Hey everyone! So, knowing how busy it gets this time of year, my body decided to give me a cold. Which is so great. So deciding that I may as well channel that frustration into something, I've written another chapter!

I just wanted to address something really quick. Last chapter I got a lot of silent readers. Like, over seventy. And while I'm sure some of them are people who have reviewed this before (thank you, you beautiful people, this is not directed at you!), I know a lot of them are people who haven't reviewed before. Hearing from my readers means the absolute world to me, and it's something that keeps me writing. I know I've been an inconsistent shit with updates, but I'm really working to get chapters out more regularly. So if you're someone who hasn't reviewed before, or you've been thinking about it but you're not sure what to say, or English isn't your first language and you're worried, please don't stress. I adore hearing from you guys, no matter what you have to say. Your thoughts and opinions really do mean the absolute world to me, and it would absolutely make my day if you could spare a minute of yours to leave me some feedback :)

Chapter 22 – almost like happiness

I step carefully over the bodies, the smell of blood and gunpowder creeping like mould through the air. The tiles are stained scarlet, rivulets running like rivers through the grout lines. They sent me twenty men, and I killed them all without breaking a sweat. Bullets sliced through their bodies like butter over bread. Adrenaline pulses like a narcotic through my veins, and I've never felt so alive.

I can hear shouts up ahead, echoing off the walls, and I make my way into a deserted hallway, reloading my guns. They sound panicked, frightened, and I assume it's more Senju. Most of the Uchiha who were sent in were killed.

The voices are more distinct now – terrified wordless screams morphing into legible sentences.

"Itachi is here! We need to get out!"

"I sent a team to clear the way!"

"Are they done?"

"They're not answering…"

"What, more Uchiha?"

"I don't know, but I sent twenty men, and they're all quiet."

I can hear at least three voices, though the footsteps would indicate more men than that. I take a breath, feel the air pool in my lungs, something like ecstasy creeping through my veins. No one loves me but the Uchiha. The only love I feel is when I kill the Uchiha's enemies.

So I turn the corner and I kill every last one of the Uchiha's enemies.

"What's something you love?" she asks me, curiosity lighting like fireworks in her moonlight eyes.

What's something you love? The question reverberates in my head, almost mocking in its tone. There has to be an answer, somewhere. Somewhere in this made-up life I've created I have to have something I love, something I can answer her with. I search her eyes, as if they hold the answers I seek, and all I can think about is how beautiful they look in the artificial glow of the lights above our heads.

"I -" I start, before Neji saves me having to answer. I don't know. Hinata jumps back, the moment is broken, and I walk towards the kitchenette, trying to breathe for a moment.

I used to love the Uchiha. I used to love killing for them, working for them, being useful to them. I used to love fighting and killing. I used to love the rush of adrenaline before striking the killing blow. I used to love being the best.

But now? Now I'm tired. I'm tired of devoting myself to people who couldn't care less about me. If I weren't useful to the Uchiha I'd be dead. The last time someone valued me as a person rather than as a killing machine, they died. I can't have another Matsuri.

I turn back to look at Hinata, who has once more immersed herself in her movie, and her question bounces around my skull again. What's something you love? She seemed curious, genuinely interested in my answer. As if she wanted to know it.

As if she wanted to know me.

I shake my head and sneak another look at the clock above her head. One day, ten hours, fourteen minutes and forty-three seconds. Then she will be dead, and I will finally be allowed to die.

For the first time in months, the thought of my death doesn't bring me comfort. And that in and of itself is disconcerting.

I had planned my death for months. The same building I lived in was the one I tried to die on. If I'd gone out wandering the streets the Uchiha would have been suspicious, and my apartment complex has three floors. A three storey drop onto concrete and bitumen should have been enough. It would have been enough, if the Uchiha weren't keeping tabs on me every waking second.

I wonder if they knew. Did they know I was planning to die? Planning on escaping them forever, on my own terms and not theirs? Or did they just happen to notice me standing on the precipice of my three-storey building and quickly parked the car beneath me so that I would survive? It's not like I could see the ground that night – the storm had been almost hurricane level – so I wouldn't have known to change where I was. Wouldn't have known to shift and avoid the car.

I had thought that the storm would be a good cover. I knew the Uchiha were keeping tabs on me (they're always keeping tabs on me), but I didn't think that they would have seen me through the storm.

I look back at the countdown over her head. One day, ten hours, nine minutes and seventeen seconds. I should be jumping out of my skin with excitement. Only a month ago I would have been. Once Hinata is dead, I'll be free from the Uchiha. Free of being a tool, good only for fighting and killing. Free from my only value being my body-count.

But that's not my only value.

Hinata looks away from her movie for a second and her eyes meet mine; I realise I'm staring, but I can't seem to look away. She gives me a smile, warm and genuine, and turns back to her movie.

Hinata values me.

More than that, Hinata values me as a person. She doesn't know that I'm the Demon. She doesn't care that I'm deadly with a weapon and an expert at hand-to-hand combat. She doesn't care that my only job here is to protect her (and eventually kill her). She cares about me. What was it she said to me after the library?

I was so worried.

You could've been killed, I was going crazy, and Neji wouldn't let me leave to find out.

She had been worried about my safety, as if she hadn't been inches from a bullet that could've killed her friend.

The epiphany almost has me staggering, and I feel a sudden need to sit down.

I've never been valued just as I am before. Not without the fear or reverence of the Demon somehow coming into play. Even Matsuri, who did care about me, had some kind of admiration going. Some kind of awe that she had the privilege of being trained by the Demon.

But Hinata values me and cares about me, not because I'm the Demon, not because I'm her guard, but because that's just who she is. She cares about people. She cares and loves so wholly, it practically shines out of her.

But I still have to kill her. I have to kill her, otherwise the Uchiha will. Be it a day or a month or a year, the Uchiha will get their hands on her, and they'll torture her. They'll torture her for her father's crimes, for daring to challenge them. They'll break every single part of her, inside and out, until the fireworks in her eyes have died and she can't remember what it is to smile.

I'll make it quick. I'll spike her tea with sleeping pills and she'll just go to sleep tomorrow night and never wake up. She'll die dreaming, and it'll be as gentle as she is.

I feel like I'm trying to convince myself. I feel sick. I have to kill her. I have to kill her.

And for the first time, I realise I don't want to.

A couple of hours later, after doing a few rounds between the training room and the living room, I find Hinata standing in the kitchenette, Neji hovering, concerned, over her shoulder.

"Hinata, just let me help you," he says, exasperated as Hinata reaches around him to grab a random assortment of ingredients.

"Neji, you know I love you, right? But there's only so many sandwiches and biscuits I can have before I want to pull my hair out. You're many incredible things, but a chef isn't one of them."

"Kettle, meet pot," he retaliates, determinedly trying to get in front of her. "You haven't cooked a thing in your life, Hinata. Just let – me –"

"No," she says, grabbing a knife. She starts hacking at some potatoes with their skin still on. "I can do this, let me try!"

"You haven't even peeled the potatoes!"

Hinata colours, spluttering. "They… they're rustic! It'll add a little crunch!"

"Dirt is not an ingredient in this recipe!"

"Well it is in mine," she insists. "Now get out of the kitchen before I start cutting something else into tiny pieces!"

Neji looks warily at the knife, weighing up his options. And then he spots me, trying and failing to hold back my laughter. "Gaara, you talk some sense into her. She listens to you!" he says, marching out of the kitchenette to watch her from the other side of the counter.

"Since when?" I ask, but make my way over to Hinata, keeping a careful eye on the knife. Hinata has abandoned the rustic potatoes and has started butchering some carrots.

"Since I said so, now go help before she chops a finger off."

"I'm not going to cut my finger off," Hinata seethes, aggressively cutting the carrots into uneven shapes. "I'm going to make vegetable soup! I just need to follow this recipe. If you'd stop distracting me then maybe I would have remembered to peel the potatoes!"

Neji rolls his eyes at me as I inch my way further into the kitchen. "Gaara, you can taste test this first. See if it's poisonous."

I turn to glare at him. "Thanks so much Neji," I say, sarcasm dripping from my tone. "Really appreciate it."

"It's going to taste great," Hinata insists, abandoning the carrots and turning her attention to some celery. "And Gaara is going to help me and you're not going to get any of it. You can stick to your bloody sandwiches, you heathen."

I raise my brows, fighting back laughter. I live for their banter. But I turn away from Neji and look at Hinata. Her midnight hair has been pulled back into a hasty bun, though half of it seems to have escaped, and she has an almost maniacal glint in her eyes. For the first time in a long time I feel what could be fear.

"What do you want me to do?" I ask, desperately attempting to placate her while she hacks at the celery stalks. She hasn't actually separated the stalks, or attempted to cut the leafy ends off, having instead just grabbed the whole bunch and gone to town on it. I avoid wincing.

"If you could peel the potatoes, that'd be great, Gaara," she says, her calm voice at odds with her strange hacking motions.

I look at the mess of what I'm sure was once some lovely russet potatoes and try to figure out where to begin. I guess that the first place is to figure out which pieces still have skin on them and which don't, a task which is made infinitely harder by the fact that they're all covered in dirt. But I get to work, cleaning and peeling those that need it, while she turns her attention to some beans and starts mangling those.

I attempt to get the carrots into some kind of cohesive shape, then I start figuring out the celery while Hinata puts chicken broth, tomato juice and water into a pot. I can't tell if she's got the measurements right, and honestly, at this point I'm too scared to ask. To her mixture she adds the mutilated vegetables, far too much salt, and a random amalgamation of spices which I'm sure don't belong in a soup. But I keep my mouth shut lest she turn her knife on my tongue and slowly edge out of the kitchen to stand beside Neji. Hinata doesn't notice while she fervently stirs the soup, waiting for it to start boiling.

"On a scale of one to ten, how sick do you think you're gonna get?" Neji asks me in an undertone, keeping a watchful eye on Hinata.

I watch as she tastes some of the cold mixture and adds in more salt. I wince. "Seven?" I say, though it comes out as a question.

Neji looks at me surprised. "I never took you for an optimist."

"And what were you going to say?"

Neji thinks for a moment. "Scale of one to ten? Twelve. You're fucked."

I hate to say it, but I agree with him. World class chef, Hinata most certainly is not. Actually, a chef in any capacity would be preferable. I watch as she adds half a jar of pre-minced garlic to the concoction and try hard not to shudder.

"Make that thirteen," Neji amends. "I think I'll stick to my heathen sandwiches. At least those are edible. Good luck!" And then the smug bastard actually has the audacity to leave me! Alone! Where Hinata can easily force me to eat whatever it is she's pretending is soup! He heads into the kitchen, keeping a safe distance from Hinata (who is still holding the knife, of course) and starts to make himself a sandwich.

I don't think I've ever hated someone so much in my life. Fucking traitor.

"I think that's warm enough," says Hinata suddenly, finally lowering her knife to get some bowls. "Gaara, come taste it, tell me what you think!" I want to glare at the numbers above her head. Apparently they're going to make me work for her death. She hands me a bowl full to the brim of 'soup', and I can tell just through the bowl that it's still cold. She passes me a spoon and cheerily says, "Eat up!" She doesn't say the Or else, but the threat is there in her eyes.

Apparently today is a day of firsts, as I gaze up and pray to whoever is listening that this ends quickly. Neji is watching me carefully, unable to wipe the grin off his face as he eats his nice, simple, non-toxic sandwich. I lift the bowl and sniff it, forcing myself to not recoil from the salty, garlicky, under-cooked brew she's created.

"Did I do something wrong?" I ask before I can help myself, and immediately wish I could take it back as Hinata scowls at me. Neji chokes on his sandwich in a bid to hide his laughter.

"It's going to taste amazing, Gaara. Stop being such a wuss," Hinata says, her voice dangerous. I nod, figuring I'd better get it over with, fill up my spoon and put it in my mouth –

– and immediately start gagging. I can't help it. The salt and garlic immediately invade my sinuses, running the back of my throat raw. A bitter piece of celery gets stuck on the back of my tongue, and obviously I didn't wash the potatoes thoroughly enough because I can still taste a hint of dirt somewhere. I quickly spit it into the sink, rinsing my mouth out with water as I do so. "Hinata," I choke, coughing and hacking. "What the hell did you do?" Neji is almost crying with laughter next to me, and I'm sure I can hear her giggles behind me.

"I followed the instructions!" she laughs, a weak defence. "See?" She hands me the recipe. "A t-s-p of salt, more or less as needed, a t-s-p of garlic, all of these herbs which I guessed at, and the vegetables!"

I close my eyes, the salt still mercilessly assaulting my nose, and ask calmly, "Hinata, what does t-s-p stand for?"

"I mean, I'm guessing a tablespoon, what else could it be?"

I find myself praying for strength for the second time that day. Neji's wheezing behind me isn't helping. "A teaspoon, Hinata. A teaspoon. That spoon you use to stir your tea? That's a teaspoon. A tisp. A t – s – p. Bloody tablespoon, Jesus Christ. How long did you simmer it for?"

"Simmer?" Hinata asks, and I could bang my head against the wall. I'm pretty sure Neji is on the floor.

"A simmer! When you have the heat on low so that it doesn't burn?"

"It just said to stir it for four-to-five minutes, so I did!"

I take a deep breath. "Did you turn the stove on?"

She shakes her head. I look at the recipe and see that it says to let it simmer for forty five minutes, then stir, and I point out as much to her. Neji is practically howling behind us.

"Oh," recognition lights up her eyes. "Forty-five. Four-to-five. Forty-five. Whoops." She has the grace to look embarrassed for a moment, before she continues. "Look, I'm sorry alright?" she turns back to her failed soup. "I'm just sick of Neji's sandwiches, is all. I didn't mean to half poison you, it was an accident." There's a smile on her lips and mischief in her eyes that tells me she's not half as sorry as she's saying, but somehow I can't find it within me to care. Standing here, her noxious soup sitting innocently in the pot while its remnants burn my chest, Neji red in the face from laughter, a playful glint in her eyes with her hair falling haphazardly out of her bun, I feel something almost like happiness bubbling in my chest. At least, it's what I assume to be happiness, having had very little to do with the emotion. But it's warm and makes me want to laugh, really laugh, so I have to assume that it can't be anything else.

But then I look at the numbers above her head, and feel my smile melt off my face. One day, seven hours, twenty-nine minutes and fifty-five seconds. I shake my head, forcing myself to forget about them for just a moment.

"Let me take over," I say.

"You can cook?" she asks, moving to the side as I move to dump her… whatever the fuck that was out.

"Oh god no. But I know the difference between a teaspoon and a tablespoon at least, which, frankly, is more than you."

She rolls her eyes, and I wait for Neji to put a stop to it immediately, and am surprised when instead he goes to stand back on the other side of the counter.

"Can I help?" she asks me, reaching for the knife again, though I quickly grab it before she can.

"I think you've mauled enough vegetables for the day. Let's start you on peeling them instead."

She laughs at that, and swats my arm playfully, grinning at me. I find myself grinning back. "That sounds good."

I hope you enjoyed the chapter! I tried to make this one more light-hearted considering the chapter to come (I'll give you one guess as to what's next!).

Also, just in case I minced my words last chapter, when I said that I'll be making the story shorter, I meant that the time frame in which things will be taking place will be condensed. So, things I'd originally planned to take place over a few months will instead happen in a few weeks, that sort of thing. It'll help keep the pace up and should help keep the overall story shorter, even though nothing will be left out.

Thank you so much for reading, please leave a review :)

Lots of love,

Alia xoxo