— Pluck —
Part I
Chapter 6: Dastardly the Red Sun
Through the fog of his own breath, Sasuke saw the approach of someone.
Standing, left knee popping from him being in the same position for far too long, he turned to face down the hallway. It was a woman. Her footsteps were light, though not exactly inaudible, and her entire being was sheathed in the darkness of the twilight. When he became noticeably in her sight, she did not slow or hesitate, bringing Sasuke to the conclusion that if she were any danger, it would not be so immediate as to attack him straight on.
How utterly boring.
Not even bothering to warn her with the subtle slip of his cloak behind his scabbard, he shifted from one leg to the other as he watched her approach. Behind the door, not a stir could be heard, and he was sure the Moon Witch was fast asleep. And it ought to stay that way. The woman didn't exactly scream trouble, and Sasuke was familiar with such a wail.
"Oh. Ah —" The woman slowed. A crinkled sound fluttered through the air, and through the dark, Sasuke saw the straight, pale line of parchment paper. Finally, she came to a stop just a few steps away from him — any less, and he'd surely have to scare her off. But she must have sensed his tension, for she made no move to come any closer. "You must be the Thor warrior."
"State your name." With her there, he was able to see her attire. Beige and plain, a white apron around her waist and a white mob cap atop her short hair. The skirt of her gown was long, and though it could easily hide a knife of some kind, he doubted it highly. Based on the eased slope of her shoulders alone, he could tell she had no intentions to attack. "And your purpose."
Her dark, wide eyes blinked. "Ah! I'm sorry." Her head bowed, and her hands pulled the parchment close to her. "I'm Matsuri. I'm a maid here." Her smile was dim as her eyes flickered to the door by his right shoulder, and then she added, "And I've come to deliver a letter to the Moon Witch."
Stepping closer to the door, blocking most of her view of it, he held out a gloved hand. "I'll take it."
Again, her eyes blinked, and it somehow reminded him of Hinata. Naively. Obliviously. Like she hadn't an idea as to why he would demand such a thing. But he figured it was obvious. It should be. Even if she weren't showing any signs of being armed, there was no way he was simply going to let her stroll into Hinata's room in the middle of the night. With a sharp exhale, he flexed his fingers, reminding her of his waiting hand. With a reluctant slug in her motions, she placed the letter in his hands, and he immediately flipped it over to find the King's emblem on the front, embedded in hardened, red wax.
Bringing it to his nose, he smelled the paper, did not pick up anything that could be poison, and folded it into his inside pocket. Something shattered in Matsuri's gaze. Her hope had just been destroyed — of what, he could take a guess.
For her eyes remained on that closed door as she said, "I was hoping to ask her . . . if she would really be able to help His Majesty." Her gaze flickered his way, and Sasuke was sure to keep his expression void of any irritation. It would do neither of them much good if she grasped onto his annoyance in a way to irritate him into giving in to her wishes. All he did was frown and turn his head slightly to the side.
Matsuri let out a small, quiet sound — not exactly a groan or a hum, but a noise that sunk with her mood.
"Thor," she whispered, stepping to the side to find his face, "are the rumors true? About what the Moon Witch can do."
He trained his eyes on the end of the hallway, hoping she'd get the idea before that thin string of patience he had snapped. Why bother asking me? he wondered, deciding to lean against the door now, drilling it in deeper that he had zero intentions of letting anyone inside that room. She should know I won't bite.
And he didn't. Not really. Not totally.
But . . . he did nibble. Slowly. Cautiously. He let his mind wander back to the rumors he's heard about the Moon Witch, back to what Naruto and the Guard had told him about her. Apparently, she had eyes that could see things that others couldn't, and with this unusual ability, she roamed the corridors of the Hall, waiting for anyone who sought for her help. But . . . he's never seen anything happen when he spent those hours in the bar with her. She'd touch people's faces and talk with them, and that was all. No magic. No hidden ability brought to light.
And when she had touched his face that first time — somehow, he could still feel her fingers on him. They swiped along his brow, then down the side of his nose. Her thumb lightly brushed his eyelid, wiping at something that wasn't even there. And when she was done, she had looked pleased, and he had . . . . .
Well, at the time, he would have sworn something had changed.
But now he wasn't sure.
Maybe he was remembering things differently. Maybe nothing had happened. Because when he returned home that night, nothing about him was different. He was still Sasuke Uchiha, his blade was still bright and electric, and his wings were still on his back. Naruto had described it in detail about how he felt whenever she plucked at his face — "It's like the world is lifted off my shoulders, and I can finally breathe again."
Breathe again . . . .
"Let her help you at least once. I want you to be happy again."
Happy again . . . .
"I don't know."
Obviously, that wasn't the answer Matsuri wanted to hear, but Sasuke ignored her frown and continued to watch down the hallway.
"Well, I'm not about to lose hope now!" Recovering quickly, her mouth was once again adorning a smile, and she gave a sturdy nod to her head. "I'm sure she'll help Gaa — ah, His Majesty with his voice. I can only hope it will be before the sandstorm hits."
Based on how difficult the Sand King was making it to pay him a simple visit, Sasuke highly doubted that.
A sudden, unexpected moment of silence. Had she left?
A tug came to his sleeve, and Sasuke cursed himself for getting his hopes up. Snapping his arm away, he glared down at the woman, and she took a step back, owlish eyes never leaving his face.
"Does she use magic?" Matsuri asked.
Like that of a cool breeze washing over his face, Sasuke felt something brush under his right eye. A gentle, naked touch. Genuine, without the heat of magic along its pores.
"No."
"Then . . . what does she do, exactly?"
Patience meeting their end, he shoots her a mean smirk, eyes glinting in the dark. "What witches do best. Trick people."
And like clockwork, all hope and wonder in Matsuri's face dropped to the ground, shattering at her feet, so broken that it would take much time and care to ever rebuild it again. Her doe eyes tilted into slits as she glared at that door he protected with his whole being. It was almost as if that fire in her eyes were pointed his way, and he relished in the feeling of it.
Go, his mind hissed.
Go, and don't bother me again.
One step after the other, Matsuri went further and further away. Some hesitation still stuck to her heels, but she eventually turned and made her way down the hallway. "Ah, um." Sasuke nearly had the mind to kick his leg out in frustration when she turned back to him, but the hollowness of her gaze kept him at bay. That smile was fake, and her head bowed. "Good night . . . and stay warm."
A heaviness came to his shoulders.
At first, he thought it was guilt, but then he looked down and realized the blanket that Hinata had given him was still around him. Pushing off the door, he walked to the opposite side of the hallway, sat down, and counted down the minutes to sunrise.
The Sand King's stamp embedded in the dried, red wax on the back of a white envelope was the first thing Hinata saw when she was stirred awake. It sat on the low side table, and were it a person, Hinata was sure it would have Sasuke's gaze as it stared back at her, making her feel small and anxious.
Sitting up, Hinata pulled away the sheets before leaning over to grab the letter. She didn't have to look to know Sasuke was in the room, watching her every move. As per usual. But when she began to tear the envelope open, his haunting gaze fell to her hands, and she realized they were both eager to see what was written inside.
Dark red ink decorated the folded paper inside, looping and sagging with every cursive word it spelled. Her eyes darted to the signature at the bottom — Gaara, King of Sand — and felt her mouth dry.
What could he possibly have to write to me?
Her stomach was twisting itself into knots, but she pushed through her nervousness and began to read from the start.
…
To Hinata, as I despise the name Moon Witch for you,
It happened two years ago. You were visiting us with the company of the Sun King, Naruto Uzumaki. You were a cheerful soul back then — both of you were, but Naruto had the decency to not overexaggerate. When I think back to it, a demon overcomes me, and I wish I had delved into my urges then. It had been morning. You both had asked me the night prior to let you into my chambers at dawn. I shouldn't have agreed, but I did, and that demon haunted me for the rest of the night. You showed up first. Smiling. Sickening. Disgusting. It took me three seconds to come to terms with the fact I wanted to kill you, and even less to act upon it. What stopped me was Naruto. Had he not come, you would be dead, and I would be less tortured.
My brother and sister have informed me of your memory issues. I suspect that is why you have come to my home so openly, without hesitation. Like a lamb. I'm writing to tell you I have the greatest thrill to spill blood, and if you dare show your face to me, I will not stop myself like last time. Actually, it would be a wonderful pleasure, and you would do well in ending my regrets of two years ago.
Naruto is not here this time. Remember that.
- Gaara, King of Sand
...
The letter fluttered to the ground, red words smeared with blood and gore. A stench took over the sweltering atmosphere, and her stomach untwisted itself to lurch forward, sending bile to her throat.
She couldn't remember it. That morning, two years ago. When she tried, nothing but static came to her screaming mind. But his letter painted enough of the picture for her to fill in the holes. Those memories that were stuck to her head suddenly made a lot more sense, and when Hinata finally tore her eyes away from those bloody letters, she found him at the door. Gaara. The Devil. Looking exactly like the very threats he wrote to her in whimsical cursive. A layer of sand covered him, but his dead eyes were bare and penetrating. His fingers danced at his hip, and outside, the red sun of the dawn was hidden behind a ferocious sandstorm that moved along with his deep breaths.
He was going to kill her.
She was stuck here, and he was going to kill her.
Nothing would escape her. Not a scream. Not a cry for help. Not even a plea for her life. She would die alone in that hellhole, never to imagine her cousin again or feel Naruto's warmth again or succumb to that hurricane of electricity —
"Lady Hinata —"
"Moon Witch."
Suddenly, everything was gone, leaving only the heat and her pounding chest. Neji stood over the letter, sweat rolling down the side of his face. Behind him, Sasuke stood away from the wall, dark eye smoldering with something she was too distracted to understand. The doorway was empty and the sandstorm had disappeared, but the smell of blood was still in the air, twisting around her tongue, its bitterness making her eyes water.
I can't do this. She looked at her cousin, eyes big and begging. It was stupid — asking help from her own imagination; but she was desperate. What do I do? Should I try to sneak out now, or should I not leave this room for the next three days? Her cold fingers curled into the sheets of her bed. Neji, help me. Please.
He shook his head. "This isn't right." His left foot just barely missed the letter as he stepped forward, planting his hands on her shoulders, his fingers sinking into her skin. "You need to talk to him."
Was she insane — telling herself such things? Why would she —
"I-I can't," Hinata whispered, scooting back on the mattress to put a distance between her and her cousin. "I can't go to him. I'm not like you. If I leave, he'll kill me."
Neji frowned, but didn't say a word.
Instead, he stepped away and watched with storming eyes as Sasuke Uchiha bent over, picked up the letter, read it, and clicked his tongue before throwing it on the side table.
"You've already started talking to yourself again," he muttered. "Imagine how bad it'll get after three days of being stuck in here." He pinned her down with his gaze, stickers wafting with expectation. She didn't say a word. Honestly, she wasn't too sure what he wanted to hear from her. He read the letter. He saw what Gaara had threatened. There was no way he could possibly expect her to — "And not only are you depriving me of sleep, but of food, as well."
Hinata sat forward slightly, feet folding beneath her. "I —"
"They sent someone to tell you that breakfast will be ready in twenty minutes." His right shoulder motioned towards the door, closed and locked properly. Keeping anyone outside, out; and, if she so chose it, anyone inside, in. "I'll tell them to stop sending people." There was a click, and when she blinked, she found him by the door, unlocking it, face turned towards her. Despite his words, not a hint of anger was in his tone or body language. If anything —
"I don't need to be constantly reminded of the cruelty of my Moon Witch."
He sounded amused.
Sweat collected along her forehead as she flushed. "Sasuke, I —"
"If you need me, I'll be starving in the hallway."
The door opened, then closed. When her eyes sank from the door, she found a familiar quilt at the foot of the bed. Folded perfectly, as if to be stored away without further use. She stared at it, and only looked away when Neji drifted past it, humming.
"If you won't leave," he mused, "then he'll freeze tonight, as well."
Her shoulders dropped, and with twiddling fingers and a bad taste in her mouth, she slowly slipped out from bed and pulled out one of the outfits Temari had lent her.
...
Ten minutes later, she stepped into the hallway, lit with the amber glow of candlelight. Before her was, of course, Sasuke. Already standing — probably hadn't even sat down in the first place. Why would he, when he was so sure she'd be out in just a few minutes.
The second her shoes met the carpet floor and her eyes adjusted to the light, Hinata became aware of a few things.
Firstly, she no longer found it necessary to see his face to have an inkling of what Sasuke thought, of what Sasuke felt.
Secondly, it was most likely due to the fact that he was letting her, and not simply because she was getting used to him.
And lastly, that did not change the fact that she wanted to get those damn weeds off of him.
If anything, it only made her more determined.
...
The dining hall was as grand as any other room in the palace, and that did nothing in calming Hinata's nerves. In fact, the scarlet walls only depleted her appetite, and with a sinking stomach, she looked down at the plate a maid had set before her. The table was long, perhaps able to fit twenty people on either side; that day, however, only four sat at the table, and thus only the end was used.
Maids danced around to set a fabulous feast down, presenting far too much food for just four people to eat. But while Hinata went pale with every new entree placed, Kankuro and Temari's faces beamed, as if ready to accept the challenge wholeheartedly. When Hinata looked to her right to see Sasuke's reaction, she was only met with a stiff posture and crossed arms — that guarded, suspicious pose she knew so well. But before she could inquire about it, the maids lined the table and bowed, and Temari clapped her hands.
"Well, dig in, everyone!"
Kankuro did not have to be told twice, for he had already piled the dates and fried eggs onto his plate. Temari was scouring the cheeses, taking her time, as if it were the most important decision in her life. Sasuke, however, held back. For a guy who was apparently starving, he sure showed a lack of interest in the food before him.
He's probably waiting for me, she thought, placing her napkin on her lap before grabbing her plate. Her observation was confirmed when she watched his face trail her arm's every move as she pocketed falafel in pita bread and scooped up a couple spoonfuls of figs.
When she settled back, he uncrossed his arms, and said, "Give your plate to me."
Hinata blinked, startled, but pushed it over to him.
Did he want me to make a plate for him? Somehow, that reminded her of her little sister, and she smiled as she watched him take a bite of the figs and the falafel. He chewed slowly, wiped his mouth with his napkin, peered off at nothing, then pushed the plate back to her.
"Go ahead."
Oh. He began to make his own plate of food, ignoring the flustered look developing on her face. Of course. He was tasting for poison.
Feeling silly, she picked at her food, taking small bites here and there, appetite still not completely there.
"Is it not good?" Temari asked her, eyeing her plate, which did not meet the emptiness of the others at the table. "We asked them to make your favorite. Is something wrong with it?"
Her favorite. She tried the falafel again, enjoying the taste that lingered on her tongue. There was something about it. Something familiar. She couldn't put her finger on it, but her mouth somehow watered at just the look of it alone. That helped bring a bit of her appetite back, and she went at her breakfast more vigorously.
"It's fine," she said. "Thank you."
Temari's smile turned relaxed, and next to her, Kankuro beamed.
"I knew it! Does it bring anything back? You used to eat this all the time when you and Naruto would come and visit."
Again, he brought it up. Her and Naruto having come here, apparently quite often. It had to be true. How could they have known her so well if it weren't? A bit of irritation raised up inside her as her mind came up with a blank canvas when she tried to imagine her and Naruto here, eating at this table, roaming through these halls. So Naruto and I really are friends. Hinata sipped at her water, gills bending slightly along her neck. But how?
Thinking hard about it hurt her head, and unconsciously, her eyes turned to the empty chair at the end of the table. Those words from the Sand King's letter echoed in her mind, ricocheting along the walls of her skull, doing nothing to help mend the pain already there. Then . . . does that mean what he wrote is true, too?
Temari paused in her eating to follow her gaze. A sad smile came to her.
"I know. I wish he would have joined us, too."
Hinata flinched, which went unnoticed by all but one of the people at the table.
Kankuro grumbled to himself as he scraped seconds onto his plate. "I can't understand it," he said. "Why is he avoiding her? What could he possibly be scared of?"
Dropping her silverware, Hinata folded her hands on her lap and bowed her head, hiding behind the hood of her cloak. I should tell him. The letter was still in her room, on that side table. She didn't have the courage to carry it around with her. But if they needed proof, she'd have to show it to them. After breakfast, I'll mention it to them.
But her line of thought was cut off by a snort, and that easy grin was once again on Kankuro's features. "Not that I'm totally worried." He looked across the table at her, dark eyes shining with confidence. In her. Somehow, that made her feel only more hot and uncomfortable. "He'll just tell us when Hina — ah, Moon gets his voice back. I'm sure this can all be explained once it's all fixed."
That amount of confidence . . . and their total faith in her . . . .
Oh, Gods.
There was no way she could hide in her room forever, not when they clearly needed her so desperately. It was obvious by how they looked at that empty chair when they thought she wasn't looking. They missed him. They were nervous for him. They wanted things to be normal again, and they truly thought she was the key to that happening. They'd been kind enough to have her stay, to make her feel as comfortable as possible. Who was she to deny them of her help? Who was she to come here for nothing?
Neji's words from last night whispered along her ear.
"Temari and Kankuro seem happy. How can they be like that with such a cruel brother?"
"We'll get our answers tomorrow. When we see him."
He had spoken like he was sure there was more to the story — and for her own sanity, she had to believe that. Even with that letter and those haunting, red words, she had to believe there was something else. Something that just was hidden out of view. If she didn't, then there was no way she would be able to force herself to go to Gaara.
Gulping down the rest of her water, Hinata pushed her plate away, stating she wasn't as hungry as she thought she was. Temari and Kankuro shared a look, and Sasuke kept eating.
"That's a shame," Temari mused as Kankuro called for a maid to fill up Hinata's glass. "The chefs made Om Ali — that bread pudding you like."
At the name, her mouth once again watered, and a sweet smell came to her nose. Her stomach gurgled, but when she looked over to Sasuke, who had stopped eating suddenly, she recalled his scowl at her sugar-uped coffee and said, shyly, "Maybe a different time."
...
Puppets littered the halls.
With the sandstorm fast approaching, the castle was bustling. Maids checked every room, every corner, every cranny for anything suspicious; a few soldiers were working on boarding up the windows. But most noteworthy were the puppets, stationed in every hallway, stood and sturdy, glassy eyes staring off at nothing.
They looked so real, it was hard to tell they were made of wood and plastic.
But Hinata could tell. They didn't have any stickers. Their faces were plain and flawless, without emotion. And that is exactly what Hinata found when she rounded a corner and found the large, walnut doors that led into the Sand King's chambers. Four of them were based there, swords hanging at their hips, hands already wrapped around their hilts upon her slow, uneasy approach. They did not move to attack, but Hinata was still awfully weary of them.
Stopping a good ten feet away from them, Hinata played with the hem of her cloak, unsure how to proceed. Over her shoulder, she heard Sasuke's even breathing; for perhaps the millionth time that day, she wished for his courage, for his level-headedness. Even a sliver of it would do wonders for her.
"There's nothing to fear, Lady Hinata," Neji told her, wafting past her to float in front of the puppet guards. "Even if something does come up, you have a Guard with you."
That was true.
Sasuke wouldn't let any harm come to her, she was sure.
Squaring her shoulders, she took in a deep breath and stepped towards the doors —
Only to stop immediately upon them opening. A short, chestnut-haired woman scuttled out with a rather pleased smile on her face; which, of course, disappeared upon her wide eyes falling upon Hinata. "Moon Witch," she gasped, pushing her hands behind her to slam the doors shut. The walls groaned, but the puppets did not falter. Hinata was sure she had seen her before, somewhere. About the palace, doing this and that, double-checking things to make sure everything was properly prepared. The maid did her job well, and Temari and Kankuro seemed content with her. And yet — somehow — Hinata could not help but feel uncomfortable under her stare. "What a . . . surprise."
She had a low tone, edged with displeasure. When the maid brushed her hair out of her face, Hinata could see the dark weeds stuck to her forehead. Trying to smile, Hinata greeted her softly. "G-Good morning. Is the . . . um . . . Sand King in?"
More stickers sprouted as the maid's eyes narrowed. "Yes," she said, leaving the door to take a few steps forward, "but His Majesty will not be seeing anyone today." With the snap of her fingers, the puppets drew their swords and stepped in front of the doors. "I suggest you come . . . a different day."
What? Hinata blinked again, startled. But the sandstorm is tomorrow. I can't . . . .
"Please. I really must —"
"I'm sorry, I can't help you." With a quick bow, the maid was off, leaving Hinata stuck in her own confusion and turmoil.
What just . . . happened?
Still stuck a few minutes in the past, Hinata slowly backed away and left the hallway. A hand came to her chest, pressed against her heart, and she couldn't tell if she was overjoyed or disappointed. All she knew was that her time was running out, and if she didn't act soon, all of Temari and Kankuro's efforts in finding and bringing her here would be wasted.
"Lady Hinata."
In front of her, Neji nodded at a window that had yet to be boarded up. She followed his gaze and saw a balcony with unboarded, glass doors that led into the Sand King's rooms. Walking over, she pressed her palms against the glass, searching for any way to open the window. There were a few latches at the top, but even on the tips of her toes, she couldn't reach it.
"Ah," she turned slightly, "Sasuke, could you —"
He was already there, towering over her, unlatching the window and pulling the pane up. A hot breeze washed in, bits of sand falling inside.
"I see your plan." Removing his cloak, letting it fall to the floor, Sasuke stepped out of the pool of dark fabric with wings springing from his back. They stretched and spreaded, feathers a pure white, so clean compared to the dust and sand-stained atmosphere of Sand 1. "Tell me what you need me to do."
Gulping, she turned and pointed at the balcony. "I need you to fly me over there." Her eyes darted left and right, making sure no one was about to stop them. "Can you . . . do that?"
He didn't answer. Didn't have to. She knew he could.
But . . .
"A-And, um . . . ." A horrible tremble overtook her body, and despite the sweltering heat, Hinata felt every joint in her body freeze with fear. "When we're there — please, don't leave my side." She recalled Suigetsu's warning about not being alone with Gaara, and she had no intentions to ignore it. Her gaze found his covered face, trying to meet his eyes, both hidden and not. "Not even for a second."
A subtle shift she barely noticed came to him, and then he moved back and wrapped his arms under her own, pulling her close to him.
"You have my word."
And with that, they shot into the air and through the window, leaving her heart behind, beating wildly in that pool of cloth and static.
...
The second her feet touched the sandstone balcony, he let go of her, and she fell to her knees, shivering. The sun's hard glare made her squint, and when she opened her mouth to try and force air into her quaking lungs, sand covered her tongue, and she coughed and gasped and struggled to get on her feet. The wind was brutal and pushing against her left side. Even if she wanted to, she couldn't get up. It was impossible. She had pushed herself too much, and the lack of food in her system made that shake in her limbs all the worse.
"Come on, Moon Witch."
The pushing subsided, and when she looked, she saw Sasuke standing there, blocking the wind. Light, inaudible footfalls came to her, then stopped. Before she knew it, she saw Neji at her eye-level, his transparent hand outstretched and waiting for her. It wasn't real, but the gesture was still appreciated.
"Let's go, Lady Hinata," he said, cool voice gentle and soothing. Gods, she wished he was real. "I'll be right here, no matter what."
She took that hand, grabbed at the air that made his figmentation, and stood on her wobbly legs, balancing, shifting from right to left until she felt that she could stand properly.
The glass door was gleaming, covered in light scrapes from the sand constantly being pushed against it. The wind howled —
". . . if you dare show your face to me, I will not stop myself like last time."
— and tried to rip her cloak away from her, but she pulled it close —
"Naruto is not here this time. Remember that."
And basked in its softness.
Sasuke's wings sunk out of view, and she could see the holes in his back. If he didn't get inside soon, they might get infected by the sand. But not a sliver of impatience came to the eye of the man who held his time over anything else, and after a minute, Hinata stepped forward, and he followed her without falter.
...
The chambers of the Sand King looked nothing like Hell; in fact, it looked to fit the style of another king Hinata knew, though, of course, she would not dare to say it out loud.
But it was a very . . . bright place.
The majority of the walls were made of windows with thin, white curtains waltzing in the subtle breeze inside. The floor was rosewood, a rich brown dipped in crimson, that brought color to the drab, off-white walls. Desert plants of different shapes and colors hung from the ceiling and decorated the floors. Not one, Hinata noticed, looked unwatered or uncared for. It reminded her of the gardens in Moon, and that gave her a bit of relief.
But then her eyes found the skylight — or rather, the man who bathed in the sunshine dripping in from it.
Without a moment of doubt, she recognized him. That face. Those eyes.
It matched her flashbacks. It matched her hallucination just that morning.
That was Gaara.
He wasn't facing her. She just barely got a glimpse of his face before he turned away completely to pull on the silk, forest green royal robes. She watched the folds of his back and the swiftness of his fingers working on his sleeves and —
And —
And there was a snake. Beige, at his feet. Sparkling and slithering. It left him and crawled her way. She tried to rub at the sand that had gotten stuck in her eyes, but she couldn't move. Out of fear? Was she still that much of a coward —
Or . . . wait.
When she looked down, there was already snakes hanging from her wrists, pulling them down, heavy and sturdy like chains. And then the approaching snake winded up and curled into the air. Preparing. Aiming.
The sun caught its eye-less face, and she finally realized that they weren't snakes at all.
"W-Wait —"
It was sand, and at the cry from her mouth, it lunged at her.
Black filled her vision, and her nose was pressed against something hard. Electricity filled her nostrils. The buzz of lightning shot through the air. She waited for the sound of spilled blood — expected that smell of burning flesh, but —
Nothing.
Just stillness.
The sand chains at her wrists dropped and slid away.
She could move, though she was unsure if she wanted to. But the stillness stretched on, and her curiosity rose and overpowered any sense of caution. Slowly, she moved to the side, peeking around Sasuke's shoulders. Gaara was still in his spot under the sunlight, now facing them. His red hair thrashed about his face as the wind from the balcony doors blew through the room, moving and shifting and affecting everything inside.
Well, almost everything.
Because between them and him was what Hinata could only describe as a spill of sand. Like when a bucket of paint was thrown against a canvas, sending it everywhere, leaving nothing untouched. It was like that, only sand, and it was stagnant in the air, curled and folded and looping —
Like the cursive words in his letter.
Hinata, unconsciously, let out a shaky exhale, and the second his eyes snapped towards her, that spill of sand shrunk back and disappeared somewhere behind him. Sasuke immediately sheathed his katana, and Neji, at her right, gave an airy chuckle.
She couldn't understand what he found so funny.
They had nearly been —
"We decided to let ourselves in," Sasuke said, stepping back to stand directly to her left, "since you've been a shit host for the past day."
Hinata gawked. H-How can he just say that!? She was well aware of his . . . momentary lapses in properly addressing his superiors. How he talked with Naruto was just one of the many occurrences, she was sure. But this wasn't Naruto.
Not even close.
But either Gaara was not angered by it at all, or he did well in hiding it for some odd reason, for not even the bat of an eye escaped him. Instead, his gaze remained on her, sinking into her skull. His threat replayed over and over in her head, and she inched closer to Sasuke, keeping an eye out for any sand that may try to creep back.
As if sensing her fear, Neji shook his head and said, "Look closer."
Everything was still a bit blurry, so she rubbed her eyes, finally got the sand out, and looked again.
And despite what she had assumed, she found that Gaara presented himself like an open book. Not a hint of anger or violence was in that wide gaze of his. He looked surprised, of course, and a bit on edge, but when she looked at him, she didn't feel in danger.
And when her gaze sunk and found the thick mass of stickers on his throat, Hinata instantly put two and two together.
"Y-Your Majesty." Feeling like the atmosphere was safe, she slowly, tentatively stepped forward. One at a time. Right foot, then left. It was only four steps, but it felt like she had traveled miles. It was hotter over there, near him. Her gills flinched, but Hinata made sure to keep her expression calm as she traced her eyes along his neck, and said, "Does it hurt? Your throat."
He had very expressive eyes, unlike the dead ones she had imagined before. They swam with wonder as they looked down at her. His right hand rose and rubbed at the tight rope of weeds that were choking the voice out of him. They shifted with his fingers, a few already loosening up. Movement flashed in her peripheral vision, and she snapped her focus on his mouth, which opened and closed without a sound.
She watched for a while, concentrated on its movement, and realized —
Hin . . .
He was mouthing —
. . . ata
— her name.
And just as those stickers loosened, they tightened once again, and sand whipped out from behind him and snapped through the air. She yelped and jumped back as it raced past her and towards the walnut doors. They slammed open from the power behind the sand, and within seconds, puppets were inside, marching towards her.
What? Her head snapped to Gaara, who was already on his way to the other side of the room, robes swishing behind him. "Y-Your Majesty — wait —"
He didn't.
Cold, wood hands grabbed her wrists, yanking her forward, towards the doors. Her body lurched forward, and she winced and tried to pull away.
"Wait!"
Her left shoulder bumped into Sasuke as he reached over and ripped the hands off of her, pushing the puppets back to give her space. "Walk," he hissed, frustration in his tone, and she wasn't sure who that was directed to. She vaguely felt her legs lead her to the door, but her eyes remained on the back of the Sand King, who stood by his empty desk, avoiding her eye as she was dragged out of his chambers.
"I don't understand."
Scrubbing at her skin with an old, worn sponge, Hinata worked hard to get the sand off of her. A harder task than it sounded, for she found that the stuff was everywhere. Squirting a bit more soap on her arms, she shifted into the bath and focused on her left shoulder, which had a fine layer of sand on it.
It hadn't been more than half an hour since her visit to the Sand King, yet her mind would not stop storming. The whole ordeal left her confused and mouth dry. She had expected him to act on his warning in his letter, but he never did. But the moment she found comfort in his presence, he turned cold and kicked her out.
Frowning, she dipped her sponge in the water and began to wash the soap off. "So does he hate me or not?" Her gaze turned away from her washing to momentarily look at her cousin, who sat on the bench where her new set of clothes laid, eyes closed in thought as he tipped his chin back. "Does he want to kill me or not?"
"He doesn't." Such a palpable confidence was in that tone that she simply had to believe him. "And I don't suppose he hates you, either." But that statement came out a little more weakly.
Turning her focus to her gills, being sure to be gentle with the tender skin, Hinata mused to herself. "Then why did he kick us out?"
"I'm not sure," Neji said, "but there must be a reason."
She nodded, gaze falling to the green-tinted waters.
"You should have seen his throat. It's no wonder he can't speak. I just hope they hadn't permanently damaged his vocal cords."
"This all seems too coincidental to be real."
Finally feeling clean, Hinata stepped out of the tub and began to dry herself with one of the towels. "I agree." The sandstorm, the stickers, his letter and her memory loss; it all almost seemed planned.
But . . . how can someone plan my memory loss? she wondered. Or His Majesty losing his voice?
Neji opened his eyes, but kept them on the high ceiling as she reached through him to gather her clothes. "It's possible."
She wasn't sure if she was following. "You think so?"
"But you should focus on getting His Majesty's voice back."
But how? It was made perfectly clear by him and everyone else that he did not want to see her. How was she supposed to help him when she wasn't even allowed in the same room as him?
Now fully clothed, Hinata checked her reflection and adjusted her hood over her face. Her figment dropped his gaze onto her, and he smirked, eyes dancing in the dim candlelight.
"You're a Hyuuga," he mused, standing, drifting to her side, watching both of their reflections. "You'll figure it out. You always do."
...
"Sasuke."
He looked up when she left the bathing room, skin still pink from the warm waters and scrubbing.
"Do you mind, um . . ." She trailed off for a moment, trying to find her confidence again. It wasn't so much that talking to him scared her; she was mostly used to him and his silence and pointed words by now. But rather, it was her request that made lead butterflies bounce along the walls of her stomach. She fumbled, and he stood, quiet and waiting. "Can we . . . go talk to a few people, please?"
His right eye narrowed, as if unsure why she would be asking him, but not a hint of protest left him as he settled next to her and, like clockwork, followed her every move.
...
Her first destination was Temari's office, which was on the first floor and on the opposite side of the palace. Hinata had a vague memory of where it was from the tour yesterday, but she still had to ask a maid or two for more specific directions.
It was a bit past two, and the afternoon air was hot and busy.
More precautions were being added to the already long list of things to get done before the sandstorm hit, and Hinata secretly wondered if they would be able to get it all done in time. All the windows were properly boarded off, and now the focus was on lowering the chandeliers from the ceiling. Hinata heard whispers of one of them being used as a weapon against Gaara a few years back; he had nearly been crushed by one, and no one was willing to risk it happening again.
When they entered an open hall, the sound of crystals clinking together nearly overwhelmed the talk of the room. She saw ropes connected to a rather large and elegant chandelier, which was carefully being lowered to the floor for a few soldiers and puppets to carry into a storage room. It was a rather impressive sight, and Hinata was so distracted by it, that when she eventually looked down from it, she was all turned around and confused again. Blushing, she turned to Sasuke to ask if he knew which direction they should go, but he seemed distracted in staring off to the side, at a few of the maids working on lowering the chandelier, and she decided to leave him to it and go ask someone who didn't seem completely busy.
To her surprise, she saw the man from yesterday — the one who had accidentally knocked into her. Sasori, she believed his name was.
And though he had given her quite a fright before, she didn't want to spend the next ten minutes lost in the maze of the castle's hallways, so she timidly walked over to him. "Um," she piped, hoping she wouldn't startle him. She saw thin strings coming out of his fingers and remembered Kankuro's demonstration. He was working. Hopefully, he was not not too busy. "E-Excuse me, sir."
The strings vanished, and he turned to her, stone eyes blinking once upon sighting her.
Her throat went dry, and she had to suppress a frightened shiver.
"Do you —"
Snap!
The sound boomed through the room. Sasori's head snapped up, and his jaw clenched before he shot forward and pushed her onto the ground. She had yelped and hissed as her right elbow hit the hard floor at a blunt angle, but that pain was quickly forgotten when a terrible cacophony ricocheted through the room. Glass shattered everywhere around her, a horrible crash sounded just before her, and the room was subjected to darkness. She felt large, warm hands on her shoulders and something hovering over her, and when her Moon eyes blinked and adjusted to the dark, she saw Sasuke over her, cursing under his breath, glaring to the side.
When she followed his gaze, Hinata saw that the chandelier had fallen a foot or two away from her. One of the metal arms was bent at an awkward angle, stretching out towards her, just barely missing her legs. When she looked down, she saw Sasuke's hands were on either side of her head, bleeding as bits of broken glass sunk into his palm and fingers.
Finally, the noise stopped, and Hinata finally allowed herself to breathe.
"S-Sas . . . uke . . . ."
A dim light scuttled towards them. It was a maid, candle in hand.
"O-Oh my goodness. I am so sorry!" She leaned down, offering a hand. "Are you both —"
Sneering, Sasuke lifted himself off of her and fell back onto his feet, giving himself enough room to pull out his lightning katana without hurting her. The room lit up with white, blazing light, and the maid paled and backed away, shoes crunching on broken glass and crystal. The entire place was a mess. A few maids were already working on sweeping up everything, while soldiers worked on lifting a few of the larger pieces out of the room.
When Sasuke stood, head snapping this way and that, searching for something, Hinata was finally able to sit up. Her back and elbow hurt, but upon inspecting herself, she didn't find any cuts or glass anywhere, aside from a few scrapes on her pants. She was yanked to her feet by Sasuke, and her fingers were sticky with his blood.
Gasping, she turned to him. "We need to —"
But her voice died when she saw the figures beyond him. Sasori was in the middle of it all, right shoulder bent in a way that was unnatural and disturbing. It was broken. Hinata's stomach churned with sickness, worry, and guilt, but before she could manage a word out of her mouth, a maid walked over to him. The one from before, who had been leaving the Sand King's chambers. She bent over and grabbed his other shoulder, trying to help him up, but he shoved her away and stood by himself. Cradling his shoulder, his eyes flashed towards Hinata, tracing her body closely, before he huffed and shuffled out of the room.
When Hinata looked away, it was because Sasuke's muscles tensed, and she saw the maid approaching them.
"Are you —"
She was cut off by Sasuke marching over glass to grab the collar of her blouse, bringing his lightning blade to her neck. Hinata saw her wince as just the proximity alone burned her.
"Your aim is off," he gritted out.
The maid's head shook furiously as she grabbed at the bleeding hand at her collar. "I-It was an accident. I didn't mean to —"
"Sasuke Uchiha!"
Hinata jumped at the booming tone of Temari, who marched in from one of the hallways, eyes glinting as she took in the room.
"Let go of Miss Matsuri, Uchiha."
He kept still for a moment, back muscles flexing, before he eventually let go of her and pushed away. He sheathed his katana, and Temari clicked her tongue and placed a hand on her hip.
"What the hell happened here?"
Matsuri blinked and quickly bowed her head, still trembling. "I-It's all my fault, Ambassador," she said. "I was helping the maids lower the chandelier, but my grip slipped, and it fell."
Temari scowled at the mess, but said nothing about it as she locked eyes with Hinata and gestured her over. Unsure if Sasuke could see well in the dark, she took hold of his sleeve and led him in a direction with less glass about the floor. When they reached her, Temari eyes his hands. "Was anyone injured?"
"Only Sasori," Matsuri said, "but . . . he left for the Puppet Room."
Temari nodded to herself. "I'll tell Kankuro to check on him." Rolling her shoulders, rubbing at a spot near the weeds on the back of her neck, she turned to the hallway she had come from and motioned for them to follow her. "Let's get you cleaned up, Uchiha. Everyone else — I want this place spotless by sunset!"
They left down the hallway, then turned into the third room on the right. It was a storage closet, wire shelves reaching the ceiling with boxes stacked upon it. "Sit down there," she told Sasuke, nodding her head to a stool in the corner as she reached for a small, white box on the third shelf. He did so, though reluctantly, and Temari pulled out pliers, ointment, and bandages from the box. "Give me your hand."
But Sasuke did the exact opposite and pulled it closer to him. "I'll do it."
"Stubborn ass," she hissed, "they're both hurt. Just let me do it."
And, unsurprisingly, Sasuke did not give in to her demands. "You wouldn't know what you're doing," he droned. "I'll do it."
Her face turned red, and she huffed and practically threw the supplies at him. "Fine. That's the last time I offer my help to such a damn —" Her eyes sparked with something, and her frown deepened. "And don't go around harassing my staff, Sasuke. It was an accident. Matsuri's head shouldn't be sliced off for something so silly —"
"Silly," he repeated, poison nearly dripping from his mouth. "She was almost crushed by the thing."
Temari blinked and turned to Hinata, who had her back pressed against the door, watching with startled eyes. Physically relaxing, the blonde gave her a sheepish, sad smile as she asked, "Are you hurt at all?"
"I'm fine," she whispered. "I'm sorry about the mess."
"Chandeliers can be replaced," Temari said. "I'm just glad you're fine." Her shimmering lips turned into a more genuine simper, and her hands found their places on her hips once again. "But what are you doing on this side of the palace? Looking for someone?"
Hinata watched Sasuke dig out glass from his palms, winced, and decided to look away and focus on Temari's question. "For you, actually. Um. I had a few questions about His Majesty."
Temari's expression turned dour as soon as those words found the hot, dry air. "I'm sorry about him," she said. "I don't know what could possibly be wrong with him. It all started a month ago. At first, it was just him not wanting to leave his room. Then he started leaving paperwork unsigned — totally unlike him. Kankuro and I do it now. I just — I know something's wrong. He won't tell us. He can't. And now you're here, and he won't see you, either. It's all so confusing."
The genuine concern and hurt in her voice made Hinata's eyes water up, and she placed a gentle hand on Temari's shoulder, hoping it could bring her some assurance.
"I'll try my hardest to help him," she said. "I promise. But . . . you need to tell me how I can break through to him, if given the chance to."
Green eyes fogged and slid to the side. For a minute, the only sound heard was pliers clicking together and bits of glass falling to the ground. Then, Temari let loose a heavy sigh, and nodded.
"It might be hard, but you need to act like how you did back then."
Back then? Hinata wondered. When I would come here with Naruto?
"Gaara was the happiest when the two of you would come to visit," she continued, a small, nostalgic gracing her lips. "When you disappeared — he was devastated. We all were. And now you can't remember anything . . . ."
"I'm sorry," Hinata whispered.
"It's not your fault." A warm hand covered the one on Temari's shoulder, and she gave her a stern look. "None of this is your fault. But Gaara — he's a great man, but I know how he works. How he thinks. If he could go back in time, I'm sure he would go back to those days. Without hesitation. And . . . if he was given that illusion, then maybe — maybe he'll open up again. If he saw you were the Hina — the Moon from before, then he might let you help him."
Pieces of her heart shattered and joined the glass on the floor.
"Were we . . . friends?" Hinata eventually asked.
Temari nodded. "We all were."
Biting her lips together, she tried to take everything in, but her focus was on the predicament of the matter. Pretend to be herself from the past? How could she . . . when she couldn't even remember that Hinata? The one that roamed these halls freely, cheerfully, without fear of anything. The one who could wear her face out, without cover.
She couldn't be her, but . . . .
"I'll try, Temari."
Because she was still Hinata, wasn't she? And that was about as good of a starting point as anything.
Glancing over, watching Sasuke wrap his right hand, she gasped and stepped over to him.. "It's loose here," she whispered, taking hold of the bandage from him and tightening it at his wrist. "Here — it won't fall off if you do this."
As she worked, she didn't miss his shift in movement as he looked over her shoulder, probably at Temari.
The blonde clicked her tongue. "This would be a lot easier if Naruto was here."
Every aspect of Sasuke tensed at that, but when she looked up at his face, wondering what his stickers were doing, he stood and turned away. "We'll leave you to your work." Hinata was barely standing by the time he had opened the door and stepped into the hallway. "Lead the way, Moon Witch."
...
The Puppet Room was as busy as the rest of the palace.
That shouldn't be a surprise, Hinata supposed. But still, despite having been stuck in the middle of it all for the past day, she was still not used to the ruckus and buzz constantly littering the rooms.
"Eh? Moon!"
Past a few of the working puppeteers came Kankuro, sporting a rather fitting grin for his features. His face shined with sweat, and a bit of the purple paint was rubbing off, revealing the back stickers underneath. Of course, Hinata mused. Even he isn't free of the things.
"There's my favorite girl! What, didya come to see me? Mahhh, if Naruto were here, he'd be so jealous!"
Huh?
Tapping at the tsuka of his katana, Sasuke huffed and said, "She came to ask you a few questions. About your brother."
Kankuro's features twisted from delighted to confused to serious in about ten seconds, and he lifted a hand to rub at the back of his head. "Eh?" He looked at her. "About what?"
"I'd just like to learn more about him," she said, smiling. "Temari told me he and I used to . . . be friends."
"Oh yeah, of course!" He turned on his heels and led to his workshop in the back, where it was less crowded and loud. Leaning against the desk, he folded his arms and hummed. "I can't tell you when, exactly, you two met each other. He's known Naruto since they were kids — and through him, eventually met you, I guess."
She nodded and listened, but her mind lagged back to the letter, and she asked, "The last time I was here — or, um, maybe two years ago. Did I . . . . Did he ever mention — um, had I ever done something to anger him?"
Kankuro blinked, brows furrowing with bemusement. "I never heard him mention anything like that."
"Then, u —um —i" She gulped and bit the inside of her cheek, "did he ever . . . hate me?"
"What?" His voice went up an octave, and he pushed off the desk. "Gaara? No. Never! Look, I know the guy can sometimes struggle with expressing himself well, but he —i hating you —i there's no way!"
That was a relief to hear, though the letter now became more of a mystery to her. If what Kankuro was saying was true, then maybe . . . Gaara had written that for a different reason. To scare her off, maybe; or to keep her from seeing him.
But . . . why?
She wondered if she'd ever know the reason behind that.
"Trust me." He must have taken her pondering expression for unease, for he placed his hands on her shoulders and shot her a reassuring smile, head bowed a bit to meet her gaze under her hood. "I've lived with him most of my life. Whatever this is about —i him not seein' you and all that shit —i it's not because he hates you. Definitely not!"
Though questions still circled around in her mind, that was enough to assure her, and she nodded and matched his smile.
"Thank you, Kankuro."
"No sweat," he said, pulling away, scratching the side of his neck. "Always here to help." His eyes gleamed mischievously, and he leaned close to her. "So what's the plan then? You gonna kick the doors open and rush in? Play the long game? Gaara's more impatient than people take him to be."
Laughing, Hinata said, "There are possibilities." Her eyes gauged the crowd, saw that no one was close enough to overhear her, and moved a few inches closer. "But say I . . . hypothetically snuck in tonight —i how would you say is the best way to get him to . . . open up to me?"
Cackling, Kankuro shook his head and settled in the chair at his desk. "Hypothetically speaking," he began, "if I were a Moon Witch, I'd let him see my eyes, which he happens to be quite fond of." Hinata felt pink rise to her cheeks, and Kankuro snickered. "Hypothetically, of course."
"Kankuro."
A drawl came from behind, and they both looked to find Sasori standing. His right shoulder was wrapped in white gauze, and despite the accident having just happened less than an hour ago, he didn't seem to be much in pain. He held out a clipboard, which Kankuro grabbed and began to read over.
"Sorry, Hinata," he said after a moment. "I need to work on this."
She nodded and thanked him, then turned to Sasori, who stared blankly at her.
"Thank you," she said, "and I'm sorry about your shoulder."
He didn't say anything. Only a red glow came to his eyes, and suddenly, the room was cast in a soft, red hue. She turned and saw that the sun was beginning to set. The sand matched the red and orange sky, and she'd never seen something so . . . warm.
"Pretty, huh?" Kankuro mused next to her. "You should see how it looks during sunrise again. Sucks the sandstorm is coming tonight, or I'd sneak you out to see it."
"Don't go outside either."
In the back of her mind, rumbling, was Suigetsu's warning, but she only smiled at Kankuro and watched the setting sun.
"Where, this time?"
Sasuke's mutter fluttered along her shoulder blades, which arched in surprise, but she did not look away from the skylight in the entrance way.
She pondered, for a moment, then turned to him, smile curling upon her chapped lips. "Let's see if the one in His Majesty's chamber is covered."
Maybe it was the lighting in the room, but she could have sworn she saw his exposed eye twinkle.
"And if it is?"
And like magic, her smile matched the smirk in his tone as she felt his arms once again curl under her own.
"Then I suppose we take Kankuro's advice and kick down the door."
...
Despite her momentary confidence, Hinata did not really want to go around kicking down doors, so she was beyond relieved to find the skylight for the Sand King was still untouched. They landed on the sloped roof, Sasuke keeping a hand hovering by her waist as she bent down and unlocked the window, allowing them both entrance.
His bandaged fingers wrapped under her arm, and he slowly brought them to the floor, wings flapping calmly, creating a breeze that made the leaves of the plants dance and wave.
Her boots found the wooden floor, then his. His wings tucked back into his back, and Hinata's eyes were on the ground, searching for any sand that planned to make a sneak attack.
Nothing.
Good, she mused. Maybe this will be easier than —i
A shuffle to the side, and her head snapped up.
He was across the way from her, still robed, with a frown on his lips. His right arm swiped behind him, and she saw a wave of sand push towards the doors, where the puppets were positioned on the other side.
"Wait —i"
She had to whisper to keep the guards from hearing her. He didn't stop, of course, and she had to run in front of him, pulling her hood down so that it settled at her shoulders, allowing her long hair to pour over her arms. Because . . . Kankuro had told her to let him see her eyes . . .
"G . . . Gaara."
And Temari told her to act like how she used to be.
The sand stopped, and he stared at her, gaze going over the slopes of her face.
"Please," she begged, "let me at least talk to you first."
He stopped, hesitated, then pulled his arm back, bringing the sand away from the door. His posture remained stiff, and his gaze flickered a few times between her and Sasuke, but she knew just stopping him from calling in the puppets was a good first step.
Gaara took a few steps away, and Hinata didn't try to close the distance.
She glanced at Sasuke, who settled himself by the now boarded balcony doors, allowing her to take the reigns of the conversation. That was probably the best, and Hinata quickly found herself falling back into habit. She imagined herself back at the bar, in her corner, a coffee in hand. He would be sitting on the other side of the table, stickered throat out in the open, waiting for her plucking fingers.
"I'm losing my voice," he'd tell her quietly, as, somehow, that's how she imagined him to speak. It just made sense, she supposed. "You're my friend, Hinata. Can you help me?"
Could she?
"I . . . think we're in the same boat, Gaara."
Well, she hasn't given up on anyone yet, and she wasn't about to start now.
His gaze tightened, though he didn't exactly look angry. Curious, maybe, and that was enough to make her continue.
"We've both lost something important. You can't talk, and I . . . well . . . ." Her fingers rubbed along her temple, brushing some of her bangs out of the way. "And it must be frustrating. I know it is for me. Coming here and hearing everyone talk about the past —i I feel like I'm missing out on something. Like I'm out of the loop. I-I've been hiding for almost six months now, and I can't even remember what I'm hiding from. I barely remember my own family, and I don't even recognize my own friends if they so much as sit in front of me and talk to me for hours on end." Her heart shrank and shuddered, and she had to clear her throat to find her voice again. "And you . . . must have a million things to tell me. To tell everyone. But you can't. A-And now the sandstorm is coming, and your life is in danger."
His gaze simmered and hissed, hair blending in with the last of the red sunlight that crept in through the skylight.
Folding her hands together, fingers pressing against her white knuckles, Hinata met his eyes, and said, "So . . . let me help both of us." She took a small step forward, testing the waters. When he didn't back away, she smiled. "Let me help you get your voice back, and you can help me remember everything."
Hinata took a few more steps, and he didn't move, didn't so much as blink until she was halfway to him. She stopped, watching his face and the stickers on his throat.
"Then . . . things can start to go back to how they used to be." She smiled shyly. "Right?"
A light, trickling sound moved along the wood, and she suddenly found herself wrapped in sand. She gasped as it carried her forward, stopping just a foot away from him. The sand, red like the sun, slipped from her arms, allowing her to reach out and brush against the dark weeds circling his throat. She plucked, fingers popping with familiarity, and she got a good quarter of them off and hissing on the floor.
He exhaled, and it didn't seem as hard as it used to be.
The sand gently placed her back on the ground before retreating behind him, and any worry or anxiety she had was pulled along with it, leaving her tranquil and . . . happy.
And based on the small, barely there, but definitely gentle smile beginning to grace Gaara's lips, he seemed to feel the same way.
And before she knew it, Hinata let a few tears escape her eyes, and she laughed awkwardly and wiped at her face. "Sorry," she croaked. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have been scared of you. I never should have believed that letter you wrote."
The hand, that had hesitantly moved to cup her cheek, stilled midair, and his eyes narrowed, puzzled.
She wiped her eyes some more, then cleared her throat, and said, more clearly, "The letter. The one you sent this morning."
His pupils dilated, and he whirled to his desk, dragging her to it. His hand brushed against the smooth wood, and he sneered when she didn't seem to understand what he was trying to tell her. But —i
"He doesn't have any."
Whispered by both Sasuke and her imagination, those words crawled down her spine. Neji frowned on the opposite side of the desk while Sasuke, to her right, already had his wings out and spreading.
"No quills or pens," he said, eye scraping along the empty desk, "not even ink."
Hinata, eyes widening, looked at Gaara. "Then . . . you didn't . . . ."
Gaara scowled and pulled open a small drawer at the top right of his desk. Her father had a desk similar to this. He had told her, once, that those small drawers were made to hold stamps for letters. She could vaguely remember sneaking into his office some days to play with his wax seal stamp that had the Hyuuga crest on it.
And that was what played in her head, over and over, when she looked inside and saw that Gaara's was missing.
When Sasuke stepped inside Temari's office, it was night, and despite the window behind her being boarded up, he could still hear the beginning sandstorm rage outside. The flame of her lantern flickered as he slammed the door shut behind him, and she rubbed at her temples and looked up from her paperwork upon his approach.
"Good to see you up and lively, Uchiha," she said, smirking bitterly. "To what do I owe the pleasure? Come to make up for your stubbornness already? Why, I was so sure you'd take at least two days to come crawling to me —i"
"I need a list of all your staff and a sample of their handwriting," he cut in, not in the mood to hear her babble on about unimportant things.
She squinted at him, lips quirked in a half-sneer. "The hell?" She rolled her eyes and turned back to her paper. "Why the hell do you need that?"
His bandaged hand sunk into his pocket and dropped the letter, envelope and all, on her desk. The wax stamp stared right at her, and she immediately realized the circumstances. Tearing into the letter, she read it once —i twice —i her face turing paler with every words she read. When she was finally done, she stood, checked outside the door, and then closed it.
"I'll have it by noon tomorrow," she whispered. "I'll make up some excuse so they don't suspect anything. Does Hinata know about this?"
He nodded. "I'll tell her to not speak freely about it."
Temari's shoulders sloped, and she ran a hand along the back of her neck, which was bent with exhaustion. "Good, good," she mumbled, walking over and settling back in her chair, groaning. "What do you want the sample to say?"
He worked on unlocking the knob, and over his shoulder, said, "Gaara, King of Sand."
...
When he approached her door, he expected to just listen in and hear if she was awake —i and she was . . . .
"Who could it be? What should I do?"
And she was . . . talking to herself again.
Sasuke's hand dropped from the handle, and he stepped away, frowning.
"Wh-What if . . . they come after me?"
He's heard that tone before. Low and quiet. Shaky. She used to talk to him only in that tone, and no matter if it were subconscious or not, it annoyed the ever living shit out of him. Still did, and he sighed and ran a hand through his hair before turning and making his way back to Temari to ask if the kitchen was still open.
Despite not having any windows, the room's walls were thin, and Hinata heard the storm brewing outside. Wind screamed as sand thrashed about, and her heart would not stop racing.
There's a man here threatening to kill me, she thought, pulling her sheets close to her body, and now I'm stuck in the middle of a sandstorm.
The walls creaked, and the wind wailed.
It was so loud, she was almost sure the room would just collapse on her.
Gulping, her pants came out in short, shallow puffs of mist, and no matter how she covered herself, she could not stop shaking.
"Lady Hinata, breathe."
She was, but no matter how calm and smooth her figment cousin sounded, there was no stopping the panic attack that was slowly settling in. Her eyes burned despite the rest of her freezing, and she couldn't catch her breath.
"I-I can't," she wheezed. "It won't calm down."
Neji leaned close to her, looking panicked, eyes swimming in fear.
She'd never seen him so scared, even when he was real.
"Hinata," he whispered, "please!"
She tried, she really did, but so much was happening, and she couldn't —i
The door opened. Oh, Gods, he's come to kill me!
Her hand fished for the knife that lay under the other pillow.
If he got through Sasuke, then how am I supposed to —i
"Moon Witch."
S . . .
"Sasuke," she breathed, eyes finally landing on his form, which hovered at the end of the bed for a minute before slowly coming to the side table. He placed something on it —i a plate, with . . .
Is that . . .
Her nose took in the sweet, familiar scent, and saliva filled her once dry mouth.
Om Ali?
"They had extras," he said, pulling out two sets of silverware from his cloak's pocket. "A chef came to bring it for you." A few stickers fizzed under his exposed eyes, which narrowed as he scooped up some of the pastry and took a bite of it. A tremble went through his body, which he tried to hide, as his gaze fell on her glass of water, which she offered to him silently.
He gulped half of it down, wiped his mouth, and muttered, "It's good."
Smiling, tearing up again, she scooted forward and began to eat it, focusing on the flavor coating her tongue in hopes that her pulse would eventually slow. Sasuke watched for a while, shifting, and when her body finally stopped trembling, he moved to leave.
"Sasuke," she called, causing him to stop. "Can you . . . ."
She couldn't finish, already feeling embarrassed and childish.
He hovered a few seconds by the door, sighed, and then turned and made his way to the other side of the bed. She scooted over, giving him as much room as he needed, and watched as he sat next to her, facing the door, eye staring it down.
Finishing her desert, she placed the plate on the side table, blew out the fire in the lantern, and settled back on her pillow.
The sandstorm continued to rage.
"Thank you. For everything."
And those red words still whispered in her ear.
"I'm sorry about your hands, and for dragging you everywhere. I'm sorry you've had to carry me so many times. I'm sorry I'm making you stay here."
She still had three more days here, and Gaara was still missing his voice.
". . . It's fine."
But . . .
She peered at him through the dark, smiled, and pushed him as much of the quilt as she could without annoying him.
I'm not that scared.
"We can trade off, if you ever get tired."
"Go to sleep, Moon Witch."
Not anymore.
Chapter 6 - End