"Onna" means "woman" and "otoko" means "man," and yes, I totally stole it from Bulma and Vegeta, and what's not stolen from them, is, of course, stolen from Yu Yu Hakusho, because Yu Yu Hakusho roxs my soxs.
Queen of cliffhangers? I have no idea what you're talking about...? O.o... O.o
The Benefits of Amnesia
Chapter 10
Hinata awoke with a start.
Her body felt cool and sweaty. Her mouth tasted like...coffee. Stale coffee.
Absently, she licked her lips.
...no milk or sugar.
Reluctantly, she opened her eyes. She was sprawled on her bed, and couldn't recall how she'd gotten there. She glanced out the window. The sky was dark. Was it morning or night?
The Hyuuga climbed out of the bed and ambled toward the bureau. She grasped for the light switch, and a dull white illuminated the room.
Again, her eyes shifted to the window, and she blinked the sleep from her them, examining the sky. No sign of sunrise. It was still night time.
But when had night fallen? How had she even gotten to her room? She glanced down at herself to notice she was still dressed in the kimono.
And she instantly remembered.
Swallowing, she reached behind her and untied the obi encircling her waist. She allowed it to fall to the ground as she slipped her shoulders out of the kimono. The rest of the garment followed the obi, piece by piece, until she was left in her underwear. Hinata stepped out of the small pile of clothes and searched the dresser for something else to wear. She found a drawer full of nightgowns and hastily pulled one on.
Knee length. White. Silky. The sort of thing any girl who was girly might have worn to bed.
She glanced habitually at the purple flower set on the bureau. It was beginning to bother her. After several days perched alone in that vase, and without water, it hadn't withered at all. It hadn't curled, or darkened, or developed any signs of aging. It looked as radiant as it had when Gaara had presented it to her, as though it had been plucked from its soil mere moments prior.
She took to peering at the flower. It had come to taunt her, staring, overlooking, as though it had very well been Gaara's evil intent. She'd notice the flower then think of him.
She reached down and took it carefully between her fingers. The petals were large and bright. She was reminded of Konoha's lush brilliance – and of Gaara – how his hair and eyes contrasted with everything in his environment. Of Naruto's vivacity, expressed in as little as his presence and as much as his voice. And Sasuke's-
...Sasuke's...
The flower reminded her of Sasuke's withdrawn beauty. He was something striking and singular, and he couldn't have cared less.
Hinata looked down. She was recovering some of her memory, and ironically enough, she wasn't especially happy about it.
She turned her attention back to the flower, latching to a diversion out of cruel habit. She raised it to her face, deeply breathing.
Mostly, it reminded her of Gaara.
Vaguely, she recalled those childhood fairytales of princesses and beasts. If she plucked the petals, would Gaara randomly combust? Her lip twitched as she teased the concept. It did seem to have supernatural, if not synthetic, properties. She touched the flower to her nose. Sniffed it, then viciously sneezed. One of the petals drifted innocently to the ground.
Hinata paled. She didn't want to take any chances. Maybe she was as gullible as Suna was freakish, but if Gaara did randomly combust, she would surely be at fault.
Tucking the flower behind her ear, Hinata glanced at the door. She felt incredibly restless, and saw no hopes of sleep in her near future. Maybe a walk was in order. A bit of fresh air to clear her mind. Maybe it would give her the nerve to confront her developing backstory.
She opened the door and slid into the hall, not bothering to change her clothes again. It was late, and she didn't expect she would bump into anyone. It was surprisingly cool, and Hinata gratefully inhaled then exhaled. Twice. Three times. She walked barefoot down the corridor, trying her best to ignore the darkness. She wandered about, crossing the dining room, and was surprised to find the lights were on in the kitchen. She entered the room, blinking against the brightness. When her eyes refocused, she spotted Kabuto seated at the table stirring a cup of tea. Of all the things she had hoped for or expected...he was the last.
"Y-you l-live here?" she stammered, alarmed.
Kabuto looked up, replacing his spectacles. He paused to identify her, and mentioned, "Well yes. Where did you think I lived?"
Hinata opened and closed her mouth. "I – I never see you in the mornings," she managed, embarrassed.
"I'm not really a breakfast person," Kabuto responded. "Take a seat."
She weakly nodded, her legs carrying her to the table. She took the seat across from Kabuto. If this bothered him, he didn't disclose it, but poured her a cup of tea.
"Tell me," Hinata said weakly.
The medic looked up. "What?"
"Tell me something."
"About...?" he seemed confused, but it was artificial.
"Sasuke," she stated before she could stop herself.
A hint of amusement touched his lips. He delighted in her ignorance just like everyone else. "I forgot you could be this vulnerable," he reflected. "It's really quite adorable."
She felt heat rise to her face.
"But I honestly don't know that much about you and Sasuke. I try to keep to myself. All I can really say is that Sasuke..." he thoughtfully paused, taking a sip of tea. "...is a very important part of your history."
Hinata unconsciously recoiled. He was being intentionally vague.
Kabuto nudged her cup forward. "Drink."
She complied, despite herself. She had previously found comfort alone with someone as stable as Kabuto, but she was quickly learning this stability was fallacious. The tea was practically a prop. Her poise shrunk and shrunk as she watched him stare. Her eyes darted to the tabletop in her discomfiture.
"Are you all right?" Kabuto questioned.
"N...no..."
"You look pale," he mused.
"A-ano..."
"Have you been tired as of late?"
"Isn't this how old people feel?"
Smiling slightly, Kabuto reached across the table and took her chin. Her eyes snapped up to lock with his.
"Twenty-five is old?"
She opened her mouth but couldn't respond.
"You really do need a full check up," Kabuto muttered, finally releasing her. "Stop by my office next time you're free."
She speechlessly watched him gather his props and head for the door. Her gaze again returned to the table. No one seemed to miss her, or the person she had been. She had no friends or family awaiting her recovery, no one supporting her along the way. She was virtually alone – and in Suna. Had she always been such a recluse?
She looked back up at Kabuto's turned back. "Don't go," she said, her voice a whisper.
The kitchen door opened, and Kabuto paused there. Whether or not he had heard her, he continued quietly through it. Hinata stared blankly as the door snapped closed in his wake. Pushing her tea aside and numbly standing, she trudged over to the counter and opened the coffee maker. She stuck in a disposable filter and poured some ground coffee beans over it, before plugging the device in and watching as the tar-colored beverage was brewed. After five minutes, the machine stopped, and Hinata filled a mug. She sniffed it, wrinkled her nose, and lastly took a sip.
"Eugh."
It was both disgusting and appealing. Calming and provoking.
She lowered the mug and turned away from it, instead reaching behind her ear for the purple flower.
She was tired of Gaara, and his invisible hold on her. She wouldn't humor any more of his mind games. He could take back his stupid flower. She was in no position to take responsibility for whatever it meant.
She stomped off, feeling irrationally angry all the sudden. With a determination that might have struck her as unfamiliar, she exited the kitchen then the dining room into the common room. She walked into that slim stairwell-
And quickly recalled how very late it was. She continued on thought the darkness regardless, feeling hurt, confused, betrayed, abused – but she didn't know why. Any which way, she would confront Gaara, and make him listen – just that once!
As she exited the stairs on one of the highest floors, she clutched the flower to her chest, its stem wrapped in both her hands, like it might have been a fading flashlight or just Gaara's lifeline.
She tried to ignore the trembling shadows that followed, the towers occasional stirs, and it's muted grumbles of sound. The place had over a dozen floors. It would have been more frightening to be confronted with silence.
Walking more quickly in her paranoia, she found Gaara's office and slipped inside.
It was just as dark in there as it was outside, but somehow she felt considerably safer.
Hinata slowly looked up. Gaara was not seated behind his desk as she had expected. In fact, he was nowhere in sight. She cringed.
...Because it was the middle of the night, and the only reason a Kage would be up at such an hour was for missions, attacks, or the occasional pool party.
And Gaara maybe, possibly, didn't live in his office. He was probably back on the third floor with everyone else.
Hinata trailed forward, weak-kneed, and mortified. She crept under Gaara's desk if just to hide her shame from the surrounding furniture. Drawing her knees up and wrapping her arms around them, she tried her best to breathe through her anxiety.
She suddenly thought of the herbs. The ones Gaara had said helped with her panic attacks. She climbed to her feet and opened the top right drawer of the desk where she'd seen Gaara initially retrieve them. To her relief, she immediately spotted the jar. Opening it, she brought it to her face, and inhaled. The Hyuuga sunk into Gaara's chair as she did it again and again.
She felt her breathing deepen, and her lungs expand. Her face still buried in the jar, she looked tiredly passed it, down at the open desk drawer and at the numerous diapers stuffed in it. Her lip twitching slightly, Hinata lowered the jar and idly reached into the drawer.
Sayaka probably made an adorable niece.
Beneath the diapers, she found a pile of important-looking papers, and a thick coating of sand. Taken by curiosity, she continued on to the middle drawer, which was filled with more tedious paperwork. Among this, there were hasty mission reports, correspondence letters from other villages, and a healthy number of death threats. Hinata examined a few of the papers, having no difficulty reading them through the darkness. She found one from Kankuro, curt, vague, and even a little impudent. Then one signed Matsuri, that was long, tidy, and meticulous. She came across one in a handwriting that was strangely familiar, and spotted her own name. Her eyes widened. Glancing around, she quietly folded the paper and tucked it into her nightie. She then filtered through a dozen more, finding two others that had been signed by her.
In the remaining drawers, Hinata found several stale cookies, a rumpled white hat, a glass slipper, spiders, and a moldy teddy bear. It was as though Gaara didn't know what to do with his space.
Lastly, she withdrew a strip of worn cloth with a patch of metal bolted to it.
Hinata brought it to her face, curiously examining the navy material.
She stared, transfixed with the emblem.
It was...hers.
She awoke hours later to the sound of the door opening, but was too tired to register it as anything more than background noise. There was a pause, followed by a grunted, "Onna."
"Otoko," she groggily returned. It was habit.
The room filled with light and Hinata unconsciously winced. Lifting her head, she blinked around at the surrounding blurs. She detached a piece of paper from her face and rubbed her eyes until the room came into focus. "G-Gaara?" Hinata belatedly gathered her surroundings. She was still in his office... In his office, on his chair, behind his desk, with all its contests piled on top of it. She blanched.
But the Kage didn't seem especially offended. He simply took a seat on the couch and narrowed his eyes.
"A-an a-a-accident!"
"Un..."
Why was he being so aloof? Did he not care that she'd ravaged his personal belongings? Maybe he was just deliberating between his three menacing attacks. They were all the same, really. Hinata glanced at the window, preparing to dodge a blob of sand.
...It was still dark outside.
"W-what t-time is it?"
"Four AM."
She stared.
"I have paperwork to do," Gaara muttered. "Assuming you haven't destroyed it with your saliva."
Her cheeks burning, Hinata looked down. She noticed a number of purple petals stuck to her hand, and her eyes darted about for the rest of the flower. She eventually located the naked stem, crushed beneath her elbow. She panicked, clutching it. "Gaara, no!"
She turned to the man in question, who seemed slightly caught off by her outburst. She waited a few moments, but nothing happened. "You're okay..." she breathed.
Eying her, Gaara stood and approached the desk. He kneeled down and reached into the pot she had barely noticed at its base, plucking out a flower identical to the last. He offered it to her, and she shyly accepted it, somehow forgetting her previous motive.
"My...favorite?" she managed.
"Aa," Gaara agreed, continuing to stare oddly at her. "You need rest." He reached out, impassively offering his hand, like any other time before. Hinata slowly took it.
And gasped as she was immediately dragged out of the office, through the private staircase, and to the third floor. Gaara hauled her as far as the sleeping quarters before finally releasing her.
Hinata dizzily turned to face him, catching his sleeve as he tried to walk off. He was again not looking at her, crimson hair hanging over his light eyes. She stood there, helpless. He seemed to hate her more with each of their encounters. "G-Gaara-?"
And then he did the last thing she'd expected. He sighed, and turned to face her, watching her with the vaguest hint of obstinacy. Holding her shoulders, he leaned down and pressed his lips to her cheek.
...and at that moment, she knew, without a doubt...
"-Goodnight," Gaara muttered, withdrawing before she could react.
She opened her mouth to return the regard, but could only produce an extraterrestrial squeaking noise.
Gaara swept off, and she could do little more than watch him leave, her blush building.
She didn't know why she cared, why she was so – affected.
She walked off and passed her room twice in her effort to find it, all while trying her best not to walk into any walls. She kept touching her cheek, where it burned, where Gaara's lips had pressed it, gently, lightly, but – she had never been kissed.
Hinata stumbled when she, alas, nearly did walk into a wall, then uneasily noticed it wasn't a wall.
But it stood in her way, like a wall, the perfect obstacle she'd been feebly avoiding. Her gaze moved slowly up its form, his slim, muscled frame, his crossed arms, and his messy hair. Light eyes met dark ones, and she suddenly remembered. "...Sasuke."