Demon's Ball

Chapter Fourteen: Forfeit

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Gaara stared out into the pitch black nothingness; it had been only yesterday since they had moved into the apartment assigned to them by the Cloud ninja. His white sash twisted in the howling wind, pitter patters of rain washed over him and his red hair danced in the wind. He breathed out and a white fog followed it. It was winter and Hinata's health was probably teetering between barely fine and quite sick. The doctor had run her through another check up and sternly told him to keep a careful eye on her; the cold weather coupled with her poor condition may suffice in being the end of her. There was nothing more to do save for the waiting. Isn't this so…sweet. You're pretending to play house with the very one who sought to abandon and betray you for her country. Gaara's lip twitched when he heard Shukaku's craggy laughter bounce off the walls of his mind. Why, Gaara! He uttered, sounding aghast and utterly scandalized. Playing house with the poor little girl who's sick and has to depend on you? Trying to force her to depend solely on you? Shocking…or perhaps that's not what you're trying to do at all; maybe that's not your goal at all. The whisper of perversion and the slight subliminal message within the tone of Shukaku's voice brought a shudder to his spine. Maybe… the coil in the loaded spring was wound tighter and creaking from overexertion. You're just too entirely desperate for such a measure as that… the coil tightened and the spring shivered. Perhaps…perhaps…that is not your intention at all; coming here…knowing that the Lightning country would not question the two of you since they do not know. Gaara… the spring snapped from the coils wound too tightly. The girl knows you too well and you know that. She knows what calms you, what irritates you…what makes your bloodlust rise…would it be any surprise that after a while she would guess your intentions and behaviors? You can't keep her by doing that…

Gaara's mind blocked off the raccoon's voice that made his thoughts even more twisted than they were. From where Gaara was standing outside the apartment on the balcony, he could hear a few wheezing coughs that were quickly muffled and then were cut off abruptly. Water trickled down the side of his face like sweat beading and rolling off. His black rimmed eyes glared into the flat they were being forced to share under supervision. The sand tossed a little in his gourd, rolling like a dog's lolling tongue. If you had been in your right state of mind, she would have died long ago. Gaara, this 'game' has to come to an end sooner or later…all things must…

Gaara's black rimmed eyes closed and he listened to the rain, feeling it smack against him and wetting his gourd. Tranquility was not a comfort he was often prone to, often it came with a heavy price and this was one of those times – there was hardly anything to worry about at the moment. However, the internal battle of what to do next in this chess board with all the pieces in motion; tranquility wasn't existent. Unfortunately for his female companion, she was caught in the middle of a political web of mayhem, betrayal, deceit and secrets which would soon boil over like boiling soup in a pot. Even Gaara was caught in it, tangled in chains that would ultimately lead to the downfall of Konohagakure, or even himself or both. Nothing was much ado about either though; Gaara was a weapon, sharpened and honed for such a thing as a suicidal missions or murder and chaos. Konoha was a place full of people who could look at the world through rose colored lenses, others (and they were of few and rare) who weren't horribly off in the world, but saw the world and the place in which they lived in for what it was. Hell's breeding ground for the lost, forgotten and never cared for – a mutated pound of children clawing out one another's eyes for a meal, or an orphanage for tiny wraiths, ghosts, ghouls, demons and little devils.

Hinata saw him for what he was; a demon who was more likely to kill then help, but treated him not as such – treated him like a boy who was the cause and source of all her issues and problems. She didn't look at him with utter fear unless sand was upon her or he looked murderous, she was bold without meaning to be because that was how he made her 'grow up' as her father put it. It wasn't growing up – it was becoming someone or something else or taking shards of yourself that were buried deep within your person and becoming that. It was perhaps the only good thing Gaara had ever done for her.

The redhead's eyes opened, rain still pelting at him with microscopic needles that stung and froze. The gourd was heavier, much heavier but it protected the sand within it perfectly.

He turned and headed back within the dry and sheltered sanctuary of the apartment, catching sight of Hinata's eyes that looked pained. Blood dripped from between her fingers which were curled around her lips. His fingers twitched and he turned away, walking to the kitchen table. Another dry hack was forced from her, the weather that was so dry and cold getting to her lungs and delicate condition. Gaara sat at the table, one hand on it and he heard the noisy splatter of blood against her fingers, dripping to the carpet. Nails turned against the wood and dug in deep. Wrath swept fiery coal ashes over him and Shukaku huffed angrily within his head, scenting something close but out of reach. Idiot boy.

"Shut up," he hissed in the darkness, listening to her cough raggedly was graining on his nerves. Grey green eyes flashed in the pitch black when she seemingly disobeyed him purposely when another bloody hack sounded out in the silence. She gasped, trying to fill her lungs with air but she only teared and Hinata's petite body moved with her as she coughed. A splat of blood landed on the mat and Gaara moved his hand from the table. Sand rose up in thick tendrils like hair tresses and obeyed his command in shutting the balcony doors. The wind stopped and Hinata gasped in another breath, hoarsely whispering a nearly silent thank you to Gaara.

In the dark, his eyes watched her move like a wounded animal, slowly and painfully she crawled and gripped the edge of a low seated wooden table with trembling fingers. Trying to stabilize herself, she reached for the thick paste the doctor had given her. Different from Tsunade's batch and didn't work nearly as well, it was still soothing and calmed her cough down. The cold air made her shiver and she looked to the left of her, a blanket set beside her that she knew hadn't been there earlier. Golden grains of stray sand twinkled on the thick white cloth. Hinata looked up to meet her redheaded companion's rather irate gaze, his eyes narrowed, daring her to speak a word. Hinata shut her lips tightly and small hands wound the blanket around her, goose bumps rising from the sudden change of temperature.

Her knees drew up beneath her chin which rested comfortably on them. The soft cloth made her bones feel tingly and warmer. She let out a shaky sigh and let out a babyish cough, blood spattered against the soft in tiny microscopic specks. Hinata wiped it away with the back of her hand. The silence was common between them, uncomfortable but not so much as awkward as unwillingness to break it.

Gaara closed his eyes, possibly going into a forced sleep and Hinata stared a bit before getting up on wobbly coltish legs to search for a spoon in order to drink the paste with hot water. Silence reigned on the apartment once more, save for the scritch scratching of a pen writing against a scroll, Hinata sat at the low sitting table writing to Tsunade, bent over the document.

The pale eyed girl was quiet about it, knowing better than to ask questions to the redhead, but there were things Tsunade needed to know and Hinata wasn't stupid enough to actually run. Things needed to be taken care of, and this was one of the things. It was best to be kept in the dark, especially this letter to her Hokage. The pen moved quickly over the worn and old looking scroll while a pale eyed girl cast looks over her shoulder at the meditating boy who looked to be none the wiser.

-

Gaara's eyes lazily opened and he turned to where the popping sound was coming from, meditation lasted about half an hour and he smelled food cooking. His eyes snapped to the source of all the ruckus. Hinata stood in front of the stove, a cast iron pan over a fire. He stared and his nostrils flared slightly while he inhaled the scent of the cooking food. It was the scent of sesame oil and vegetables being tossed together, rice noodles moving with them in the walk. Hinata stood over the stove and moved chopsticks, stirring the concoction.

She must have felt eyes burning into her back because she turned around to face Gaara. Pale eyes glinted in the light and it was like looking into a wintry sun – a pale lime and lavender colored disk in a light grey sky. There was a moment where time and space suspended around the two teenagers who knew they were in way over their heads, that there was no backing out, that this would be the death of them in some way or another. It was a juggernaut set into motion long before they had met under the blood red sun that had burned in the background when a blonde boy introduced them. Their emotions swirled beneath the surface, like a whirlpool raging beneath a calm sea – rage, ire, wrath, anger, regret and even a most unexpected guest upon the feelings of which transpired and were entirely mutual. Gaara stared and closed his eyes suddenly, when the raccoon demon hissed curses in his ear. It seemed as though he possessed no eyes in his skull – a blank canvas to be used one day.

If you decide to keep her, boy, we forfeit and I refuse to allow that – I refuse to lose because of such an irritating specter. Anger and desperation colored his words and tone, Gaara knew what was to forfeit because that was the cost of it. It would always be the cost of what he wanted in this life – and that fact would never change no matter how he tried to alter it. Shukaku howled in his mind, claws scrabbling over the stone wall of Gaara's twisted kingdom of pain, chaos and surrealism to a horrific coloration. Gaara's thoughts calculated and the results were less than pleasing – forfeit either way. Pity.

His eyes opened and he faced Hinata's back, who had turned back to tossing the food. There was a small clang and two bowls were recovered from a cabinet. Chopsticks dished noodles, vegetables and peppered beef into the bowls unequally – giving Gaara most of it since he naturally ate more than she did. The small girl scurried over and scooped steaming rice on top of the mixture in the bowls. Hinata placed the bowls down on the small kitchen table with chopsticks over the bowls. Gaara stared at his bowl before looking back at Hinata who was slurping on a noodle.

Hinata looked over at Gaara in turn while chewing on the noodle in her mouth, a plethora of questions rearing their ugly heads in her eyes. Pale, pale eyes stared into his and Gaara felt something tug, somewhere, hard and it hurt a bit. Wrath rose and snorted fire in his belly then – he could hear Shukaku's claws rake over the stone walls, befalling the buildings and the darkened maroon and sepia skies tore away like portrait paper. Do not forfeit you stupid, stupid boy. Don't you dare forfeit…don't…

The raccoon's commanding voice faded a mere whisper in the back of his mind that Gaara easily pushed away. The redhead saw two choices; both tempting in their own ways and temptation would be the last of any man. Blood red walls, screams of terror and vacant pale eyes staring up into a ceiling without life, limbs no longer twitching and breath failing the torn lungs of the sickly. Another vision welled in his mind and roared. There would be pain, his blood, her blood, enemy blood and a final day. Side by side, the queen and king would fall in the twisted game of chess. Side by side…falling into nothingness with another presence beside him on the finale. A fantastic, booming encore for those with nothing much to live for.

Gaara's eyes turned away from Hinata and Shukaku was silent, though his rage was palpable. The redheaded demon boy picked his chopsticks up and began shoveling food into his mouth at a record pace. The kingdom fell away.

Checkmate.

-

…Well…then…if you have questions, feel free to ask them and I appreciate all reviews, criticism and flames (if they're good damn it). Drop off a review to tell me if you liked it, point out observations or ask things.