A/N: Only a few more chapters of this story left to go. As an experiment, this was a learning experience I needed for future work of these characters. As a story, it's lackluster. Even I know that. Still, I know that once this is completed, I will be much more confidant in working with their interaction in the future. It's because of this fiction that I was able to start refining my views of them as a couple.

The fruits of this labor are best displayed in the new story I just posted called "Hindsight 20/20". I think you'll find that the way Gaara and Hinata are portrayed in that story far surpasses the content of this story.

All of that being said, this chapter is particularly short due to the inherent darkness of it. I thought it best for it to stand alone on its own merits. Lots of blood and heavy topics in the chapter too, sorry for those of you who are squeamish.

Chapter 10
(The Chill: Part 1)

He was a fool.

Nothing more, nothing less, than an absolute fool.

She couldn't tell him that. She wished she had the same blind rage as Sakura and Ino. She wished she could smack him right upside the head. She might have, if that would have helped. Violence was not the answer, forcing Gaara into a corner wasn't either….but…what was? What was the correct thing to do in the face of such a disillusioned man? A man who could call his villagers kin, but could not call his betrothed trustworthy.

What wall was there? Why did he keep it up? What kept him so distant, so far away, and at odds from the truth? Wasn't he lonely? Wasn't he tired...even of just of being tired, of staying up until he collapsed?

She couldn't pull him from the hole he kept digging for himself. He wouldn't let her.

Distantly, she remembered slapping Naruto…if it could really be called a slap.

That was all he needed. That tiny contact validated everything, and Naruto had reached for her hand. He had stood up on his own, his faith in others alive and well. The same way it had always been, the same way it would always be.

Where was Gaara's faith? Where was his dream?

"I told you, I don't go back on my word. Men can be demonic, but that doesn't apply just to you." Hinata told him so quietly that he had to strain himself to hear it. "Rip me into tiny pieces, spread my blood across the floor until you're happy. You don't have to tolerate my existence. If that's too gruesome, you could just beat me, rape me, and call me worthless until I actually believe it."

"Don't even say such filth." Gaara growled. "It's sickening."

"That's what a demon would do." She had no doubt. She had no question that some men lesser than Gaara would resort to that. "If you were really a demon, wouldn't you want that?"

The blood from his hand continued to drip. Each ugly little droplet coloring something. Be it his pants, or his chair, the cloth, or the cheek that had tucked itself into his palm. The salt from her tears burning when it hit his cuts. The red blood and black ink smearing across her face. Even then, she didn't flinch. Not even when the sticky fluid starting running down her cheek, her neck, down to where he couldn't see. It began soaking into her thin shirt. Those dark spots right between her breasts, if he didn't know any better, he'd assume she was injured.

He pulled his hand away, dragging even more blood to drip, this time along her chin, and it splattered into the floor with a loud plop. Others followed, clear droplets of emotion pattering down. He did that, too. He knew it. He was breaking her. Slowly and surely, he was breaking this woman into pieces that couldn't be seen.

He didn't like it. Those tears were unfavorable. Disgusting. Wrong.

Wrong because they were not of joy, or relief, but of pain. So deep that he might as well have cut her to bits. Verbally, perhaps he had. Perhaps he had just crushed her soul, the same way his had been mangled many times. Left to beat, even when he didn't want it to.

"I cause you nothing but pain. I trample your logics, I spit your kindness with vengeful words, and leave you covered in my own stink." What did she want? Mercy? Condolences? "Why do you kneel before me? Why do you let me touch you? You are not Naruto, clinging onto everything so that you never have to go back to starving for warmth or comfort. You owe me nothing. I will not bind you here."

Eyes closed, she stood to look at him. Words would earn her nothing, so she turned and walk out the door, still covered in Gaara's blood. Her whole body was numb as she went back into their rooms, closing the door soundlessly behind her. She looked terrible, the mirror wasn't going to lie. Still, her mind was blank. Seeing the chair she had so often claimed as her own, she curled up, and she cried.

Cried for Gaara, and because of Gaara.

Crying, because there was nothing left she could do.