Quotidian
By: firefly
Note: So, so sorry about the lateness of this chapter. I honestly had most of it written out in mid-January, but then a huge writer's block of doom fell on my head and I couldn't string two words together to save my life. XD But I'm back with an update now that it's passed.
Also, a reviewer asked me who exactly Hidan is, since he's a relatively new character. I recommend looking up Wikipedia's article on Hidan, since it has the most information. Lastly, please don't ask if the fic is over at the end of every chapter I post. XD I'll tell you when that happens. Anyway, without further ado, here's chapter 3!
Dancing on a Thin Line
She wasn't surprised when she dreamt about the crow again.
This time, the silver platter was clean, gleaming faintly on her windowsill. The crow perched next to it, gazing into her room contemplatively as she watched, still incorporeal, from her bed.
The bloodstain on her curtain had dried and faded to a dirty brown, and for the longest time nothing happened. The crow watched her and she watched the crow. Then, just as she became aware of herself stirring, it hopped off her windowsill and came flapping into her room in a flurry of black feathers, settling on the armrest of the chair across the room.
It cocked its head to the side and she closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, she found herself falling halfway off the bed with her arms over her face.
Kankuro looked at her in unconcealed worry when, after her 4 PM breakfast, she put the dirty dishes in the fridge and the carton of milk in the sink. She seemed oblivious to his concern and spent the rest of the day training vehemently in the searing desert sun.
A few miles west of where she trained, Gaara sat in a meeting room full of engineers, finalizing the draft plan for the barricades.
"I thought you said you were done," Temari said impassively, unsurprised when he arrived that night.
"I still need to pray, Blondie," he said with a dismissive wave, plopping down near the oasis. "No rest for the pious, seriously."
Temari observed him silently, finding the pristine, undisturbed surface of the water unusual. He'd finished with his sacrifices. There would be no blood to drown tonight.
The light of the flares was the only thing illuminating the oasis and the surrounding desert, casting an eerie red glow in lieu of the new moon. She watched him fastidiously, taking in his build, taking in every physical feature, contemplating her chances in a fight and mentally executing every possible attack and counter-attack she could think of.
She was faintly surprised when he finished his prayers much earlier than normal, cutting the time by nearly an hour and a half. When Temari glanced at her watch, it was only 2:52 AM.
Wary, she tightened her grip on the fan as he placed his rosary around his neck, adjusting it till he was satisfied.
"Now what?" Temari asked, when his hands returned to his sides.
"What the hell do you mean, 'now what'? I'm done."
"Now what are you going to do?" Temari asked impatiently. "Just sit there?"
"Jeez, what the hell do you want me to do? Dance for you?"
"You could leave and never come back," Temari offered innocently. "That would be great."
"You're a bitch, you know that?"
"And you're an asshole. We both win."
He smirked, leaning back on his hands.
"Admit it, Blondie. You'd be bored out of your mind if I didn't come around. I make your job fun."
"Fun?" Temari echoed blankly. "You think this is fun?"
"Sitting out in the cold all night watching me bathe? Loads of fun."
"You're a member of the Akatsuki," she said icily. "I'd be idiotic to let you out of my sight."
"I told you I'm not gonna do anything," he said, sounding amused. "Really."
"You expect me to believe you?" Temari asked, giving a humourless laugh. "We're ready-to-use sacrifices the moment we let our guard down."
"Look," he said suddenly, sounding irritable as he sat up and crossed his legs. "It's fucking three in the morning. I'm tired. I work all day and my job sucks, so when I say I'm out for nothing but a little rest and relaxation, I fucking mean it."
Temari opened her mouth to speak but he cut her off, sounding annoyed.
"So don't think I'm stupid enough to try something. Sacrificing you is totally not worth getting my ass kicked over."
Temari stared at him wordlessly, somewhat surprised by his petulance.
She'd expected emotionless, arrogant, and stoic qualities from the likes of the Akatsuki, not sulkiness. But with those words, he'd instantly broken her perception of them as subhuman creatures, creatures incapable of feeling anything, creatures immune to exhaustion or illness.
They weren't supposed to get tired. They weren't supposed to take a break from being bad. Being bad wasn't a job—it was a lifestyle. It was a choice. He had no right to rest or relaxation for the things he did.
She felt ill, suddenly, her nausea resurfacing as she recalled the numbness that had gripped her when Kankuro had been poisoned, recalling her rage and fear at the thought of losing him. That was all in a day's work for the likes of him? He wanted a break from that?
Blankly, she lowered her eyes to her fingers, gripping the fan so hard they ached.
I didn't think it could get any worse, she thought, staring at him through a glassy, red film, her heart racing. But this…this is…
She couldn't finish the thought, coherence decaying beneath the strain to hold back the rage.
"Oh, and, if the reason you're so bitchy is because of that whole deal with the Akatsuki kidnapping your Kazekage, don't blame me. I had nothing to do with that shit," he said offhandedly, glancing off to the side.
"Nothing to do with you," Temari repeated, alarmed at how dull her voice sounded. "Does it matter? You're all the same, so I don't see why you should be excluded."
"Don't put me in the same category as those heathens," he snapped, sounding angry suddenly. "We're nothing alike."
"You're all murderous bastards. There's enough similarity in that alone."
"I have my own reasons for what I do," he retorted. "I might work for them, but I've got my own agenda."
"And what's that?" Temari sneered. "Canonization?"
"Not really, but that wouldn't be too bad," he replied, sounding faintly amused. "Saint Hidan. I like the ring of that. And…shit, I just gave you my name, didn't I?"
"Yeah, you did."
"Whatever. It's in all the fucking bingo books, anyway." He paused. "You're not gonna tell me your name, are you?"
"No."
"Blondie it is, then," he said with a shrug.
Temari bit her lip, narrowing her eyes.
His changes in mood were quick and frequent, she noted, tapping her fingers against the fan. He also seemed rather careless, giving his name away like that, and coming so close to spilling information about the Akatsuki, no less. If goaded, he might even tell her something important.
Licking her lips, she settled back against the base of the torch, gazing at him calmly over the shawl.
"You don't like working for the Akatsuki," she intoned, voicing it as more of a statement than a question.
"Hell no," he said vehemently, spilling fistfuls of sand from one hand into the other. "My boss is the biggest shit head you'll ever meet."
Smirking, she decided to take a slightly more discreet approach rather than asking him outright.
"How are your goals different?"
He paused before looking up at her, sounding vaguely annoyed.
"You're trying to get information from me, aren't you?"
"Yes," Temari said flatly.
"You know, if I actually knew anything, I might actually tell you," he said, sounding contemplative. "But that shit head never tells me anything."
Somehow, judging from his tone, she could tell he was being honest so she didn't press the issue. But his sudden agreeableness had her on edge.
"And why would you tell me anything, at all?" she demanded.
"Just to piss him off," he replied lazily, letting the sand stream back to the ground.
Temari stared at him in disbelief.
"Do you have a death wish?"
The question left her before she could reconsider, and for a few seconds it hung heavily in the still, frigid air.
"Yeah," he finally replied. "I do…but he can't kill me."
She fell silent, gazing at him in confusion and suspicion, feeling unsettled by his words. Again, something about his tone gave no implication of deceit, his words nonchalant and simple, unrehearsed.
But his statements made no sense, she realized. He said he wouldn't attack because he was too weak and tired to fight. But now he claimed that the leader of the continent's most notorious criminal organization couldn't kill him.
A bead of cold sweat ran down the back of her neck.
"What, are you that strong?" she asked, careful to keep her voice blank.
He was grinning when he answered.
"No. Just really, really durable."
"What do you mean by that?"
"I mean I can't die," he said with a derisive laugh.
Temari stared at him uncomprehendingly, momentarily convinced that she'd misheard him.
"You can't die," she repeated, as if waiting for him to correct her.
"That's what I said," he said, smirking cynically. "Death's got a vendetta against me."
Temari could only stare at him, and suddenly, her mouth felt as dry as the desert around her, her throat stinging as she swallowed nothing but cold air. Her heart pounded in her ears, throbbing almost painfully in her chest, her tongue a lead weight in her mouth. More sweat ran down the back of her neck, plastering loose strands of blonde hair to the clammy skin.
Unable to withstand the sensation, she reached up and tore off the shawl, barely able to contain her gasp as chilled wind met with the damp skin.
Is this panic? She thought, wide-eyed and shaking. Disbelief? Both?
Crows aren't immortal.
"Don't believe me?" he asked casually, leaning back on his hands again. "How the hell do you think I survived those snake bites?"
"There's…a vaccination," Temari managed to croak, appalled at how faint her voice sounded. "You could have…"
"You're being stupid," he said plainly. "Think about it."
"I don't believe you," she said, more for herself than anything else.
Not true. It can't be true. How can I win, then? How can I defend everyone? It's not possible. No God is cruel enough to give me an enemy who can't die. He has to be lying, he has to—
The fan sank into the sand, lying on its side as her grip grew limp, her wide eyes focused on its glinting, metal handle.
I'm not like this, she realized in disbelief. I never react like this.
But you hate this one, remember? The calm voice in the back of her mind reminded her. You hate him when shinobi aren't supposed to hate. You're skewed, Temari. You're bent out of shape when it comes to him.
"Well," he said loudly, when she didn't respond for nearly ten minutes. "Seeing as how I've scared the shit out of you, my work here's done for tonight."
Temari stared at him, wide-eyed and silent as he retrieved his scythe and stood.
"You were thinking you'd kill me one of these days, weren't you?" he asked, sounding complacent. "And all of a sudden I dropped a bomb on your little fantasy."
He laughed. "Sucks to be you."
Shut up, shut up, shut up—
"Just sit there and let it marinate for a while," he advised, sounding amused now. "It'll sink in, seriously."
I hate you, she wanted to say. I hate you, you bastard. You're lying. You have to be lying because I have to kill you and I can't kill you if you're telling the truth.
He gave a jaunty little wave and turned to leave.
Temari wanted to scream, but only managed a hoarse "wait."
He glanced back at her over his shoulder.
"Don't come back," she said, finding her voice faint. "Don't ever come back."
"You asked me a question," he said smoothly, his shadow flickering in the dying light of the flares. "About how my goals are different from the Akatsuki's. I'll answer it tomorrow."
She could only mouth wordlessly at his response, staring after him as he departed into the darkness, the flares extinguishing silently behind him.
She couldn't sleep that night. Fear pressed down at her from all sides, threatening to suffocate her the instant she laid her head upon the pillow. When she got in a mere thirty minutes while slumped against headboard, the dream came to her immediately.
The crow was there on the armrest of her chair, watching her. It cocked its head to the side and suddenly she was flooded with revulsion, unable to withstand its presence any longer. She felt her incorporeal hands grab things, sharp things, and fling them in its direction as hard as she could.
The objects struck it dead on, tearing off chunks of feathers that drifted serenely to the carpet. The bird didn't move, taking the vicious assault complacently, unperturbed by her violence.
Then, as she ran out of things to throw and her invisible arms grew limp from exhaustion, it spread its wings and flew from the chair and onto the hamper at the foot of her bed.
When Temari woke, she found crescent-shaped welts in her arm where she'd dug her nails during the night.
"Something's wrong with you," Kankuro said flatly when she came downstairs, staring at the dark circles under her eyes. "I'm going to talk to Gaara about switching your shift."
"No," she said, staring at him as if he was insane. "You can't."
Kankuro opened his mouth to argue, but she took her breakfast and disappeared into her room.
You're going crazy, she told herself calmly once she'd sat down, staring vacantly at her hardly-touched breakfast. You're acting like how they act…like that actress in that stupid movie. Like you're lovesick.
"Hatesick," Temari corrected herself aloud, finding the improvised word strange on her tongue. "I'm hatesick."
You've got it bad, the calm voice continued as she cut up her breakfast, forcing herself to eat. You're getting obsessed.
She grimaced, thinking of the dreams and how she'd never experienced them so consecutively before, thinking of the crow and what it represented. The thought of it gracing her dreams each night was enough to make her nauseous.
Is this why shinobi are supposed to be emotionless when doing their job? She wondered, forcing herself to chew the food. Is it because you'd go insane, otherwise?
The sound of children laughing and playing in the streets outside infiltrated the room through the blinds, snatches of excited shouts drifting up to her window. Temari stared at the window morosely, listening to the laughter. Their carefree happiness was enviable.
As they played and laughed, oblivious to everything but their fun, she stayed in her room and thought, wondering what she could possibly do about the impossible situation she'd found herself in.
Kankuro had been defeated almost instantly by one of them. Even Gaara hadn't been able to hold his own, and he was the Kazekage. In both circumstances, both her brothers had fought only one member.
Now she found herself faced with the same predicament. One of the Akatsuki—an immortal one, to boot—had found his way to the doorstep of her country. He was temperamental, dangerous, and obviously insane—apparently invulnerable to whatever attack she could throw his way.
Quietly, she set aside her plate and stood, wandering over to the window. Sliding the blinds apart, she squinted into the bright sunlight that poured into her room, gazing out at the neighbourhood before lowering her eyes to the playing children on the street below.
Defeat was a bitter pill to swallow. She'd learned that early on in life.
And now, as a faint hint of bitterness lingered on the back of her tongue, she felt a strange, hollow disappointment take over. Simultaneously, all thoughts of defending and revenging became ludicrous, rendered absolutely impossible by the present circumstances.
The most I can do, she realized bitterly, is try to keep him out.
The plans for the barricades had been finalized last night. Until their construction was complete—in an estimated month to two months' time—their midnight 'meetings' would just have to continue.
She thought of him—of his obnoxious attitude, habitual cursing and biting sarcasm, and then imagined having to deal with it for the next fifty or so days.
Grimacing, she bowed her head in resignation, letting her forehead drop against the glass with a dull thud.
Do you think about me?she wondered cynically, tracing the grains of sand on her windowsill. Do you think about me the way I think about you?
She stood there, barely listening to the faint shouts and laughter drifting up from the street below, eyes unfocused blankly on the grains of sand. She pictured him in daylight, pictured him amongst a group of shadowy figures, pictured him picturing her and smiling a private, twisted smile of approval at his new toy.
Did you tell the others about me?she wondered, blinking slowly. Or are you keeping me a secret…like how I'm keeping you?
Secret, something whispered in the back of her mind. Nobody likes to share their toys.
The skin on the back of her neck prickled and almost unconsciously she whipped her head around to look at the doorway.
Open. Empty.
Wide-eyed, she wiped her hand over the back of her neck, staring apprehensively at the sweat on her fingers. Her clothes were drenched in perspiration.
Swallowing hard, she strode across the room, grabbing the towel she'd left at the foot of the bed before walking off to the shower. Her breakfast felt like a lead weight in her stomach, her skin breaking out in goose bumps as she undressed and started the shower.
Glancing momentarily at her reflection in the full-length mirror, Temari grimaced at the harrowed look in her eyes.
The water erupted with a hiss and she eagerly stepped in, desperate to get away from her fearful reflection and desperate for the rhythmic beating of the water to drive away the unsettling thoughts.
Shuddering beneath the downpour, she reached for the soap and did everything mechanically, screwing her eyes shut to obliterate the images of him that flitted teasingly across her mind's eye. As soon as she did, however, the serene voice in the back of her mind interjected with a seemingly innocent question.
What do you think he's doing right now?
Shuddering once more, she entangled her fingers into her hair, clenching hard and concentrating on the pain that muddled and distorted the calm, disconcerting voice. Breathing hard, Temari opened her eyes partially, squinting down at the soapy water swirling into the drain.
Almost immediately, she pictured herself back at the border, huddled beneath the warmth of the torch and watching him wash away the blood of his sacrifices with a mix of morbid fascination and abhorrence.
Her face burned at the memory, stomach churning as venom flooded every facet of her mind, engulfing all thoughts and questions in a red, noxious haze.
I hate him, I hate him, I hate him, I hate him, I want to…I just want to—
"Hurt him," she whispered weakly, screwing her eyes shut. "I want to hurt him. I want…"
The desire to inflict harm was suddenly so strong that her heart ached at his absence, hurting at the thought of having to wait before she could see him again and sate her rage.
Killing him was no longer an option, and in lieu of that her mind and body screamed at her, begging for an opportunity to at least cause him some pain.
Denying herself the chance to hurt him was like a self-inflicted wound in her side, agonizing because she was all too aware of what his cloak signified. Chances were that she would be overpowered. Chances were that he'd kill her should she try anything. Chances were that she'd be throwing her life away if she listened to the primal rage festering within her.
Keep him out, that's it, she told herself breathlessly, pressing her forehead against the cool, wet tiles. Don't do anything stupid, Temari. That's what he wants.
The rage gradually diminished, boiling down to a simmer beneath the surface, leaving her feeling hollow and drained. Her pulse throbbed loudly in her ears, heart aching with the need to see him, pining for the opportunity to inflict harm, craving a legitimate reason to clear the poison flooding her system.
Temari ignored it, subsequently ignoring the hollowness that followed as she forced herself to be calm.
Slowly, she reached for the shower knobs and turned them off, remaining in the stall as the downpour ceased. Listening to the quiet drips in the stall, she breathed, staring ahead at the misty glass of the sliding door.
Unconsciously she reached forward, letting her fingertips rest against the mist.
She would wait out the hours, and then she'd go to the border and do her duty and only her duty. She would keep him out. There would be no provocations or insinuations. She wouldn't let herself lose her head, metaphorically or literally. Calm, she would remain steady and calm.
Temari brought her eyes back into focus once she'd reassured herself, glancing up at the stall door.
A crude outline of a crow gazed back at her from beneath her fingertips.
1:47 AM.
An anticipatory shudder racked her body, cumulating from the frigid cold and adrenaline rush the rejuvenating injection gave her.
Her breath misted in the air and she momentarily closed her eyes, leaning back against the torch as the injection's effects settled in. The aches in her joints were gradually dispelled, along with the heavy weight on her eyelids. Her shoulders hunched with a jerk beneath the shawl, the muscles twitching as electric warmth shot up her spine.
Within minutes, her exhaustion was gone. Feeling more rejuvenated than she had all day, she opened her eyes, lowering them to the syringe she held in her right hand.
"Quick fix," she muttered, stashing it in her shoulder bag. "Can't get too used to it…"
Too many doses would eventually have a detrimental effect on the body. If she wasn't careful, she could find herself addicted. But the mere thought of trying to get more sleep at home elicited a sense of foreboding, presenting the question of how close the crow would get the next time she closed her eyes.
Temari narrowed her eyes in self-reproach, idly tapping her finger against the sharp point of the kunai she held. Part of her was disgusted for feeling so apprehensive about the consecutive, unsettling dreams, but she couldn't help but shudder at the memory of the carrion bird's black, gnarled feet tainting whatever and wherever they perched on.
Shaking her head, she lowered her eyes to the light of the flares that burned brightly near the oasis, the light unusually intense at the absence of wind.
Something akin to excitement played in the pit of her stomach, and she found herself absentmindedly rubbing her sweaty palms against her pants, swallowing frigid air on a parched throat.
Duty, she reiterated to herself. Do your duty and keep him out. Nothing else.
But she still slid her fingers around the hilt of the kunai, keeping her other hand on the frame of her fan.
When he arrived eight minutes later she said absolutely nothing, momentarily rendered speechless by the nervous jolt in the pit of her stomach. Unconsciously, she tightened her grip on the fan, dragging it closer as he stood there, removing his scythe.
Wordlessly, he let it drop to the sand before taking a seat next to it, never looking her way.
Temari watched him, a wry smirk twisting her lips as he withdrew his rosary, settling down to pray without even glancing in her direction.
He wanted to play a game, did he? Get her to talk first? He was even more childish than she'd previously thought.
Crossing her arms, she settled back against the torch complacently, waiting out the hour in silence.
The desert was silent save for the faint crackling of the wooden torches, the flames fluid and upright in the still air, resembling a row of candles in a bed of sand. She never moved her gaze from his still form, never turning her head to glance at the other patrollers.
Encompassed in surrounding darkness, under the warm light of her single torch and between the short distance that separated them, she felt like they were the only two living things in the desert—both silent and straddling an invisible boundary buried beneath a mile of sand, both playing a silent game of bet-you'll-talk-first, both well-aware of who had the advantage should either of them choose to cross that boundary.
She watched and waited, unwavering as her watch relayed the passing hour, reacting only when she saw him lift the rosary and place it back around his neck.
Tensing, she sat up as his arms drifted back to his sides and he finally tilted his head up to look at her.
Another shudder worked its way through her body as she gazed back, her sweating fingers leaving a misty trail on the metal frame of her fan.
He broke the silence first, his casual words masking an undertone of amusement.
"Didn't think you'd be back."
Temari stared at him, unsure of whether she was smirking or grimacing when she answered.
"Why wouldn't I be?"
He shrugged.
"Figured you wouldn't after I scared you shitless yesterday."
Temari narrowed her eyes, her voice growing icy.
"You caught me off guard, that's all." She paused, tone growing sardonic. "It's not often you come across a person who can't die, after all."
"No shit," he drawled, stretching his arms before clasping his hands behind his head, dropping backwards into the sand. "What's your plan now, since you can't kill me?"
"I'm just here to do my duty," she replied steadily. "And keep you outside the border."
"I told you three fucking times I'm not gonna do anything."
"And nothing you say will make me believe you."
He didn't reply for a few seconds, staring up at the dark, star-dotted sky in silence.
"And what if I'm lying?" he asked suddenly, almost placidly. "Let's say I do cross the border. What'll you do then?"
Temari stared at him, a bolt of sharp, ice-cold fear raking down her spine, eliciting a barrage of goose bumps. She tightened her sweaty grip on the fan, forcing herself to keep her composure as she leaned forward.
Duty first. Don't provoke him. Don't insinuate anything. Duty first.
"If you do that," she replied calmly. "I'll just have to stop you."
"Think you can?"
"If I have to," she said shortly, amazed with herself for keeping her voice so steady when her heels were digging into the sand and the kunai trembled uncontrollably in her grip.
"You'll try to kill me the second I give you a chance," he continued calmly, voicing it as more of a statement than a question.
"I will," she agreed, recalling their conversation from the night before. "But you'd like that, wouldn't you?"
He chuckled at her reply, raising his head slightly to look up at her.
"I'd love it, seriously."
She wasn't sure whether her cheeks burned as a side-effect of the injection or out of feeling somewhat violated. Something about his voice had the uncanny ability to simultaneously mock her while casually answering a question at the same time. It irked her.
"But I've got shit luck," he suddenly intoned, lowering his head back onto his clasped fingers. "Nobody can kill me."
Temari sneered, her voice scathing.
"So why don't you do everyone a favour and just kill yourself?"
He didn't reply and the cruel words hung heavily in the air, every mental echo stretching her smirk wider. A month ago, perhaps she would've felt guilty for saying something so harsh. But now, instead of feeling shame and regret, she basked in a well of grim satisfaction, watching his still form with cold, narrowed eyes.
Aww, she cooed inwardly, her inner voice keening in falsetto. Did I hurt your feelings? I hope so, you sick bastard.
"Tried that. Doesn't work."
Temari blinked, starting at the sound of his flat voice.
"Tried what?" she asked blankly before she could stop herself. "Killing yourself?"
"Every way, you name it. Nothing works."
She blinked again, somewhat unsettled by his laidback attitude before staring down at him in scorn.
"How's that work? You've got no free will over your immortality?"
"Guess you could say that."
Temari smirked, twirling the kunai between her fingers. Duty first, of course. That implied not talking to him unless necessary. But she couldn't resist the opportunity to return the mockery he'd mercilessly inflicted upon her in the past week.
"I doubt it," she said, tone flippant. "You're probably not doing it right."
He lifted his head slightly to look up at her.
"Are you trying to give me advice?"
"Guess you could say that," she parroted, grinning now. "Why not, when you dying will make us both happy."
He feigned an injured tone, moving his hand to rest over his heart.
"That's harsh, seriously. I think that might've done it if I actually gave a shit about what you thought."
Temari shrugged, unperturbed by his biting sarcasm.
"I figured you'd appreciate some advice, since you can't seem to kill yourself properly on your own."
He laughed, the sound sharp and humourless in the frigid air.
"Think you can do better? Go ahead, hit me."
"Hanging," Temari suggested promptly, picking the first thing that came to mind. "Quick. No mess."
"Tried that," he snorted. "Fucking broke my neck, too. Didn't work."
"Poison," she continued without hesitance, her tone carrying a casualness suited for table talk. "Drug overdose."
"I could drink a gallon of bleach and it won't do shit," he replied wryly. "Seriously, there's no point in—"
"Drowning," she interrupted, mind racing with every method of suicide she'd ever heard of. "Asphyxiation."
"Been there, done that."
"Decapitation."
"Hurt like a motherfucker, seriously."
"You survived decapitation?" she asked, voice blank with disbelief.
"I'm still here, aren't I?"
"I don't believe you."
"Like I give a shit. What do you want? A demonstration?"
Temari hesitated only momentarily, eyes widening as her hand brushed over her shoulder bag.
"Exploding notes," she said slowly, recalling the bundle she'd stashed in the bag.
He stared up at her from where he lay on the sand, momentarily silent.
The confidence that suddenly flourished within her elicited a bright smile, voice holding a genuine tone of earnestness as she described it, picturing an instantaneous death with no chance of survival. She didn't give herself the time to feel disturbed by her own enthusiasm.
"You can't tell me you've tried that. There's no chance you'd survive if they were strapped to your body. The proximity of the explosion would blow you to pieces—"
"Which is why I'm not stupid enough to try it," he interrupted.
Temari stared at him, her upper lip curling into a sneer.
"Why? Are you afraid?"
He sat up abruptly and her hands instinctively flew to her fan, tensing so suddenly her fingers seized on the metal frame. He sat there with his arms limp by his sides, looking up at her in silence.
Don't provoke him, she reminded herself, her heart racing. Watch your mouth, Temari.
He watched her for a few more seconds before turning his head to the side, sneering in contempt.
"Only heathens would be afraid."
When she didn't reply, he continued, batting absentmindedly at the sand in front of him.
"If I didn't think it'd leave me alive and useless in a hundred fucking pieces, I'd have done it by now."
Temari swallowed, not trusting herself to speak as a shiver ran down her spine. Without even trying, he reminded her of just how futile any of her tactics would be, ruthlessly destroying all hope she had of defending her country and herself.
It was like a slap in the face.
Subdued, she sank back against the torch, glaring tiredly down at him from over the shawl.
The flare lying a few feet to his left began sputtering, the light flickering sporadically and distorting his shadow against the sand. Wordlessly, she withdrew another one and lit it, tossing it close to the first. He paid no attention to it, choosing to flop back down on the sand, folding his hands behind his head.
She watched him, vaguely perturbed by whatever had elapsed.
Prior to meeting him, she'd pictured the Akatsuki as a group of soulless, unfeeling cretins, as animalistic, instinctual beings, strangers to altruism, beings exempt from fears or desires concerning things besides materialistic gain. That's all they wanted, wasn't it? Power? Influence?
He'd broken that perception within an hour after first meeting her.
She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully, tracing circles in the sand at her feet as she contemplated his words.
They're sacrifices to my God.
Unselfish. Serving a higher purpose.
Don't put me in the same category as those heathens.
Disassociation.
I might work for them, but I've got a different agenda.
Goals beyond materialistic gain.
Death's got a vendetta against me.
…why?
His apparent immortality and unsettling desire for death was what skewed her perspective of them the most. Her view of the idealistic, power-hungry sociopath was turned on its head, her opinions shaken, her thoughts rendered ambiguous.
What was he after? Why the desire to die? Why did she even care?
Keep your friends close, she thought faintly, recalling the unwritten rule every Suna jounin resided by. But keep your enemies closer.
Thirty days or more—the amount of time she was liable to find herself spending in his company, the amount of time he'd have to infiltrate the border before the barricades went up. Thirty days or more she'd have to keep him out. Thirty days or more she'd have to be alert and ready, wary of the slightest cause for concern, prepared to fight to the death.
She had thirty days or more to get to know him, to memorize his habits and moods, to understand what angered him, interested him, and drove him to do what he did.
Temari swallowed, finding her throat parched as she gazed down at his still form, hesitating.
Thirty days or more to satisfy her own fascination with the man who'd invaded her every thought in every breathing moment.
She took a deep breath.
"Why die at all?" she asked suddenly, her voice wavering only slightly. "Why not live forever?"
He didn't bother looking at her this time, keeping his eyes trained on the star-ridden sky.
"Why would you?" he retorted, voice bitter. "In this world of shit."
Temari stared, surprised by his rancour.
"What's so bad about it?" she continued after a moment, somewhat calmer now. She watched him unwaveringly as he remained silent, her grip relaxing on the frame of her fan.
"Even a jackass could answer that," he muttered after a moment. "The world's full of nothing but godless heathens."
She thought for a moment, drudging up as much knowledge as she could about the ideals and practices of common religions. Spreading the Word, converting heathens—wasn't that a key precept in most religions?
"So why don't you do your part and convert them?" she asked, her tone more wry than intended. "Isn't it your job to—"
"I've done enough," he snapped suddenly, abruptly sitting up again. "I've done more than I fucking have to. But I still…"
He trailed off suddenly and Temari stared at him, wide-eyed and tense as she clutched her fan, wary even as he turned his head, sucking his teeth in resignation.
"But you still what?" she asked after a moment, tensing again as he turned his head to look at her.
"What's with all the questions, all of a sudden?" he demanded.
Temari narrowed her eyes in annoyance, fighting to keep her voice calm as she answered.
"You're the one who said you'd tell me about how your goals are different from the Akatsuki's."
"Not much to say," he muttered, flicking sand from his cloak. "They want power. I want to finish my mission and get the hell out of here."
When he didn't continue, Temari felt her patience wane and chanced a glance at her watch.
3:32 AM.
"You've got an hour and a half," she said impatiently, leaning forward. "So…care to elaborate?"
He smirked, turning his head up to look at the sky again.
"Do you believe in God?"
Unconsciously, Temari found herself following his gaze, raising her eyes to the vast blackness overhead, speckled with a bright array of stars. For a moment, she just took the time to look at them, unable to recall the last time she had the time to appreciate the familiar constellations.
Her eyes flitted immediately to the arrangement of stars she'd been observing since childhood, recognizing the shape and smiling slightly at the memory of naming it with Kankuro. The sparkling lights formed an instantly recognizable object. A silver hammer.
Silver, she mused, because that was the only thing she could relate the sparkling of the stars to when she'd been little.
It looked exactly as it had when she was seven years old.
An odd feeling crept over her, raising goose bumps on her arms. In the darkness, in this silence, she felt the constellation become so distinct it seemed able and threatening to fall from the sky, an enormous silver hammer crafted from stars and black space, bound together by a force beyond nature and coincidence. She lowered her eyes, blinking at the sight of him staring at her expectantly.
The constellations were too cyclical to be coincidence, and she was all too aware of who she'd been praying to when her brothers had teetered on the brink of death, only months before.
"Yes," she finally answered, a closed expression overtaking her features.
He regarded her silently for a moment before leaning back on his hands, sounding complacent as he spoke.
"He knows it, too," he said, tilting his head up in a vague gesture. "He knows the world's full of shit. It's a test to see who pulls through and who doesn't, to see who comes out dirty or clean."
Temari listened attentively, unconscious of the way she was biting her lip raw.
"But the thing is, no one cares anymore. Nobody gives a shit about anything besides money and fucking. Everything's gone to hell." He paused. "Everyone's dirty."
"Not everyone," Temari said, remembering the monks she'd encountered en route to Konoha. "Some people still…"
He made a sound of derision in his throat, waving a hand dismissively.
"Lost cause," he said. "They're getting nowhere trying to redeem the heathens. Like I said, everything's gone to shit. There's no changing that."
"So what, then?" Temari asked blankly. "You're saying to leave them that way?"
"Hell no. I'm saying it's too late for repentance. I'm saying that if things change, they'll only get shittier, so we might as well put an end to things now," he said, a note of excitement creeping into his voice.
Temari stared at him, uncomprehending.
"Put an end to things?"
"Everyone's overdue for judgment," he declared, leaning forward, resting his arms on his knees. "The purpose of Jashin is to hurry it along."
Cold perspiration beaded on her skin, the question forcing its way out of her throat despite her already knowing the answer.
"How?"
He smirked.
"How do you think?"
She pictured him from a few nights ago, calmly cleansing away the blood of girls she didn't know the names of, girls who probably didn't deserve the fate they inevitably ended up meeting. She pictured him praying, serene with the burdensome weight of murder lifted from his shoulders and drowned within the oasis, embellished with the name of sacrifice.
Temari couldn't bring herself to speak, suddenly more afraid than she'd ever felt in his presence.
"We kill them," he said, voice escalating in excitement. "We'll keep killing them till there's nobody left. It's my job to make sure everyone receives judgment; that's my mission. I'll live until I satisfy Jashin-sama, until He's satisfied with my service. Then…" he paused, almost breathless with yearning.
"I'll be able to die."
Temari stared at him, fear and loathing pressing down on her throat, strangling her words on their way out.
"Haven't you done enough?" she managed to croak, aghast.
How many are in there? She thought, eyes darting over to the oasis. How many did you…
"If I'd done enough, I wouldn't be here right now," he retorted, sounding annoyed.
I've done more than I fucking have to. But I still…
Temari suddenly felt nauseous. Unconsciously, she brought the fan into her lap, fingers curving tightly over the metallic frame as she stared at him, mind racing.
He's insane. I can't let someone like that over the border. Not ever. He's wrong. He's crazy. I can't win against the likes of him. He's wrong.
"So if you come up with an interesting way for me to kill myself, let me know," he said sardonically. "Because seriously, I've tried everything."
He paused momentarily as she remained silent, staring at her before a slow smirk curved his lips.
"And if you think you can kill me…go ahead and try. I've got a good feeling about you."
Temari found herself rendered speechless for the second night in a row, unable to form words as her mind screamed at her, seething at the sight she took in through blank, unblinking eyes.
Oh please, hurt him. Just once. Just try. Only once. Hurt him, please. At least once.
But then her eyes would fall upon his cloak, jolting sense into her rage-addled mind, reminding her who he was, who she was, and telling her, repeatedly and desperately, that she'd never stand a chance.
I hate you I hate you I hate you I HATE YOU—
The flare began to sputter and he lazily turned his head to glance at it. Calmly, he got to his feet, dragging his scythe up with him.
Temari watched, unable to say anything as he strapped it to his back and turned to glance up at her listless form in the sand.
So close…someone able to justify his reason for murder without guilt, without remorse, with passion. Someone like him was so close, physically and mentally, the cadence of his voice replaying itself in a never-ending echo in the back of her mind, plaguing her thoughts in every waking moment.
Without even being aware of it, she found herself standing, clutching the fan by her side.
A few steps. That's all it would take.
Hurt him, please. Just once. At least once.
Feeling empowered was what she expected out of the abhorring, vicious emotion flooding her in that moment. Feeling unstoppable was what she'd pictured every time she played this scenario out in her head.
The last thing she expected was to feel sick with rage.
A moment later, the fan fell from her limp fingers, landing with a muffled thump in the sand.
He smiled before turning to leave.
"Sweet dreams, Blondie."
Hours later, after her shift ended and she found herself back in front of her house, it was with a mechanical, jilted air that she opened the door. She slowly made her way through the dark hallway to the kitchen. The house was silent save for the gentle humming of electric appliances, the interior faintly illuminated by the faint moonlight streaming in through the windows.
Stopping at the cabinet nearest to the pantry, she pulled it open and dug out a bottle of sleeping pills.
They were Gaara's. The dose was prescribed specifically for him to help with the insomnia.
Wordlessly, she shook two pills out onto her palm (half of one would have sufficed), wanting the guarantee of a senseless, dreamless sleep. She wanted oblivion.
Swallowing them together with a glass of water, she set down the glass and made her way over to the living room, pulling off her coat and shawl along the way, letting them drop carelessly to the floor.
She curled up on the sofa, flicking on the TV, wide, glazed eyes taking in the pictures that flashed on the screen.
Something akin to a sob and a laugh caught in her throat when she recognized the pictures as the same romantic film she'd watched the other night.
Within minutes, the sleeping pills began to take effect, and she continued watching despite the blood collecting in the sclera of her eyes.
The heroine pined and waited for her beloved. The hero couldn't stop fantasizing about her in return. A passionate kiss and embrace was shared every so often. The climax of their passion came when they made love.
Formula. Step-by-step.
Tension, build-up, climax, afterglow.
Temari swallowed thickly, eyes sliding closed as she inwardly compared the cycle of love to what she felt, experiencing a vague sense of complacency as she drew up the parallels. She wouldn't remember the disconcerting and overwhelming urge to laugh and cry when she'd wake the next day.
Love.
Sweat, semen, saliva.
Hate.
Blood, vomit, tears.
I can't get thoughts of you out of my mind. I want to touch you, please you, pleasure you. I want you in my bed. I want us together; me over you, you over me. I want to hear you say my name. I want to hear you beg for more. I can feel the blood rushing. I can feel the heat rising. I want your nails in my back and I want us to come together. Say yes, say more, never stop begging.
I can't get thoughts of you out of my mind. I want to cut you, bruise you, pain you. I want you in the dirt. I want us together; me over you and you pinned beneath. I want to hear you cry my name. I want to hear you beg for mercy. I can feel the blood rushing. I can feel the heat rising. I want my nails in your face and I want us to scream together. Say no, say stop, never stop begging.
Tell me when it feels good. Tell me when you're close. I want to see the look on your face when it happens—when the ecstasy becomes strongest and you forget to breathe.
Tell me when it hurts most. Tell me when it becomes too much. I want to see the look on your face when it happens—when the agony becomes strongest and you cease to breathe.
I want to lie next to you afterwards. I want to kiss you and tell you, lover, that I'm glad we're together. Between the sweat and the warmth and the sheets, I want us to bask in the afterglow.
I want to lie next to you afterwards. I want to spite you and tell you, hater, that I'm glad we're together. Between the blood and the cold and the tattered cloth, I want to bask in the afterglow.
And even though you already know it, darling, I want to tell you I love you.
And even though you already know it, darling, I want to tell you I hate you.
Note: I will love you forever should you take the time to review!