Quotidian
By: firefly
Note: First and foremost, a huge THANK YOU to everyone who took the time to review chapter one. You have no idea how much I appreciated the feedback, especially since I was already freaked out about posting this weird fic in the first place. I hope you guys enjoy the second chapter!
Also, I was asked if this fic was related in any way to Coffee Table Talk. Rest assured, it is not. XD
Lastly, this fic places a lot of emphasis on Temari's introspection, and I'll warn you now—it gets damn creepy. Temari is a scary girl. XD
Let's Play a Game
Eighteen hours dragged by with agonizing slowness after her sleepless night, and Temari spent the day carrying out errands with a silent, withdrawn fixedness, thinking of what the night ahead would bring.
When the time finally came, she returned to the border, running on nothing but adrenaline and determination.
Her shoulder pack was heavier and larger than before, containing several ground flares, exploding notes, wire, and as many kunai and shuriken as she could cram into it. Leaving the torch at her post burning, she tightened her shawl, sat down, and waited.
The first hour passed alarmingly fast, time evaporating in a rush of energy and light after she gave herself an injection of a stimulant drug. Meant to work as a quick fix, the drug was developed to allow tired shinobi to keep working efficiently—sort of like what coffee did, only the drug was stronger and longer-lasting.
Invigorated and tensed, she waited, ignoring the scorpions that fought near the torch, focused only on the glimmering water of the oasis.
At 1:45 AM, she threw the first flare, aiming it towards the edge where he'd spent his hours the night before.
He'd consistently showed up a little after 2 AM for the past three days, and she wanted to catch him the moment he arrived. His obnoxious attitude told her he'd come towards the flare, if only to show her his blatant disregard for her warnings. She was counting on it.
Come on, asshole, she mouthed, her breath fogging in the air. I'm waiting.
Half an hour later, she finally decided to let her eyes stray from the circle of red light long enough to light another flare.
As she reached into her bag and withdrew another, slipping her finger through the looped string, she glanced down at the red circle of sand and froze.
He stood directly in the middle of it, head cocked to the side and looking up in her direction.
There was amusement in his tone when he spoke.
"Hey, crazy bitch with the flares, is that you?"
Temari twitched, her only answer another lit flare that spiraled down the short slope and landed close to the first, which extinguished a few seconds later.
"Heh, I knew it," he said, sounding smug. "Are you going to try to set me on fire again?"
"Only if you give me a reason to," she replied flatly.
"Fair enough," he said, sounding almost pleasant. "This is convenient, seriously. I couldn't see a single goddamn thing before."
He sounded like he was in a good mood. That irked her.
When she didn't reply, he turned away, walking over to the edge of the oasis to set down his scythe. With a quick yank he pulled off his cloak, throwing it carelessly to the sand.
When she caught a glimpse of his bare torso, her blood stilled.
Despite the distance between them, she could make out something black coating his chest and left arm, looking almost like a messy paint job.
Without sparing her a glance, he knelt by the oasis, and instead of cupping a handful of water, he reached for the sand.
Bewildered, she watched as he stretched out his left arm and sprinkled the sand over the blackness. She knew exactly what the blackness was the instant he began rubbing the sand in.
Dried, coagulated blood mingled with the fine, coarse grains, his skin gradually relinquishing the grime in the form of darkened clumps of sand that scattered to the ground.
She watched his blackened left arm grow spotless within five minutes, and felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise when he carefully cupped a handful of sand and pressed it to the blackness on his chest, rubbing it in vigorously.
The blood fell off of him like black rain.
He was methodical and careful, purposeful and deliberately slow, showing her, unnerving her, frightening her.
As far as she could tell, he had no wound to explain the amount of blood on his skin, and something clenched in the pit of her stomach as she wondered who the blood came from.
Questions, like the questions she'd asked as an eight-year-old when she saw the crow with the red, glistening something dangling from its beak, pushed at her throat.
Whose is that? She wondered. Where did he get that?
He scrubbed at his skin vigorously for nearly ten minutes, and once he was spotless he leaned forward and ladled a handful of water first over his arm, and then over his neck, washing away any remnants of dust that lingered on his skin.
The splashing sounded surreal, now that she could see the source of the noise. It sounded far off, as if it was coming from underground. She could barely hear it over the sound of blood rushing in her ears.
He continued pouring the icy water over himself, never looking her way, focused solely on the task at hand.
Then, a few minutes later, he finally withdrew his hand from the water, running his fingers through his hair before settling back on the sand.
Knowing she was watching, knowing she was staring, knowing he was unnerving her, he casually removed something from around his neck, holding it in his hands and bowing his head towards it.
Praying.
What are you doing? Temari wondered numbly. Trying to show me your apathy? Trying to show me you just killed someone? Trying to make me hate you? Well, it's working, you son of a bitch. It's working.
As he sat still and prayed, the water gradually stilled, flat as a black sheet of glass. Somewhere within its pristine depths, the black, sandy grime from his body tainted it, sinking and diffusing like poison.
In the future, even when granted permission to cross the border during missions, Temari would never drink from or bathe in the oasis again.
Certainly, she killed people, and of course there were instances where she got covered in their blood. But she was never happy about it. She never killed if it wasn't necessary. She never walked around sporting the spatters like honourary badges.
But him—he washed off the remnants of another life as if it were spilled ink, washed it off methodically as if he'd done it a hundred times before. How many times had he been to the oasis before guards had been stationed there? How many opportunities had he had to walk right in, this one who killed people and smiled in the aftermath?
Suddenly she didn't feel cold anymore. She felt something not quite like fury and not quite like disgust and not quite like fear. It burned and flushed her face red, seared like venom and made her feel so nauseous that she wondered if she'd been stung by one of the scorpions.
Rage would have empowered her, would have pushed at her throat to have her screaming, but this made her throat close up, this sealed her lips together and stifled her voice. This made her pulse race and her grip on her fan grow weak. She'd never felt anything like this before.
Temari didn't speak until the sky began to lighten almost two hours later. Up until then, her only reactions had been to toss a new flare every time the previous one expired.
She'd watched him unwaveringly for two hours, feeling slightly ill from the burning rush of emotion that scorched all vestiges of coherent thought and rendered her speechless.
What is this? She wondered blankly. Am I sick?
Her thoughts ceased when, just like the night before, he shifted as the sand dunes surrounding the oasis became discernable in the dark.
The landscape was silent save for the quiet rush of sand drifting with the wind, the scattering grains partially burying his weapon and cloak. He casually retrieved both, shaking the sand from his cloak before putting it on.
The last flare sputtered to death and he turned to glance at it. Then, with casual deliberateness, he looked up in her direction.
From where he stood, and given the lightness of the sky and the bright flame of the torch, he could probably see her leaning against it quite clearly. Temari could only stare back, the feeling in her worse than ever.
Then, just as he turned to leave, she called out.
"Whose was it?"
He paused, and then turned back around, his head tilted slightly to the side.
Temari said nothing more, knowing he knew perfectly well what she meant.
There was a moment of silence. When he answered, he sounded almost serene.
"I didn't know her name."
When she didn't reply, he turned back around and left, disappearing over the sand dunes.
The crow was a bird that feasted on carrion. It was a scavenger.
He was somewhat different.
The flesh was warm when he went to his prey, clean and free of maggots and buzzing insects. Like the crow, he was intelligent, never leaving a sign, never giving them a chance to scream.
The crow was a trickster.
In that aspect, he was the same. He lured and spoke with dulcet pretense, weaving a web of security with gentle words. Informal and laidback, he instilled a sense of ease in his victims, hiding a black nature behind a pretty face.
He wasn't a scavenger—the type to let the others do the dirty work. He was a crow that enjoyed the hunt. He was a predator.
Temari went over this when she found herself unable to sleep again.
The burning feeling pressed down on her, spilling streams of venom into her mouth till she felt like she was going to choke.
Sitting up, she propped her pillows against the headboard and leaned back against them, settling for staring at the bright lines of light peeking through the dark blinds.
Unconsciously, her right hand moved to touch her throat, tracing the rapid pulse and burning flesh.
Temari was eighteen years old and she'd never been in love. This made her feel as though love was exceedingly rare, something uncontrollable and passionate and overwhelming. It must have been an incredible emotion, to come along out of the blue in one's lifetime when they were least expecting it. It must have felt indescribable. True love must have been so rare.
As she sat and stared at the blinds, touching her throat, she recognized the burning, oppressive feeling pressing down on it, knowing it despite never having felt it before, knowing all at once that it was both stronger and fiercer and rarer than love.
I'm in hate. I've fallen in hate. I hate him.
Before that moment, she'd never truly hated anything.
She felt something close to it for that snake man who'd betrayed her village, and in her younger years she childishly told herself she hated Gaara for being a self-serving monster.
Casually, she'd say "I hate the cold" and "I hate cockroaches". Ignorantly, she'd thought it was a convenient feeling to have for someone with a job like hers, where ruthlessness was a prerequisite and killing was quotidian.
She didn't know that hatred, true hatred, would make you feel this sick. She didn't think true hatred wouldn't let her sleep, or that it elicited painful, visceral reactions every time she replayed his voice in her head. She didn't know it would make her weak, that the rage and fury were merely components of intense dislike and irrelevant when it came to true hate.
She didn't think that with true hate, tears would remain dormant and screams would trip on the way out, growing muted behind closed lips.
Only now that she'd felt it, she knew, with a slight, bitter smile playing on her lips, that when and if she ever got the chance to kill him, she'd laugh.
She'd laugh and smile and feel no regret, and the realization frightened her.
She'd fallen violently in hate, and more than anything was alarmed to find the physical symptoms so similar to those inspired commonly by love.
Since coming home, all she could think of was what he'd said to her in those few hours and how he'd sat at the edge of the oasis, so still and so serene despite having murdered someone.
Her head throbbed and her face burned and her pulse raced. She couldn't sleep. She couldn't eat. She couldn't get thoughts of him out of her head.
There was a thin line between love and hate, was there?
She wanted to smack whoever took the idea out of context. The prospect of this odious, abhorring emotion festering into something insane like affection was beyond ridiculous.
Just a reason—that's all she needed. He just had to give her a legitimate reason to cross the border, and she'd kill him. Knowing his kind, she was positive the chance would come soon.
At no point did the realization that her thoughts were spiraling out of control dawn on her.
At the academy, she was taught that shinobi were to always be emotionless and calculating—never should they let emotions like love and hate cloud their judgment.
Temari was an exemplary shinobi, but she was beyond trying to stifle the hate. This was a personal matter, one that buried the teachings and ideologies she lived by.
The Akatsuki had almost robbed her of her only remaining family, and as far as she was concerned, she had every damn right to hate them. And now that one of them was on her doorstep, the opportunity for revenge and self-satisfaction was too enticing to resist.
Every night, she thought, struck with a sudden bout of anticipation. Every night, I'll be ready for him. Just a reason, that's all I need. Just a reason, and this will all be over.
As she thought about it, she found herself relaxing, her pulse slowing and shoulders slackening in relief. Leaning back against her pillows, she closed her eyes and fell asleep within minutes.
Some time after, as her fingers curled into fists against the sheets, she dreamt of a crow eating strips of glistening red meat off a silver platter.
The rest of the day was spent like all the others, normal despite the anticipation that simmered beneath her calm façade. At one point during dinner, Kankuro asked her why she seemed so detached.
"I'm just tired," she'd replied vaguely, before disappearing into her room to wait out the hours.
When the time finally came and she was riding her fan towards the border on chilled gusts of wind, her determination soared. Her eyes watered in the wind but she didn't blink, her limbs were taut with anticipation and pent-up energy, and there was the reassuring weight of her fan and weapon-laded pack against her back.
She felt like she could take on a hundred of him and win.
When the others arrived after her she radioed them all, telling them to keep their posts until further notice. There would be no switching until he was gone.
Licking her lips, Temari settled down on the sand by her torch, staring intently at the red circles of light cast by the two flares she'd thrown. A sharp gust of wind made her squint and ruffled the surface of the oasis, the ripples reflecting glints of crimson light.
As she stared at the water, she wondered how much blood he'd drowned in the dark depths, wondered just how much blood he'd taken and diffused into obscurity.
Whose was it? How many? How many people are in there, you asshole?
She was vaguely aware that her pulse was racing and stomach twisting into knots.
Steadying herself, she waited, breathing deeply to slow her racing pulse. The first two hours passed alarmingly fast, and when she checked her watch and found it blinking 2:00 AM at her, a wave of nausea swept over her.
The anticipation was so great that for a moment she felt ill, half-tempted to abandon her post so she could get a hold of herself and half-tempted to scale the border and root him out herself.
True hatred? This had to be true hatred, where excitement reigned in place of dread, where her stomach fluttered and heart raced and cheeks flushed, where she was eager for him to arrive, eager for him to do something so she could do something.
Hate at first sight, she thought sardonically, her inner voice keening is falsetto. So passionate. So overwhelming. So intense. I hear your voice before I go to sleep. I want to touch you just so I can hurt you. I can't stop thinking about you because I keep fantasizing about the best way to kill you. Oh, baby, please come back. I'm so in hate with you.
The wind seemed to howl in laughter, whipping the shawl back from her face. Temari laughed with it.
"What the hell are you laughing at, heathen?"
The grin on her face vanished instantly, and her eyes widened when she glanced down and found him standing there in the light of the flares, head cocked to the side and arms crossed over his chest.
Cursing under her breath, Temari berated herself for letting him catch her off guard for the second night in a row.
"Oh, I get it," he said, sounding amused when she didn't reply. "You're just happy to see me."
For a moment, she couldn't bring herself to respond, her initial shock waning into disbelief at his audacity. But then, Temari of the Sand wasn't known for meekness, and she recovered a moment later.
"Ecstatic," she sneered. "Just delighted."
Even though she couldn't see his face clearly from where she sat, she could feel him grinning.
"You Suna nins are something, seriously. Those Leaf nins would have shit their pants by now."
"Flattery will get you nowhere."
"Can't take a compliment, can you?"
"I don't want anything from you."
"Aren't you guys supposed to switch posts or something? Or do you keep coming back because you like watching me bathe?" he asked. "Fucking pervert."
"I keep coming back," Temari said coolly. "Because I'm waiting for you to give me a reason to kill you."
"It must be painful, me being so close and you not being able to do jack shit about it," he drawled, gesturing to the short distance between them.
"You'll give me the opportunity," Temari responded confidently. "Soon enough."
He laughed.
"I'm not gonna do anything."
"You will."
"You say that like you want me to, or something."
I do, Temari thought inwardly. You have no idea how badly I do.
"I know your kind," she said shortly, and left it at that.
"Yeah, well, you can go ahead and freeze your ass off waiting for me to do something," he said indifferently, removing his scythe and letting it drop to the sand. "I've got things to do."
Somehow, she felt colder just by watching him bathe, huddling closer to the torch as he calmly rubbed cold sand over the blood and rinsed off the dust with ice-cold water.
Another one drowned, Temari thought blankly, watching the rippling surface of the water. Another one—and the bastard's still happy about it.
When he finished and moved back to sit cross-legged on the sand, Temari shivered, wondering how he could withstand the cold on his wet skin.
He suddenly glanced up, and she blinked when he spoke.
"I asked for her name this time," he said casually. "It was Mai. Someone you know?"
Temari stared at him, momentarily speechless.
Oh God I hate you you son of a bitch I hate you I hate you I hate you fuck this border I just want to make you bleed—
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, silencing the chaos in her head, and then opened them again to stare down at him
"You're demented," she said simply.
"And you're a bitch," he replied. "We both win."
She twitched.
"You—"
"Later," he interrupted, lowering his head towards the object in his hands. "I need to pray, first."
Temari fell silent.
Normally, she wouldn't take talk like that sitting down. But the only reason she restrained herself was the presence of the cloak.
He was from the Akatsuki, and from everything Suna's allies in Konoha had told her, they were considered the most dangerous shinobi on the continent. The cloak was a symbol of that.
She wanted desperately to kill him, but she wasn't stupid enough to heedlessly provoke him. Despite having so far neglected protocol and the ideologies she'd followed her whole life, she wasn't about to give up the practice of killing in stealth.
Missing nins were at their most dangerous when angry.
It was best to play along at this point.
Calmed by her reasoning, Temari relaxed, leaning back against the base of the torch again.
Almost two hours passed in silence, and at some points she found herself pinching her arm just to keep her eyes open. Under the warmth of the torch and her comfortable seat in the sand, it was difficult to stay focused.
And to her chagrin, he did absolutely nothing to warrant suspicion, turning the object in his hands—a rosary, she guessed—every so often, and nothing more.
He didn't even bother looking up whenever she tossed a new flare.
When he finally moved, the sky had lightened to its usual metallic blue, and the last flares had burned themselves out. Twin columns of smoke rose on either side of him, spiraling lazily into the sky.
As the smoke became visible, disappointment and dismay took over. She leaned forward, clenching a fistful of sand as he calmly got to his feet and took his things.
Not yet, she thought, mind racing. Don't leave yet, you bastard. Do something. Do something so I can get rid of you.
Slowly, deliberately, he stretched his arms over his head, fingertips inches from the enormous weapon strapped to his back.
Do it, she wanted to hiss, her grip growing sweaty on the frame of her fan. Draw it. Throw it. Do something!
To her utter dismay, however, he remained true to his word.
He let his arms flop lazily back to his sides and glanced up at the sky, looking utterly content with watching it lighten as Temari dug her heels into the sand and seethed.
She had let her eagerness show and he'd noticed. And now he was mocking her.
Every gesture was purposely innocent, every word deliberately serene and amiable—vestiges of the crow's trickiness. He was trying to provoke her, frustrate her to the point of impatience, irritate her to the point of irrationality—doing it all discreetly to draw her out.
He was taunting her and his attempts were working.
The hatred boiled up and overflowed, flooding her mouth, clouding her eyes, tightening her throat till all she could do was fight to breathe and glare at him through a red miasma.
If he wanted to make this into a game, there was no way in hell she'd let herself lose.
Two of the things she prided herself on were her level-headedness and self-control. She refused to let herself fall prey to his tactics. As she contemplated this, a contemptuous smirk curved her lips.
Think you can break me? Give me your best shot, you fucker. This game is mine.
Her watch flashed 4:30 AM.
The sky lightened further and he turned his head to look at her, visibly smiling.
The crow hides a black nature behind a pretty face.
A gust of wind blew the shawl from over her head and sent it careening onto the sand behind her, going unnoticed as she leaned forward and stared back, tense and flushed and waiting.
The clouds darkened from cold, metallic blue into a vivid magenta, growing brighter with every passing minute. Neither of them paid attention to the spectrum of colours fading and appearing overhead, both waiting for more light, more exposure, and more clarity.
The crow's a carrion-eater. But this one's dangerous. This one's a predator.
He blinked and his smile widened when the glowing, fiery halo of the sun peeked over the horizon enough to highlight her features, revealing cold, dark eyes and a venomous smile.
Surprised? Temari thought, watching him unwaveringly. I could say the same about you.
She hadn't expected such a youthful face with that silver hair, especially one so capable of wearing such an innocent expression.
Pretty face, indeed.
Temari finally broke the silence, voice scathing.
"What? Were you expecting something different?"
His grin widened and he gestured flippantly to his hair.
"I pictured you as a brunette, seriously."
"Disappointed?"
"Nah," he said, still wearing that infuriating grin. "Blondes are more fun."
The saying was common, common enough for her to ignore its unsavoury connotations. But coming from him, it almost made her feel violated.
"What about you?" she said with a smirk. "Do the drapes match the carpet?"
He raised his eyebrows at that and she congratulated herself for catching him off guard, but the victory was short-lived.
He took a step forward and smirked.
"If you're that curious, come and take a look for yourself."
She was glad he was standing too far away to notice how red her face had become. But despite her vibrant blush burning her cheeks, she wasn't about to let him win.
"With a mouth like that, it's hard to believe you're a man of faith."
"With a mouth like that, it's hard to believe you're a girl."
"What can I say? We Suna nins are something."
Her shift was ending soon. A bead of sweat ran down her temple.
Do something, you bastard. Don't make me wait another day.
He seemed to sense what she was thinking, and her eyes widened when he turned his head.
"I seriously need some fucking sleep," he announced. "I'll see you tomorrow, Blondie. Don't miss me too much."
This time, Temari couldn't think of a response, staring at him wordlessly as he departed with a jaunty wave, disappearing over the sand dunes.
Twenty minutes later, the jounin that arrived to take her post found the torch snapped in half.
She dreamed again.
This time, the crow and the silver platter of meat were on her windowsill. Incorporeal, she watched from her bed, wide-eyed as it casually devoured each strip of glistening flesh.
Then, once there was nothing but a bloody smear left on the platter, the crow turned and wiped its beak on her white curtains.
When Temari woke, she bolted upright and almost gasped in relief to find her curtains billowing in the breeze, unblemished.
Unable to go back to sleep, she threw off her covers and stood, pacing the room with her glaring eyes focused on the floor.
I never should have let him known, she thought furiously. I never should have let on that I was waiting for something. Now the bastard's getting off on mocking me.
How long would she have to deal with his presence? How long could she go on withstanding the burning feeling that pressed down on her and filled her with poisonous thoughts of hate and violence?
Somewhere in the back recesses of her mind, a calm voice told her she was losing it.
Never had anyone frazzled her like this. Never had anyone invaded her thoughts and dreams and made her feel sick to her stomach. Never had she felt the urge to discard her fan and kunai, and murder someone with her bare hands.
"Breathe," she muttered to herself, rubbing her temples as she paced. "This is what the asshole wants. Calm, stay calm."
Something was off with the way he'd been behaving lately. The first time they'd met, he'd come off as a short-tempered, violent asshole.
But now? Now he was just obnoxious. Something must have put him in a good mood.
With this in mind, she calmed down slightly.
Seeing as how he was in a good mood, he was harder to provoke. But given his short-tempered, unpleasant nature, those good days must have been scarce.
Slowly, a smile spread over her face.
Good things never lasted, especially not for missing nins. He'd give in to his murderous nature and do something eventually. All he required was the right provocation.
She knew she was endangering herself with this mindset, reminding herself that she had no idea what his abilities were. She knew she was neglecting every lesson she'd learned in the academy. But she could no longer bring herself to give a damn.
This is my terrain, she thought vehemently, pacing again. I'll have the advantage. And he looks like a long-range type fighter. Weapons like that, no matter how big they are, are useless against wind. I'll kill him. I'll kill him. I'll—
"Jeez, are you trying to pace a hole in the floor?"
Temari glanced up sharply, finding a groggy, squinting Kankuro standing near the door.
"Oh," she said blankly. "Hey."
"Hey," he returned, scratching his head. "You okay?"
Temari plastered on a smile and nodded, and it must have looked alarming because his eyes widened and he made a face.
"You've been acting weird, Temari. It's the PMS again, isn't it?"
Her face reddened.
"No, you idiot. I just…can't sleep."
He nodded sympathetically.
"Is everything all right at the border?"
Temari only stared at him.
"Temari?" he prompted, raising a brow.
"Yeah," she said loudly. "Yeah, everything's fine."
"You know you suck at lying," he said, rolling his eyes. "What, are the others pissing you off? Lazy bastards…"
Temari nearly wilted to the bed in relief.
"Yeah," she said, calmer now. "And the cold's been getting to me, so…"
"I can talk to Gaara about switching your shift—"
"No!" she shouted, and then almost instantly flushed, looking embarrassed when he stared at her in shock.
"I mean…leave Gaara alone. He's been busy enough as it is. And I'll get used to it, so don't worry."
"Okay," he said uncertainly, giving her a peculiar look. "Just don't push yourself."
"Right," she said faintly, smiling at his back when he turned and left.
Her smile faded as she heard his footsteps going down the stairs, and a minute later, she grabbed her fan and spent the rest of the day working off the barely-contained fury poisoning her system.
That night, just hours before departing, she settled down with her dinner and watched an old, late-night romance flick on TV.
And near the end, when a misdemeanor with the law resulted in the lover losing his beloved to a stray arrow, she did nothing but laugh.
"Where are you, lover?" Temari muttered, recounting the idiotic, besotted actress's dialogue. "It's not like you to make me wait."
Sitting in the sand, twirling a flare, Temari waited for him to arrive, refusing to let her eyes waver from the light of the flares near the oasis.
The irony of her situation became so blatant after watching the movie that she couldn't help but laugh, cynically comparing her circumstances to that of the actress's in the film.
The heroine's love had been from another village, and after a chance meeting near the border (that was where Temari started laughing) they fell hopelessly in love and did dumb shit like meet up in broad daylight so her parents would find out. That led the actor to commit an act of desperation which led to him losing his love forever—tragedy at its purest form.
"Oh, I've been hurt so many times," the actress had declared at their third meeting.
Temari thought of her brothers, one once kidnapped by the Akatsuki and the other once fatally poisoned, and remembered the pain.
"Please promise you'll come back," the actress had begged.
Come back so I can kill you.
"Despite what my parents say…"
I don't give a shit about protocol.
"I don't care what happens to me…"
Hurt me, you bastard. Hurt me so I can hurt you.
"Because I love you."
I hate you.
When he arrived a few minutes later, Temari almost felt tempted to tell him off for being late.
"Miss me, Blondie?"
Oh, yes, he was in a good mood.
"Like a cold sore," she replied dryly. "What kept you?"
"The crazy bitch this belongs to," he said, gesturing to the bloodstains on his skin. "Seriously, the last ones always give me a hard time."
Temari stared at him, uncomprehending and somewhat sickened by his nonchalance.
All at once, the question of whose was it became irrelevant and all she wanted was to know why.
She asked without even being aware of it.
"They're sacrifices," he said, as if it was obvious. "To my God."
"Your last one?" Temari asked blankly.
"For this month," he declared, sounding proud. "In tribute to the advent of Jashin."
Blinking, Temari glanced down at her watch.
2:37 AM JUNE 30.
Her breath caught in her throat.
She'd been stationed at the border for the past three weeks, since the beginning of June. He'd been coming here since then? A chill gripped her as she realized just how many opportunities he must have had to infiltrate the border.
And this one, she realized, staring at the bloodstains. This one was the last. No wonder he's so happy.
All at once, an intense sense of relief and disappointment flooded her.
There would be no reason for him to come back and the border would be safe.
There would be no reason for him to come back and she would also lose the opportunity for revenge.
Clenching her jaw, she said nothing, not trusting herself to speak.
He took her silence in stride, discarding his cloak as he knelt by the oasis and carried out his cleansing ritual. She watched him attentively, wondering whether this was the last time she'd see him, wondering whether he'd pull through and finally give her a reason to kill him.
As he poured handfuls of water over his neck and shoulders, rinsing away the dusty residue, she finally spoke, keeping her voice carefully detached.
"Why do you come here?"
"Why the hell do you think?"
"Just answer the question."
"For the sand, obviously."
When she said nothing, he heaved an exaggerated sigh before settling back on the sand, his wet skin glistening red in the light of the flares.
"It gets the blood out," he explained. "Water can't do shit on its own."
"Why do you stay?"
"Because this is the only place I can get some fucking peace and quiet," he said, grumbling now. "There's no place in that shithole—" he gestured to River country. "–for a child of God to pray, seriously."
Temari opened her mouth to speak, but froze, eyes widening when she caught sight of the long, black snake slithering silently towards him, attracted to the warmth of the flares.
A bite could kill in less than ten minutes.
"Hm," Temari managed noncommittally, tensing as the snake paused right next to him, raising its head.
Any sudden movements would elicit an attack. He was completely oblivious.
Her excitement mounted, hope and glee manifesting in a bright smile beneath the shawl.
"But there's one problem with this place," he suddenly drawled, leaning back on his hands. "It's…"
Temari's grin widened when he casually turned his head to the side and caught sight of the snake, trailing off in mid-sentence.
"…all the fucking snakes."
And to her shock, he calmly reached forward and grabbed it by its tail. The snake's reaction was inevitable. Without wasting a second, it surged forward and sank its fangs into his forearm.
Temari almost burst out laughing in triumph.
"Ouch! God dammit," he cursed, reaching blindly for his scythe. "I hate these fucking things."
A moment later, he severed the snake's head from its body and flung both pieces into the oasis, muttering curses and examining his arm.
"Ten minutes," Temari said airily, barely able to contain her glee. "The venom will melt you from the inside out."
"You sound happy about that," he said, sounding remarkably calm as he rubbed the bite. "That hurts my feelings, seriously."
Temari blinked, her smile fading in the slightest when he leaned towards the oasis and dipped his arm into the water, totally calm despite what she'd just told him.
"You're going to die," Temari said flatly, when he withdrew his arm and sat up again, leaning back on his hands.
"I wish it was that easy," he said with a sardonic laugh. "Seriously, that's the second time I got bit by one of those fuckers."
Temari's blood stilled in her veins.
Second time?
Only Suna nins had immunity to the venom of those snakes. It should've started working by now.
Astonished, mortified, she stared at him and waited, clenching her fists so hard her knuckles ached.
He couldn't have been a missing nin from Suna. She would have recognized him. And she'd never heard of someone with natural immunity against venomous reptiles. None of it made sense.
"You seem disappointed," he said, sounding amused. "Sorry my insides aren't melting."
"Why aren't you dead?" Temari asked, her voice blank with shock. "The venom…"
"Yeah, you sit there and fret over that," he said dismissively, moving to sit cross-legged. "I need to pray."
Temari said nothing, staring in disbelief as he withdrew his rosary and fell silent.
Five minutes passed. Then ten. Then fifteen.
Nothing happened.
To say she was disappointed would be an understatement. She was stunned, confused, and unnerved, her mind a chaotic plethora of questions.
Why? Why? Why? He should be dead. He should be screaming and convulsing and writhing and choking to death on his own blood. He should be, but he's not. Why?
No sense, Temari thought, wide-eyed as she stared at him. Crows aren't immortal.
Suddenly, she felt afraid. Her grip on the fan grew weak and clammy, fingers trembling against the frame.
All thoughts of revenge were buried under that sudden, vicious onslaught of fear. All she wanted now was for him to leave and never come back. There were no advantages or disadvantages to consider. She couldn't win against the likes of him.
The calm voice in the back of her mind, buried and muffled by fear and self-doubt, whispered comfortingly through the panic.
Relax. He's just unnerved you. Intimidation only works on the weak. You are not weak.
She latched onto the voice in desperation, repeating its message to herself in a mantra, breathing and clenching fistfuls of sand and willing all the fear away.
Temari of the Sand. She was Temari of the Sand, sister of the Kazekage. She would not be intimidated, especially not by the likes of him.
Gradually, the numbing fear subsided, the chill in her body fading as hate surged forward with a vengeance. It burned worse than before, labouring her breath and quickening her pulse, making the hairs rise on the back of her neck.
In that moment, two hours later when he raised his head and glanced at the lightening sky with a smirk on his lips, Temari knew he'd be back.
He'd found a toy in her, and he wouldn't stop playing until he'd broken her.
Fine by me, Temari thought, licking her lips when he pulled on his cloak. Play as rough as you like, you fucker. I'll play, too.
She felt no fear or trepidation when he turned to glance at her before leaving—only haughtiness and an intense adrenaline rush.
"Just so you know," she said lightly, her tone betraying none of the preceding fear. "There are things here besides snakes that bite."
As he stood there looking up at her, a grin of amusement curving his lips at the remark, her heart skipped a beat and a bead of sweat ran over her lips beneath the shawl.
Licking the saline drop from her lip, she casually lifted her right hand and gave a little wave goodbye.
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