I know it's been forever and a day. I'll apologize, but between college, life in general and writer's block, even this chapter alone was a bit of a stretch. That's my generic excuse, and I'm sticking to it. Hopefully, I can get back into a steady routine of updating this. I'm thinking of putting Peace Weaver on hiatus all together for the time being. At least until I can get back into the routine of updating one story.
For the next few chapters as Naruto is introduced and the relationship between the characters strengthens, the story will be fairly identical as the anime, and the dialogue will coincide accordingly. This is where you should know that I know that you know that I am not Masashi Kishimoto. Kthx.
… That being said, "pop-core" is totally a legitimate music genre. Not to be confused with "popcorn". Just sayin'.
The days leading up to my eighteenth birthday were a celebratory pitfall that I hadn't even been aware that I had become victim of, until disappointment struck. It was the birthday marking the age into adulthood, and up until then, I had assumed that it was a pivotal moment in anyone's life. Looking back, I honestly can't say that I completely understood the logic behind what I was thinking (I won't even go as far as to try and pin the blame on some asinine Hallmark movie this time), but it had me convinced that when I turned eighteen and became a legal adult, I would blossom, in every aspect of my life- physically, emotionally, socially, mentally, even intellectually. I thought that I would wake up, and look like a green-eyed Winona Ryder, with all the social graces of a Victorian bachelorette. Of course, I couldn't have been further from the truth.
Instead of rising fluidly from my bed when my alarm screeched, announcing the time, I flailed, and kicked my lamp from its perch on my nightstand. Almost immediate in his response, as if he'd been poised and ready on the other side of my bedroom door, my father pounded his fist against the wooden barrier between us, commanding that I stop throwing things and get up for school. As I sneered at his sarcasm, I retorted aloud my rebellious displeasure at his comment. Softly, I heard him sigh in dismay as he retreated down the hall.
I paused for a moment, before crossing off my mental checklist.
Social skills—Still functioning at about a negative twenty-six point three percent, as usual.
As if already sensing my disappointment, I attempted to reassure my mind that the view couldn't be that much of a letdown, slowly coaxing my body from my bed. Once liberated from the sheets, I trudged slowly to my vanity mirror.
Shoulder length brown hair that was neither straight nor curly, but instead a defiant mess somewhere in between the two, reflected back at me. Winona, naturally, was nowhere to be found. I glared at the face that dismayed me so, before turning from it in shame and remorse.
From then on, my frustration only increased as the day progressed. Students and adult figures in my life that had only vaguely recognized me before were supposed to suddenly welcome me with open arms into their cliques and societal coteries, and when that didn't happen, the word 'frustration' was a huge understatement to me.
Upon inquiry, it seemed that even my father was too preoccupied with his medical journals to remember that his only child was now an adult, in the legal sense of the word. He certainly recalled seeing the dent in the bumper of my car, though, as it tattled stories of how I'd struck a light post that morning.
The following year, he congratulated me on a happy seventeenth birthday, his hollow wishes accompanied by a lonely balloon proclaiming the number in question. His plastic smile mocked me in all of my irritation, and though it appeared his blessing was genuine, so was my fury. The moment he held the ribbon of the balloon out to me, a frayed wire finally snapped somewhere in my mind.
Furious, I hurled a pencil at the levitating mass, hoping for it to strike graphite-first and pop the object that ridiculed me. Instead, it rebounded off of its side before dropping to the floor with a pathetic clink. The only purpose my act of violence seemed to serve was arousing the initial shock, and eventual anger in his disposition. In a flurry of reckless abandon, I blurted out how idiotic he was for honestly believing that I was a mere seventeen, when he'd already attended my graduation the year before.
He seemed to be convinced that stress had impaired my judgment, and that I truly was turning seventeen.
I thought he was the most self-righteous ass in the history of the world.
Stroking my thumb delicately across the surface of my phone as I impatiently awaited Kakashi's reply, I couldn't help but wonder how much worse Gaara's interactions with his father were. My father and I weren't exactly BFFs (we hardly scraped through a day without being at each other's throat), but I still turned out alright. So, just what had happened, that this man's entire attitude towards himself and others was irrevocably destroyed?
"No, not destroyed," I had to reprimand myself. "He isn't beyond repair."
In my mind's eye, I was on my stomach, lying across the table of the psychiatric ward.
The first day I'd met him.
His hand, tangled instantly within my messy crop of hair. Dragging me across the table. His tongue against my cheek.
The intimidating sneer on his lips as the guards relocated him to his room.
Any normal person would have come to the conclusion that this guy was psychotic. In my mind, however, long before we'd formally (and I use that word lightly—very lightly) met, two words glared out at me, resonating in my mind with the actions that had driven my interactions with him up until this point.
Challenge accepted.
And a challenge it was. I found myself wanting more than anything to see Gaara off to normality. He was slowly creeping up on being the patient I'd ever attended to the longest, and I was no better off with him than the first day I began this journey. In fact, to be quite honest, I had backslidden.
None of his family members seemed to find it necessary to inform me of what I was dealing with in regards to his present and past relationships or circumstances. I could only take a shot in the dark about his childhood, and only observe his immediate present by the actions and words that transpired as I was with him. His siblings informed me that trying to help Gaara was a lost cause, and even my boss, who had always placed the utmost trust in me and my abilities, had voiced his doubts concerning Gaara. Not to mention the fact that I'd lost him once to Tsunade, and it was only by the Prime Minister's saving grace (or, more honestly, his asinine need to satisfy his son's barbaric desires) that I regained the privilege to doctor him once more.
Reminiscences of my recent failures must've been just as depressing to my body as it was to my mind, because my head began to scorn me. That was my punishment for bringing it back to my own attention, no doubt. I closed my eyes, reclining my head against my sofa, and listened to my blood throb in my head.
A few seconds into my rest, and I was suddenly painfully aware of the sneaky bastard that Gaara was. Instinctively, my eyes sprang open, sheer adrenaline pumping through my veins as I expected him to be nowhere in sight. Or strapping C4 to my couch.
Instead, he sat exactly where I last saw him. If I didn't know any better, I'd have thought he appeared almost… peaceful. Unfortunately, however, I did know better.
"What're you thinking about over there, sunshine?" I heard myself blurting before I could rethink the question.
I expected a glare, or hateful retort. He had become extremely predictable in that respect. As I anticipated, I received both.
"Don't call me that. I hate it."
Despite my better judgment, I allowed an antagonistic grin to spread across my face.
"Good to know, sunshine."
He scowled, and his lips parted, his jack slack, as if about to say something more.
Finally, my phone rang.
I snatched the device up from my lap quickly, flipping the cover open and pressing it to my ear. Any response Gaara had died instantly on his tongue.
"'Bout damn time! What did you do, catch a flick with him in Canada?"
"Hardly."
"Well, quit stalling! What's the verdict, Kakashi?"
"You're meeting him at Ichiraku's. Naruto says it's the only place in downtown Tokyo that he knows the directions to. Know where that is?"
Ichiraku's.
Some hole in the wall in between two other small businesses no one else had ever heard of.
It used to be somewhat of a hotspot when I was in junior high, but nearing the end of my high school career, only a few stragglers remained loyal to the cause of the tiny family-owned ramen shop. I mean, heck, even I couldn't remember the store until Kakashi mentioned the address, and realized that I'd actually grown up down the street from the place.
Not only did this Naruto know of it, it was also the very first place that came to mind when prompted where to meet, meaning he was more than likely one of said devout Ichiraku customers. Which was strange, since he lived in Yokohama.
Gaara and I were instructed to meet Naruto at this restaurant immediately.
But as with all things that seemed too good to be true, there was, of course, a vital catch.
It was true that Yokohama was twenty-six minutes away - not taking into account traffic, of course—but Sunshine and I had to pick up his bestest friend ever.
He made a move to jump into the back seat. I made a buzzing sound as he reached for the handle, causing him to falter out of instinct. His gaze rose to glare at me for my antics.
"Front and center," I corrected him.
Gaara merely continued to glower. He opened the backseat door, standing in the space between the vehicle and the door as if simply to spite me. I bit down on the inside of my cheek at his blatant defiance.
"Ass."
My brash insult was answered with a warped grin.
I resigned myself to allowing him to sit where ever he pleased, sliding into the car behind the wheel. Except for in my seat, of course. With all the DUI's he had collected since his angst-filled teenage years, I surely wasn't going to let him drive my car.
He decided that he liked the view of the back of my head, and sat directly behind me. Accordingly, I adjusted my rearview mirror to target his oh-so smiling face square in the center. Call me crazy, but somehow I was just far more wary of him than the rest of the traffic I'd soon be encountering. Maybe that was why Kakashi had initially been so adamant against me driving with Gaara.
Or maybe it was just that the dude was freaking creepy.
"Click it or ticket, jerkoff."
Despite my derogatory remark, I watched him bring the belt strap across chest as he listened and obeyed. I was pleasantly surprised, to say the least.
"Thank you."
"Shut up."
I nodded, deciding to grant him his one request. The moment I started my engine, I punched the volume button with the knuckle of my index finger, and my vehicle was flooded with music. Backing out of my driveway, I decided to allow the radio to scan the various stations and at least give it a chance to air something worthy of my ears before I yielded to my tried-and-true CDs.
If he was curious as to where I was taking him, he didn't voice it.
All the while, I made sure to keep a close eye on my precious cargo. He sat with his elbow against the window for much of the ride, his palm cradling his chin.
I carefully made a mental note to check for his other hand. I almost expected it to be tying a noose—but no. The other hand lay in his lap, palm up, empty.
It wasn't five minutes into our drive when I noticed Sunshine finally react. His motion was subtle, but not subtle enough to escape the careful watch of my trained eye. The station changed again for the umpteenth time, and the moment he heard the song, I watched as his lips twitched in disgust. I inclined my head needlessly, as if would help me identify the song. I made the connection almost the second I heard his wailing voice trying to do an 80's power ballad scream that he always failed at.
Bon Jovi.
I wasn't a fan of Bon Jovi—at all. In fact, under normal circumstances, I would have changed the station immediately. But if this artist was enough to make Gaara cringe, I would gladly take a hit for the record books.
I didn't know if his apparent distaste could be contributed to passing thoughts or to a vendetta against the pop-core girlie artist. Neither did I care.
My body reacted almost before my mind fully accepted the consequences of my actions, and my hand slammed against the dial, halting the scanning process.
I smiled deviously to myself, peering back into the mirror to see if I had managed to elicit a reaction out of my companion.
If I had, he was smart enough not to give me the satisfaction of knowing. He merely continued to scowl out the window, almost as if trying to set fire to the scenery.
I let Bon Jovi play, if nothing else but for good measure.
I pulled into the driveway of the residency belonging to the third member of our humble three musketeers' gang.
I was surprised to see how close to me Bushy brows lived when Kakashi relayed the directions. He promised me to inform the officer of our arrival, though I was skeptical that the man would be prepared to leave in fifteen minutes time considering the lack of notice. It was possible that he was not even home at all. However, the moment I caught sight of his house up the drive, I also caught sight of Lee, who was presently in a full-blown sprint towards my car.
Out of instinct, my fingers twitched, itching to lock the doors.
I refrained, and instead diverted my attention to analyzing Gaara's reaction to seeing his favoritest friend.
He sniffed, and cracked his knuckles with his chin. Other than that, he refused to gratify Lee with even a fleeting glance of acknowledgement.
Lee pulled open the back passenger door to accompany Gaara, to my relief. I didn't want to be glancing over my shoulder for the next twenty minutes.
"Hello to the both of you! It has been quite some time since I last saw you, Miyune! Life has treated you well, I trust?"
"Yeah. I'm good, I mean. Thanks."
"Good to hear!"
"Yeah."
He was as full of, ah… youth as ever, I guess. Backing out of the driveway, Lee immediately began prattling away how much he was looking forward to seeing Naruto again. Apparently, the two had attended the same high school, and Lee had graduated a year before Naruto. I turned up the volume of the radio, hoping that would relay my disinterest in conversation. Instead, I watched as his eyes lit up, unoffended by my gesture, as if some important revelation had suddenly dawned on him.
"What?" I inquired over the music.
"Is this..?"
He pointed to the ceiling, cocking his head to the side, as if it might help him to hear better.
The music.
I concentrated on the song now playing, wondering what is was to have caught Lee's attention. A few notes of the intro, and my chest bubbled with laughter. When Bushy brows started belching out the lyrics in the back seat, high-pitched and off-key, I yielded.
How stereotypical, I mused to myself, contemplating the irony between the song and the person that Lee was. When the chorus started in, so did I.
"It's the eye of the tiger; it's the thrill of the fight! Risin' up to the challenge of our rival!"
I cast a glance back at Gaara to check if he was clawing his eyes out yet. To see him merely plugging his ears would have given me such gratuitous satisfaction. Unfortunately, he continued to glare out the window.
With the end of the song came the end of conversation, though that didn't mean Lee certainly didn't try otherwise. I quickly changed the dial the moment I heard the first chiming notes to Journey's "Don't Stop Believing".
"I wonder how Naruto's doing; it's been years since I saw him last!"
His musings were met with dead silence. I found a station blaring a song I recognized, though as to where I knew it from…
"It's on the tip of my tongue…"
"I hear he started his own restaurant business! Is that true?"
"Pirates of the Caribbean," I murmured thoughtfully, nodding to myself as I identified the tune. I had the soundtrack back home.
Lee was completely unoffended at my blatant disregard for his inquiry. Unfortunately. Because he kept talking. I rolled my eyes, unimpressed by his diligence in attempting to create conversation in an environment that was obviously so hostile.
"It is odd that he would start a restaurant chain. He always wanted to do something with more impact. He loved the attention of being in the spotlight. I wonder if he really likes what he does now?"
The officer was asking several questions he knew no one present in the car could answer. I felt compelled to offer him this revelation, but instead opted to go digging.
"More impact?" I questioned over the music.
It'd be much easier to have just turned the volume down. But of course, that was far too simple. I grinned at my asinine, ridiculous logic.
"Yes," Lee replied enthusiastically.
He leaned forward, poking his head between the two front seats. I scowled at his proximity, having seen his massive eyebrows slowly emerge from the depths of the back seats.
"He wanted to hold a position of authority, like a politician. Or maybe a rock star."
I snorted, laughter bubbling in the back of my throat, wondering what twisted idea Lee had of "authority figures" if rock star ranked in the top two careers that came to his mind.
"My boss wants my patient to talk to a rock star wannabe gone Rachel Ray. This… there are no words for this."
"Naruto is a man of great character, and very much worthy of your respect," Lee persisted vehemently, his voice scaling in volume. "Please do not insinuate otherwise!"
My eyes flickered instinctively towards to officer, astonished. It was the first time I'd seen him lash out in anger. He sank back into his seat, and the remainder of the car ride passed in awkward silence. Well, silence on Lee's part, anyway. Attempting to touch my stereo was a fight neither man in my car would win.
"What is it about this kid that has everyone so captivated by him?"
He commanded my boss' total respect. And he had Lee's as well, I realized, even though the man admitted that he had not seen nor heard from Naruto in years.
Fortunately for me, I didn't have to endure the insult-induced silence for long. My phone rang, and I quickly fished into my pocket for it. Upon seeing the name listed under the caller ID, I stuck my tongue out at the device, childishly spitting out a raspberry. I wiped the spit from my phone with my thumb and answered.
"Haven't you harassed me enough for one day? Like I'm not already venturing into the city on your retarded excursion with a total stranger that could be a total whack-job and you're making me bring Sunshine and Bushy brows out in public, together, no less, mind you—"
"Where are you?"
"Where am—the hell kind of question is that, Kakashi?" I bit my lip, thinking of the most ridiculous mode of transportation I could conceive.
"Okay, fine. You got me. We're currently flying over the cityscape via hot-air balloon. No, wait—backpacking through Canada on a Light Cycle. Better yet, we left Kansas early this morning by clicking our matching ruby slippers—"
"Miyune."
My boss sighed into the receiver, clearly exasperated. The thought of him sitting at his desk, pinching the bridge of his nose and regretting the day he decided to hire me made me feel all… warm and fuzzy inside.
"Hey, you should've known better. Where do you think I am? I'm in my car, toting around the newest additions to our circus."
"Naruto's already there, Miyu. He called me to ask where you were."
My incessant badgering stopped dead in its tracks, caught in my throat. My gaze flickered to the clock on the stereo. Including the time it had taken me to pick up Lee, we'd been on the road twenty minutes.
"Oh, that's just peachy," I bit out sarcastically, rolling my eyes. "Y'know, that was the fastest hour I think I've ever had the displeasure of living."
"No one ever said Naruto would take an hour to reach the restaurant," Kakashi replied coolly.
"That wasn't even half an hour. Yokohama isn't exactly a hop, skip and a jump away from Tokyo. There's some degree of commute involved, which he obviously didn't partake in since he apparently encountered virtually no traffic, which I find very hard to believe in the middle of freaking Tokyo, and I'm fairly sure driving on sidewalks is illegal."
I paused to inhale sharply after my short rant, catching my breath.
"I'm fairly sure he didn't drive on the sidewalk," My boss responded dryly.
"I'm sure somebody has to be."
"Regardless, you need to get there ASAP, Miyu."
"Hold the phone! It is I who had to haul not just my own ass out of my house, but Gaara and Lee's as well! We're driving to meet him because of his incompetence, and now suddenly we're the ones that are inconveniencing him?"
I bristled at the suggestion my boss was relaying, becoming increasingly doubtfully that I would be able to play civilized with Kakashi's pal.
"That isn't the point."
I glared at the road sign as I turned sharply onto the exit ramp, skyscrapers and city billboards plastered on the sides of buildings arching over the hill ahead.
"No, it isn't. Especially since I'll be there in a second anyway."
"Behave yourself," My boss warned me quickly, rushing his statement as if he sensed I was about to end the call.
Which he was right. With a grimace and no word of promise, I shut my phone, slipping it back into my pocket.
The road I hadn't travelled in what seemed like an eternity suddenly crested a wave of solemn sadness over me. I realized that in another block, I could've seen my family home. Where I'd grown up. Where I hadn't been since I moved out and went to college. Where my father still lived, and the reason I was no longer welcome there.
In my daze, I nearly missed the entrance into the restaurant parking lot. I gasped, slamming on my brakes and jerking the steering wheel sharply to the right as I stepped on the accelerator again. I heard Lee grunt as he was thrown against the car door.
Squealing into the nearest vacant spot (the art of finding one wasn't difficult; there were only four other cars in the lot), I shoved the gear into park and cut the engine.
"Well, that was fun," I murmured to myself, allowing a coy grin to play across my lips.
I stepped out of the car, my company following my lead. Lacing my fingers together, I rested my hands on the hood of my car as I addressed the officer.
"Well, you're the only one of us that knows anything about this Naruto character. If you see him, flag him down for us, will you?"
Lee nodded, the seriousness in his eyes conveying his, "challenge accepted" mentality. As if to mock my request, a voice called out from across the parking lot.
"Bushy br-! I mean, Lee! I didn't know you were coming!"
I turned around, not enjoying the prospect of someone sneaking up on me. Jogging towards us was a young man with bright blue eyes and blond hair that stood up in all varying directions. He was clad in khaki shorts and flip-flops, with various bracelets adorning his wrists ranging from thick checkered ones to smaller, plastic rings like you'd see advocating some cure for a disease, but most notably of all was his flamboyant shirt. It was a bright orange button-up with a collar, but it wasn't the Hawaiian-style of the shirt that made even my backwards fashion senses cringe. Small, blue bowls of what I assumed was ramen decorated his shirt. Chopsticks hovered comically over the bowls, fishing out the noodles inside. He'd certainly come to the restaurant dressed for the part.
"Naruto, I presume," I addressed with a mocking smirk. "Glad to finally meet the elusive man himself."
Naruto blinked rapidly as he reached his destination, stopping several feet in front of us, his smile fading as he registered my presence. Our eyes locked, and confusion dawned on his features, as if I'd just called him out in another language.
"Who, me?" He pointed a finger to his chest. "Elusive?"
"No, you're right. You're hardly elusive with that ridiculous shirt."
