead only dark slacks, shoes and a shirt he'd gotten at a rodeo. With dark brown hair as messy as his brother's, eyes as green as his sister's, they looked especially related when Temari took her shoe off to chuck it at him and yelled at him for being so goddamn late.
Kankurou placed the plate he held in his hand down, a stew and sat on the third chair.
He grinned and showed off his white teeth. "Did you see the write up we got?"
Temari nodded, "Mm, for it to make the Tokyo Tattler is a big thing isn't it? Oh yeah…and what's this about an engagement?!" she snarled and reached across the table to yank on her brother's hair.
"Ow, ow, damn it Temari wait, ow, it's not official, ow!" he tried to pry his sister's tough fingers from him to no avail.
Gaara was already eating when they brought his drink, watching his older siblings fight and bark at each other.
"Just because it's not official doesn't mean you can hide it from us! We're not the boogiemen or something feather-brain!"
Kankurou finally got his hair from her grasp before muttering, "You sure look like one you friggin' Gorgon."
"What?!"
Kankurou stuck his tongue out at Temari and flicked her arm. "Anyway Gaara, Temari told me you moved out of the big city. How is it?"
Between a bite of chicken he replied, "Nice, quiet – small town and people mind their own business."
Kankurou nodded, "I was thinking of buying a house up in Sapporo, or Fukuoka."
Temari adjusted the collar of her silk white blouse, smoothing out the shoulders. "I was thinking of buying a condo near Sapporo too."
Gaara listened to them talk, and watched their food get cold while they caught up and talked. He took a gulp of his Rauchbier.
"So Gaara tell me what you've been up to lately. Haven't heard a word from you in a while." Kankurou turned his attention to his little brother.
Gaara looked into the dark beer. "Not much at all. I went to Florence for a while, traveling job."
Kankurou tipped his head, "So how was it? Any pictures?"
Gaara shook his head. "The sky was the same. I took pictures of The Duomo, Campanile, Ponte Vecchio and the Church of Santa Felicita for you."
"Where are they?"
"They're being developed."
Kankurou gave a long, sweet bliss sigh, "Are some of them at sunset?"
"Yeah," Gaara replied.
"The Duomo is the best at sunset."
Temari snorted behind her hand. "You're such a fruit Kankurou."
"Shut up!" Kankurou threw a balled-up napkin at her. "I only appreciate the beauty of France because of it ranks number one in the cuisine world, Medusa."
"What'd you say you prat?!"
Gaara watched his siblings argue over the lip of his glass of Rauchbier.
TSC
Like everything else in life, there are those who believe in fate, who believe in destiny or some say that these things are normal occurring, everyday non-miracles called coincidences.
There are also occurrences that are just wrong place, wrong time.
Hinata Hyuuga had been walking from her place of employment the moment a black Nissan Skyline Sedan pulled up to the bakery.
Hinata saw a man in black grungy clothes step out before she continued on her way, holding her dark blue sweater with a shivering snowman closer to her. Her hands went immediately around her middle while she walked in the cold brisk night.
The day had been long and hard. Getting closer to a colder time of the year, people were buying up their supplies of ground coffee, tea and hot chocolate, and the recommended wines they carried for their desserts.
Hinata could still smell gingerbread and white chocolate shavings on her fingertips.
She smiled a little to herself. Four months…another five months to go and she'd be so busy. She wondered what the baby would look like. Would she pull characteristics from her father more or from her? Whose genes would show up the most?
The rows of flickering streetlamps on both sides of the street went out in a sputter.
Something cold gripped her stomach and she walked a little faster. The bus wouldn't be coming today – the drivers had gone on another strike earlier and no buses were running anywhere. She'd have to walk home until the company settled the matter with their employees.
A shiver of warning crept down her spine and reached her cranium.
Fear like this wasn't common.
Her elbow was captured by a strong hand that pulled her against a dark building where lights were off. Something cold pressed against her throat.
"You keep your fucking mouth shut and you might live through this, understand bitch?"
Hinata froze and whimpered when he rummaged for her purse and took her wallet. His fingers passed over her chest and immediately went under her dress.
She went into hot-cold sensitivity when his hand groped her belly. A primitive mothering instinct kicked in; a comparable situation with an ewe – it becomes a fatal battering force when the lamb is in danger.
Her hands moved and fingernails clawed at her eyes, smacking his hand away from her throat and she ran. She almost screamed before she was pulled back with such force her shoulder almost dislocated.
"You fucking whore!" he slapped her across her face. His fingers wrapped into her hair and dragged her to the ground. He began to pull in the direction of an alley which Hinata deduced she would be raped then killed.
She screamed.
He turned on her with his knife and Hinata could only twist away futilely.
A crack resounded and her head dropped to the cement. Hinata blinked up at the dark sky when it began to rain and all she could hear was the wet smack sounds of flesh against flesh and the hard tok of bone hitting cement.
The rain was freezing.
The sounds stopped suddenly and a crunch of shoes against small bits of broken cement pieces from wear of cars came.
Hinata didn't look; only lay there on her back with her hands instinctively over her stomach.
The devil looked down at her.
Actually, it was her neighbor who picked up her can of tomato sauce for her yesterday – that odd head of red hair and grey-green eyes.
He didn't say anything but bent to grip her upper arm and drag her to her feet. He dusted debris off her and threw his jacket over her head before walking up the street. He glanced back at her expectantly.
Hinata looked up at the dim streetlamp to see her building the next building next to the one she was assaulted by.
The lights had gone back on a few seconds ago apparently.
She followed him at hurried pace, watching his back and his red hair plaster to his skin. It looked almost like blood in the bad lighting.
He opened the door to the building and ushered her in first. "Get the landlord to call the police. Just go to your room." He said, and went to take the stairs. Hinata grabbed his hand and he reacted by glaring at her when he turned.
She gulped. "Um th"-
"Good god Miss! What happened?!" the landlord came over, towel in her arms and she took the jacket off Hinata's head, immediately drying her hair.
"I was…uh, mugged."
"Oh my god!"
Hinata felt the man's hand leave her. She turned abruptly, to find him completely gone and vanishing up the stairs.
"I'll go call the police."
Hinata was left alone with a towel that smelled like Downy and rain, and a jacket that wasn't hers.
TSC
After Temari had dropped him off after they'd gone shopping for his necessities, Gaara thought about their earlier conversation at the restaurant.
"Was it some sort of passing whimsy?!"
No, it hadn't been. Gaara had shot her through her head and killed a mother in front of her child because of what his past clients referred to commonly as the god given speed. As if it was something divine and talented. His reaction time was 0.11 seconds, just scraping the impossible.
He reacted violently – bang! A thud, crying, a child's face crumbling.
Gaara didn't believe in redemption like his sister did, he knew who and what he was. Redemption was for people who still had a chance, for people who couldn't face their own consequences.
Gaara crushed the beer can in his hand and grabbed his black jacket off its hook.
The door slammed shut behind him.
When Gaara reached the outside, it was brisk and cold and there was so much quiet. He looked up and suddenly everything went dark – a full on power outage. The radio hadn't lied.
"You fucking whore!"
A violent scream – silence.
Gaara reacted when the barest pitch of the scream came and was already running towards the source. He heard heavy breathing and slammed his weight into the figure, he went down heavily and the redhead, having violence in the blood already slammed his fist into the guy's face.
He felt something stick in his shoulder but he yanked it out and tossed it aside. He groped for the guy's hair and held him up a little, straddling him; he hit his cheekbone, nose, eye and even his chin.
The man under him went still – unconscious.
Gaara breathed in and out and the streetlamps flicked back to life. Gaara registered that it was raining suddenly and blinked over at a feminine body.
He walked over the still figure. Was she alive? She was staring vacantly up with white eyes. Gaara blinked down at her mildly. The rain made her sweater and dress cling to her. The redhead looked down her body, checking for blood or injury but stopped at her stomach.
It bulged with something he knew wasn't fat. His nostrils flared as though he could smell it on her. He reached down and gripped her upper arm to pull her up. Seeing her shiver, he shrugged his jacket off and threw it over her head.
He began walking from her and when she didn't follow he stopped. She followed quickly and when they were inside with the lights on now he spoke to her, "Get the landlord to call the police. Then just go to your room."
She grabbed his wrist and he turned, "Um th"-
The landlord was already all over her, worrying and drying her hair. Gaara pulled his wrist from her and went up the stairs not looking back.
While he walked up the stairs, he thought back to it. Saving her, and checking to see if she was dead to discover…that bulge that lingered naturally beneath her clothes. He wasn't even sure why he'd reacted to the scream. Maybe his body recognized the lack of good karma and sought to rectify the situation.
What woman was stupid enough to walk home alone at night anyway?
He got back to his flat and shut the door. Gaara kicked his shoes off at the tile and went to his kitchen.
He leaned against his kitchen counter to stare at the door of his refrigerator. His god given speed reaction caused him to save a soon to be mother. He opened the fridge and got a beer, popped it open and drank half of it.
Gaara rubbed the back of his neck with his left shoulder, felt it resist a little and looked at it. Blood caked his shoulder. He took another gulp of beer and wandered into the bathroom to retrieve gauze and hydrogen peroxide.
In front of the television on the channel Animal Planet, Gaara treated his wound and wrapped while drinking two beers. It had a special tonight, but he hadn't been listening to what the special was on.
"Female wolverines weigh only approximately 30 pounds, but have been known to attack not only larger animals, but have gone as far as defending their kits against full grown black bears…"
When you have insomnia, you're never really awake either!; this was where you lost track of time and space. The redhead barely knew that about two and a half hours had passed. He was still watching the Animal Planet.
Gaara stared at the television with his beer in his hand.
A series of knocks on his door made him turn and reach under the couch cushion to grope at his Harpy.
The knocking continued.
Gaara rose and went to the door before he flung it open to discover…absolutely no one in the hall.
He stared blankly. His insomnia had driven him to hearing things. He smelled something below him – sweet and fruity.
He looked down into the face of a gold crusted pie, steaming with the top layer of dough spelling out THANK YOU, and his jacket, folded and ironed next to it.
-
! – based on a quote from Fight Club
passerby who wrote: blood usually flecks on Gaara, making him standout, shouldn't the police be after him?
Ideally yes, however the blood flecks are small, tiny and the police aren't as vigilant as they may seem – and people don't call the police at the drop of a dime, you see.
Anywho…pie:D I personally don't like pie. I like cupcakes. D: Until next time then folks, have a nice day ya'll!