Okay, I lied. There's a few more scenes I need to do before the chuunin exams. By the way, when something like this happens, it's a voice crack.
Fellow girls: You'll like this one, I think. Guys: Aw, come on. You know it's true.
Edit two: you know.
...
Gaara wasn't sure when it happened, but puberty hit him with all the subtlety of a train.
He shot up like a weed, getting taller and staying skinny, his voice cracked and raised a couple of octaves when it did so, and he was starting to crave every fat-filed or meaty food in the village. He was eating the cooks out of business. He stayed brooding and quiet, and it made Fumiko laugh whenever he said something depressing and his voice squeaked.
And he was starting to notice things.
Fumiko was a very plain, very ordinary girl. She was average height, with a shapeless, thin kind of body that wasn't necessarily attractive or unattractive. She had almost-dark brown eyes with light brown, straight hair that fell down to the middle of her back. Her bangs stopped a half inch or so above her eyes, and she walked with an odd lilt that sometimes made her look uneven.
She wore plain, ordinary clothes. A blank white, sleeveless T-shirt that rose up her neck a little bit, minimal jewelry, and a Suna cape to keep off the sun. Fumiko wore plain, ordinary black shorts without pockets. She had a small satchel for her paints, and that was about it. A very plain, very ordinary girl.
But that was okay, because Fumiko was neither plain nor ordinary.
She barely cleared Gaara's shoulder, and so she always had to look up at him, and he down at her, and something about that warmed Gaara in some odd places. She was thin and feather-light, and when she fell or leaned on him, he barely budged. Her voice was melodic.
When Fumiko dragged him to clothing stores to hunt for small tops or shorts that fit her, Gaara found- with no small amount of horrified embarrassment- that he could very much appreciate the small curves of her hips, ad the way that some small shirts didn't have very flexible bust sizes.
Fumiko's shaded brown eyes were sparkling, thoughtful eyes that were often wide in surprise or wonder, that looked (distractingly) like chocolate when she was angry- which wasn't often- and caramel coffee when she was happy, which was always.
Her brown eyes had the (infuriating) tendency of swinging from side to side, leaving Gaara left behind and struggling not to touch it. Fumiko's bangs curled when it was humid or raining, and they framed her eyes prettily. Her uneven limp brought one's attention to her prosthetic, which she hand painted with bright colors and swirling designs.
There was more, things he couldn't link with anything plain or ordinary.
Her teeth were white as snow, and he saw them often because she smiled often. Her pale skin was always smudged with paint of various colors, and her hyper disposition could light up the night sky.
Yes, Gaara thought as he watched her doodle winged sheep on his wall from his spot lying upside-down on his bed, arms crossed over his chest. Nothing plain or ordinary about this one.
"Hey, Gaara?"
"Yes?"
Fumiko shifted on her stepstool, holding her paintbrush between her teeth while she turned to look at him, one had steady on the wall.
"Can 'ou han me the bwight gween?" she asked around the brush. Gaara looked at her in amusement, quirking what wasn't an eyebrow up- or down, since his head was hanging over the side of the bed. She waited expectantly.
"Since when are winged sheep bright green?"
"Thince when are 'inged theep 'inged?"
He grinned- or frowned, he was still upside-down- and grabbed the tube of migraine-inducing green, misleadingly labeled as Lime Green, and tossed it up to her. It was a good throw, and she snatched it easily out of the air. Grunting, she went back to work, and Gaara watched as the sheep's wool turned green and white.
"Remind me again why I agreed to let you paint my room?"
She took the now green-washed paintbrush out of her mouth and stretched up higher on her tip-toes and prosthetic to reach the tip of a wing. As she did so, the hem of her shirt lifted just a bit, showing for just a second a strip of skin. Gaara swallowed.
"Because I'm adorable and sweet and out of painting space?" she said in a teasingly syrupy voice.
"Oh, right," Gaara said, then smacked a hand over his mouth in frustration. Fumiko laughed.
"Nice," she said seriously. "Totally manly. Hey, throw me my detail brush, would you?"
...12
They laid down, side by side and on their backs, on his bed, staring up at the sheep and stars and flowers that had eventually built up on his ceiling. It was one of the rare, silent moments where they both were wrapped in their own thoughts.
"Ne... Gaara?"
Gaara blinked. "Yeah?"
"What do you think I am?"
"What?"
"I mean, some people see me as some things. But others see me as others. Some people call me a freak, some an idiot. My mom says I'm special. But you've never told me I'm anything. What do you think I am?"
"Hn." Gaara said, casting his eyes across the plains of shooting stars on his ceiling. "That's an easy one."
"Yeah? What is it?"
"You're Fumiko."
There was a bubbly laugh beside him, and Gaara almost smiled, turning his head to look at her. She was still looking at the ceiling, just laughing, and it looked as though a weight had been lifted off her shoulders, and she found the weightlessness exhilarating.
"Ha," she said. "Yeah, I guess I am."
There was another quiet moment, and then she finally looked at him.
"Love you."
The words didn't mean the same thing to Gaara as they did before. Before, the words meant a friend, a shoulder, a rock. Now he wished the words meant something different, and although the words still made him warm, they made him just a little wistful. But Fumiko was waiting.
"You too."
She smiled, and they both looked back up at the ceiling.
...12
Fumiko loved baking.
She made pies, tarts, cakes, cookies, brownies, and they often had gooey fillings or strawberries or nuts in them. Anything sweet or yummy was included in the batter, and no matter how unorthodox her recipes seemed, they always turned out amazing.
Her pastries were always sweet.
"Sugar, Gaara," she said one day after smearing icing on his nose. "Sugar is key."
Three cakes, six brownies, and an infinite amount of cookies later, Gaara couldn't help but agree. She found every excuse to bake- oh, you stubbed your toe? How about a cookie? Yay, you passed your test! Let's make a cake! Or even, you have nice eyes. I'm going to make a filling that color. (Indeed, her signature frosting was the same shade of blue as Gaara's pupiless eyes.)
Gaara was no good at baking, but he often found himself smudged with flour or gooey things as he helped her bake. The one time he'd tried to make one on his own to surprise Fumiko, it had not only collapsed, but literally caught on fire. After that, he left the baking to her.
But he still enjoyed the sugar.
...12
"Ne, mama. I'm sleeping."
Fumiko's mother was out, and Fumiko was late for school. She was sleeping soundly, sprawled out on the bed and tangled in pillows and sheets and blankets. She also was not waking up.
After joining the Academy, they had a little less time to hang out. Fumiko preferred to stay in the ordinary, (usually) jutsu free school. Even though Fumiko always appeared at the Academy when Gaara had an important event, school still carved out a decent chunk of free time. Gaara didn't have classes now, but Fumiko did, and usually he walked with her to the school.
He nudged her with his foot, but she just murmured something unintelligible and burrowed deeper under the covers.
"Momma, five more minutes!"
"You're mom's not home," he grumbled. "So get-"
Fumiko shot up like a ballistic missile, startling Gaara into stumbling back. She was still tangled in her blankets and was screaming, batting wildly at his face.
"Whoa!" he yelped and grabbed a fist in his hand just before it would have collided with his face. She tried again, and he caught her other hand as well. He was wrestling with a screaming mass of blankets with fists.
"Sugar sweet!" she screamed in his face, hair still smooshed over her eyes. "Who are you?"
"It's Gaara!" he said in a confused voice.
"Gaara?"
"Yes! Why are you attacking me!"
She tugged a hand free and brushed the hair out of her eyes, squinting. When she saw him, she blinked, surprised. The blanket finally slid off her shoulders, and he had to catch her when she started to tilt sideways. Sitting her back on the bed, he grumbled to himself and went to find her prosthetic.
"Holy fudging sugar, Gaara, what happened to your voice?" Fumiko asked in bewilderment. "It's all deep and weird now. I thought you were a murderer!"
"Why would someone murder you?" Now that he was paying attention, he realized that for the first time in a while, his voice wasn't cracking. It was gravelly and low, which was strange, because it hadn't been like that the night before.
"I dunno," she said defensively. "But when a random deep voice wakes you up by saying, 'you're mother's not home, so get up' murderer is the first thing that comes to mind."
He tossed her the prosthetic, which she slipped on.
"Nobody would murder you," he said, smirking, and helped her to heave herself out of bed. She was definitely wide awake now. "They're all too scared of me."
"Sugar. Somebody needs to have his head deflated." she muttered teasingly, but she was smiling. Then she frowned down at her nightclothes- a blue nightgown with speckled with cupcakes and pastries. Then she shrugged.
"Am I late?"
Gaara checked the clock. "Almost."
"Screw it. I'll say it's a dress." she decided.
"What about your hair?"
"Screw that, too." she snatched a too-big baseball cap with Suna's symbol on it, that flopped over her eyes, off her dresser. "I'll wear a hat."
Gaara just shook his head and opened the door. Her limp was barely noticeable as she tromped out to the kitchen for a sweet roll.
...
Walking her to school was always stressful- for Gaara. People stared, people always stared. At Gaara, for being a jinchuriki, at Fumiko, for hanging out with a jinchuriki (and such a creepy one at that, Gaara often heard) and at Gaara again, wondering if he forced her to be his friend- after all, he'd gotten her foot blown off. Who'd want to hang out with someone like that?
Fumiko didn't mind the whispers, even when she heard them.
"Stop it, Gaara," she would say if she caught him listening. "They're too bitter for us. They need more sugar, ne?"
She was perfectly content to be friends with only Gaara and Yoshiki, even preferred it. She was generally cheerful to people, and didn't mind picking herself up after being shoved over- when Gaara was absent, of course. Fumiko had no other friends.
So, every morning, Gaara went to her house to make sure she was awake, walked her to school, and coolly glowered at every bully known to him- though he was sure there were more she didn't tell him about. Then, he left.
He lingered for a minute, as she stepped through the gates to the courtyard. When he saw the group of boys snickering and heading towards her as she sat on a bench and munched on her roll, there was a freaky accident in which they all simultaneously tripped.
Satisfied, he went to his own school, and startled his sensei with his new voice.
...12
"Ha! Ha! Ha!"
Fumiko slammed her fists into the tree with more force than Gaara thought she'd be capable of using. He shifted her arm slightly to the left, and tapped her leg so that she adjusted it. When she punched the tree again, chips flew. Fumiko stood straight.
She'd prodded him to teach her 'ninja stuff.' When he asked her why, she only replied, "I might think that you shouldn't fight unless it's absolutely necessary, but I don't want it to be absolutely necessary and then not know how to fight."
This seemed fairly logical, so every Sunday they went out to Gaara's own training spot and got to work. For the past month it had just been physical- punching, kicking, dodging, and flipping. While they were at it, she'd also worked on her speed and stamina. Wiry muscles were starting to show.
Today, though, they were going to start working on nijutsu. Gaara didn't think that was necessary, because he knew that if she was near him- which she usually was- there would never be a need to even know how to fight- but she insisted, and Gaara gave in.
"Okay," he said, some time later. "There are a lot of signs, and a lot of different combinations. So if you can memorize the signs, it becomes easier to remember the patterns. There's Horse, Tiger, Boar, Rooster, Dog, Dragon, Hare, Monkey, Ox, Ram, Rat, and Serpent." he said, demonstrating each one.
"Well that's kinda random."
"They focus your chakra," he said.
"Got it. Lemme try one."
"Um- okay," he said. "A basic Genin technique is the Clone Technique. You use the hand signs Tiger, Boar, Ox, and Dog, in that specific order."
To Gaara's surprise, right after he had finished speaking, Fumiko's hands moved. They were a little sluggish, but she shouldn't even have remembered the seals that quickly. Her fingers snapped together slowly, forming Tiger, then Boar, Ox, and Dog.
Nothing happened.
"Ehhhh, Gaara, it's not working."
Gaara blinked. "Can you feel your chakra?"
"Sort of. Like... like this warm feeling, yeah?"
"Yes." he shook his head. "You must have just performed the seals wrong. Here-" he preformed the Clone jutsu slowly, and right afterwards an identical version on him slipped into existence. Fumiko laughed and poked it's forhead. Her finger went right through it. "Now try again."
"Okay," she said and made the signs, quicker than before. Not sure what to expect, Gaara leaned forward slightly.
As the final seal, Dog, was made, there was a flash of light from her hands. Fumiko screamed and the air around them- above them, next to them, even under them- full and half-finished clones popped into existence. Too many of them for just that level of justu and seal speed- Gaara stepped back in shock. Fumiko just kept yelling and for a second, there was just that and the sound of appearing Clones.
Then the light increased, and all of the clones vanished with a loud popping sound, like spitting oil on a hot frying pan. Then Fumiko was blown back with a cry. The explosion probably would have thrown Gaara back, too, but the sand shifted to be in front of him. When the light died and the sand collapsed, Gaara yelled, "Fumiko!"
"Ngh," she said, and sat up from where she'd been blown onto her back. Her hands smoked slightly, but didn't look burned or injured. "I- tired."
She fell back down, fast asleep.
...
"This is unusual," the medic-nin said. She poked and prodded a few spots on Fumiko's arms, leg, and stomach. She stifled a giggle, swinging her prosthetic so that it banged against the hospital bed's frame. Gaara just watched on with worry and a little bit of interest. When a medic-nin pulled that kind of face and called something 'unusual' it was usually not a good sign.
"What is?" Fumiko said. "My jutsu blew up."
"Yes, well, that's because you have no control over your chakra flow," she said. Gaara narrowed his eyes.
"But there's always control," he said. "The hand seals provide control."
"No," she said. "The hand seals just focus the energy. But, usually, there are involuntary responses in the body and brain to regulate the amount of chakra used. These involuntary responses are as natural as breathing, however Fumiko... has none of these."
"Ah," Fumiko said, and paused. "So what does that mean?"
"It means that you can't control how much chakra you use, or even if you use it," she explained. "If you use a jutsu, there's a fifty-fifty chance of it even working at all. The fifty percent it doesn't, no chakra is used, and nothing happens. The fifty percent that it does work, there is no control or chakra management, and it all flows into the jutsu."
"So, all or nothing?" Fumiko said.
"Exactly."
"Wait," Gaara said. "So whenever she uses a jutsu and it works, Fumiko uses all of her chakra?"
"Yes."
"But... that's dangerous!"
"It is. So what I suggest is either not using ninjutsu, or learning jutsus that require an extreme amount of chakra. That way, if it works, it will work as it should. But only use these as a last defense."
"But-" Fumiko protested. "What can I use?"
"My advice?" the nin said. "Ask a seasoned ninja. I only know the basics of any kind of jutsu unless it's medical related."
...
"What- Fumiko?" Temari said in a surprised tone when she opened her bedroom door to see who was knocking on it like a tennis ball launcher on speed. She blinked uncertainly at them. Gaara had almost never spoken to his sister, and Fumiko had only managed conversation once.
"Hello," Fumiko said. "You know about jutsus, right?"
...
"Well..." Temari said after they explained the situation. "What about Genjutsu?"