Relentless

Chapter 2: And then they met

Disclaimer: 'Naruto' in its entirety does not belong to me. Sachiko however is my creation :-D

Warning for 'And then they met': Sexual references
Thanks to Malitia for the encouraging review! This chapter's dedicated to you :-D
By the way, this is set before the Chuunin Exams…

"Krrpllaaacckktt-shkkkt!!!…"

The sound echoed through the sparsely decorated room, coinciding with the unabashed creak of the door currently held open by Sachiko. She tensed, turning around slowly and walked each dreaded step towards the sound of the noise she'd heard. Although it was common practice for her to be used only when darkness afforded protection, there were times when she was… needed in the day.

"Ohayo…" She greets, face inclined downwards, gaze fixed on the floor, training overriding instinct. Her fingers remain still, one hand over the other as she performs a genteel bow and holding the position, awaiting an instruction, making no move to adjust her clothes, despite knowing it wasn't slutty enough. It never was. She was too stupid to know how to please them better, too dumb to know their preferences by now, too slow to clean them up before they wanted more, too uncoordinated to touch them properly while stroking another, too foolish to silence her pain when they rather she cried their name, too –

"What are you holding?" a solemn voice questioned.

Her head would have jerked up, if she hadn't remembered the lessons beaten into her: Submissiveness and demureness was expected from her at all times. Still… What was going on? Wasn't it obvious that it was a brush and some paper? Suddenly, she felt sick in her stomach… Not one of… Those again…! The 'special demands' were the trickiest to get right and more often than not, the reason why she would not be able to handle the usual 'visitors' for several nights. It was simply too easy to deviate from the determined plot of the fantasy set by these ones.

"B-br-brushes a-a-a-and pai-paint a-and s-s-some p-pap-per, sir," she stuttered, biting her lip and then trying again, with no luck in curbing her nervousness.

Was it? Gaara wouldn't know. All they had use of him for was a weapon, something with perfect defenses and immeasurable power when attacking. A weapon could never be employed in another industry other than war. It was deemed superfluous for a weapon to learn to appreciate and create some of the finer things in life. Hence, a weapon like Gaara was never taught or given the time to once learn to fully utilise the brush.

"How is it used?" Was it like a needle? She must have been going out to practice. Her genjutsu must have been to disorientate. It doesn't matter. I have seen through it. Now she will help me prove my existence once again.

Trembling now, unfamiliar with the disturbing aura of something quite different from sexual tension, Sachiko barely managed an answer with shaky lips. Shimatta! What was wrong with her? Wha-What was this strange feeling? It makes me feel… Like dying… Kowai!… Her body tensed, fighting her mind's will to stay put and accepting of any punishment that would befall.

He read her movements effortlessly. "You are a coward. For that, you will cease to exist."

Sand swirled around his feet, spiralling towards his palm and starting a slow but sure path around her. There was no need to rush at this point. It was more fun watching the horror creep in, he thought. Rarely did he get to watch the various stages. He typically had to finish his job as soon as possible since his opponents were eager to get rid of him, necessitating him having to kill them quickly instead of wasting his chakra and defending himself all the time.

Stunned. Her hazel eyes widened, shock-numbed brain unable to comprehend the new chain of events unfolding before her… Who was this? They never sounded so grave, so… hungry for her blood to be spilt… Previously, no one was serious when they said they wanted her life. It was all part of the act. Performed with knives, scissors, sharp pointy objects… Ropes, pillows, hands, other devices used to for strangulation…

Confusion. But not once was it done with sand. Who was this? Why? How?

Processing. Was this magic? The wind, maybe? No, not the wind – there was no breeze. Maybe this was a dream? One of those really realistic ones. Wake up! Wake up now! Chikuso! Why won't I wake up? When did I fall asleep? Kuso…! Why do I bleed, even in my dreams? Why does it still hurt so much? Maybe if I scream…

Futile action.

"Waa-AAAHHHH! WAKE UP! YAAAAHHHH!!!"

No change. Perhaps it will work better if I just finished this dream. Psh. Even my own mind is against me. There really isn't any hope to be had in the world.

"I haven't yet done anything. Killing such a coward will be a waste. But Mother has not - "

"Y-you use it to wr-write a-a-and dr-drrr-draw, sir," poor Sachiko stammered out, desperately trying to postpone her dreaming up a gruesome death for herself, flustered and very much out of her depth in the situation. "To express yourself… Art?" She offered, hoping to define her use of the simple art materials for this curious stranger. Maybe it would kill his desire for the bizarre 'foreplay' and start his fantasy scenario proper? He was an odd one… The odd ones, she knew were the ones that could spare her the night's activities for a while if they overused her. The odd ones would always push her beyond her limits, causing her to crave death. That sweet oblivion she'd begun to think of as her only salvation. She'd come close before, and had known it to be pleasant, a maelstrom of wild dreams, turbulent but safe.

Muscles above his right eye twitched then contracted towards its twin. Gaara had never been interrupted before as he spoke and he quickly found out that he didn't like it. Even if she had finally found her voice to work still.

"Show me." Came the command in a deadened tone.

Caught up in her slow musings of death and a creeping wonder of whether he would really have killed her, the command never reached her ears, never converted to electric pulses in her brain, and so was not performed at the moment. Instead, she mused aloud, posing a half-question to him: "Would you have? Killed me? Did you mean it? If I asked you to do it, would you have?"

There was a strange excitement in her voice despite the grimness of the request. An odder light still that shone despite the glazed state of her eyes. Yes, instinct was telling Gaara that she wanted something he had to offer. He knew people often wanted something of him. He often helped them because he could prove himself worthy of existing then. Yet, people ran from him when he did his job; people ran from him when he tried to help them; people ran from him when he wanted to do more than was necessary. Those were the typical reactions people had when faced with Gaara. What people facing imminent death did not do was stand there to ask for it before he had begun Subaku Sousou, much less Subaku Kyuu.

"It wouldn't have mattered. I would have killed you anyway."

"Oh…" That deflated her a little – even to a stranger, what she wanted didn't factor into consideration, but it didn't matter. She had nothing to live for. So long as she died, what did anything matter? "How would you like me to position myself? I don't want to trouble you or the funeral arrangement company." Not that they would really care… After all, they did say that they would just burn me with this old house when I died.

This really threw Gaara off – no one had really concerned themselves to convenience him before. His entire life had been difficult – to find acceptance, to survive, to realise that his reason to live was different from others…

Why is he surprised? --- Why doesn't he have eyebrows? --- Was he serious or was it part of his sick fantasy? I don't understand… Maybe it's his first time?… He doesn't seem to really know how to start this… I don't understand… Where is the man who should be introducing him to me if this is his first time? He's so young… But his eyes… So different from the rest.

"Yamero!" Enough of this. "Show me how to wield the brush." Even if she was an assassin, she would teach him something useful before he killed her.

"Onegai shimasu!" I beg of you… Please… "Onegai yameru inochi!!!" Please terminate my life… Please… "You were going to, weren't you? With the sand? Why don't you want to kill me now? Did I do something wrongly? Yurushite kudasai!" Forgive me! What am I doing wrong?

"Show me!"

Sand shot forward, wound around her left wrist and tightened its hold. Sachiko yelped as she was dragged like a ragdoll to rest at the feet of Gaara. "Show me here." He stepped away to lounge against the wall.

A very audible gulp was heard, before Sachiko nodded slowly and began to spread out her art materials on the floor. Taking a deep breath to clear her thoughts, she paused for a moment, focusing her energy to perform the task at hand. Then, slowly, she began to create an image fixated in her mind, often glancing back to her hand where skin was broken and reddened flesh contrasted with milky white. Increasingly, the strokes of the brush on the paper became more sure, deft teasing caresses of a lover turning to knowing touches, bent on creating that one tremulous effect on the onlooker.

Caught up in her own little world, she didn't notice Gaara leaning down from the wall to get a closer look. It was rough, an amateurish effort, good for her age, but with much yet to be learnt. The basic idea was there – a hand losing its strength as less of its sustenance reached it, escaping through a cut that extended around the wrist – but the muscle definition was not quite there, nor was much of the other realistic details coming through, as they should be.

She frowned and sighed, realising how she had failed at this again, before moving on to write an accompanying poem, her muse taking over for the moment.

Something to take me away

from all the

Dreams...

Seemingly possible before.

So clearly not

Now.

Failures...

Previously impossible

Apparently not

Without end.

It captured how she felt about her artwork and her life. She was caught in a place where she could never escape, or be saved to taste the freedom she'd dreamt of as a child; a place where she would live on, where she could not die even if she tried.

Carefully, she proceeded to place her signature on the paper.

"Sachiko."

"You can read!" She blurted out, startled out of her artistic stupor. She was mortified by her carelessness. She knew she couldn't deal with any degrading words about her self-expression right now. Most times her work went without praise or critique - only rarely had she ever had a half-baked mature comment.

She got angrier with each passing moment, feeling peculiarly cheated in some way. As though she had been led on to think that this stranger was illiterate. She'd thought he was atypical - direct, not crude, maybe, just maybe interested in finding out more about art as well…

"Why didn't you tell me you could read?" A terse question.

"I never said I couldn't." A brusque reply.

"But you - !!!… Oh. Oh… - Ohh… I'm sorry sir…" Came the timid apology, her body already tensing up in fear for retaliation for her insolence. Chikuso! What was it about this boy that made her forget the proper way to behave? Why did she have to burst out like that? Shimatta! What to do, what to do?

TBC

A/N: I don't know the Japanese language well, (being primarily an English speaker) so please forgive any grammatical errors when I attempt to insert Japanese in my story. I'll be using Japanese in the sections that have more raw emotion to it – as when the characters are under duress or when they convey more feeling, to give it the feeling

There is one thing I would like to clear up now though – in Japanese, do the names come before or after what is said? I mean, in English, the emphasis when you say 'I like you, Gaara' is different from when you say 'Gaara, I like you' So does it apply to Japanese as well?

Also, if any of you out there reading 'my baby' and don't like some aspect of my writing/plot, please tell me! I really want to make this work! 