Quotidian ch.6
By: firefly
Note: Okay, I lied. There's one more chapter after this. XD The supposedly "last" chapter got way too long so I had to split it into two parts, so yeah, count this as the second-last chapter of this fic. Reviews are enormously appreciated!
Also, warning: Most disturbing chapter yet. Hidan is a very sick man. :D
The Throes of Partition
"Where does discontent start? You are warm enough, but you shiver. You are fed, yet hunger gnaws you. You have been loved, but your yearning wanders in new fields. And to prod all these there's time, the Bastard Time."
—John Steinbeck
He opened his eyes to the soft, rushing sound of sand gusting over the surrounding dunes, finding himself on his back in a bed of the cool, coarse grains. Nothing was visible save for the black sky overhead, the endless expanse dotted with millions of stars. The sound of the oasis lapping gently against the sandy shore resonated quietly in the distance.
A moment later, a drop of something warm and wet landed against his cheek, eliciting a hazy blink of bemusement at the sky and the utter absence of storm clouds. Another drop landed against the side of his mouth, and a slow, exploratory sweep of his tongue yielded a tangy, coppery taste.
Before he could contemplate where or who the blood had come from, a sound broke the silence.
"Are you ready?"
He blinked at the resonance of the cold, familiar voice, husky and quiet in its nearness, and lowered his gaze.
Icy teal eyes glittered back at him from within the cold blackness, the rest of her face inexplicably shadowed and undefined. Cloth rustled and a weight shifted against his side, and as he lowered his gaze he hazily realized she was straddling him, her knees pressing into the sides of his ribs and hands holding the cold, slick blade of a kunai against his throat.
Slowly, he raised his eyes to her obscured face, searching for features the night and distance obscured from him during their twilight trysts. Another lick of the lips yielded more of that coppery taste, and faintly he realized the blood against his face was his own.
Those indistinguishable features remained obscured, and for a long time he merely stared at the pitiless eyes, searching them, looking for a hint of hesitation, a glimpse of mercy.
When he perceived none, he found himself smiling, eyes growing half-lidded as he rested his head back against the sand. A moment later, his dry, blood-crusted lips parted, voice emerging soft and hoarse.
"…Do it."
The weight against his torso increased as she leaned forward, and for a moment he closed his eyes in contentment, feeling the familiar, increasing pressure of the blade digging into the flesh of his neck. Then her knuckles brushed the underside of his jaw and almost immediately he opened his eyes at the contact, something vaguely painful and akin to excitement clenching in the pit of his stomach.
A thought accompanied the electric jolt, trailing lazily after like smoke after a burst of flash fire. His numb fingers clenched a fistful of sand.
"Wait."
The sight of those cold, teal eyes growing dark with anger made the chill in his bones and surroundings dissipate, the sensation of his own blood stirring in exhilaration warming his frigid skin.
"Not like this," he continued, voice hushed as if they were in danger of being discovered, as if they were carrying out an act of utmost intimacy, an act in which words were not only worthless, but inappropriate.
She said nothing, merely glaring from behind that black veil, and he smiled slowly and reassuringly, reaching up with cold, numb fingers to take the knife from her hands. She released it easily, watching as he purposefully moved his arm out over the sand, dropping the kunai to be buried beneath the scattering, windswept grains.
Slowly, he brought his arm back, feeling his pulse throb almost painfully in his temples, throat growing tight with anticipation as he reached forward, fingers brushing over cloth and sand, searching until they encountered the warm skin of her hands. Purposefully, his gaze held hers as he curved his fingers over her own, taking a moment to relish the warmth before tightening his grip.
Those teal eyes had gone blank—almost uncertain, he thought—as he tugged her hands forward, forcing her to lean closer. The susurrant resonances of water lapping in the oasis and sand scattering over the dunes faded beneath the cacophony of his throbbing pulse, which doubled in tempo when he pressed her hands, palm-down, against his collar bone, eyes never straying from hers.
"Like this," he told her in a hoarse, clandestine whisper, silver vapour escaping from between his lips. "…don't want it to be cold this time."
The weight of her palms was heavy, eliciting a barrage of goosebumps against his chilled flesh as they slid upwards, the warm friction vaguely reminding him he'd lost his rosary, cloak, and hitai-ate, things that seemed insignificant and unfamiliar now.
His mouth was dry with excitement by the time her fingertips curved around to touch the back of his neck, thumbs criss-crossing so each digit pressed into the throbbing pulse points on either side of his throat. Her gaze was unreadable when he stared at her, mesmerized and intoxicated with the sheer force of anticipation as he held her wrists, tempted to press her hands down himself.
This was something new, something he'd been tempted to try since the night she'd first explained the effects of it. Her detailed descriptions painted an image of a rare, exotic fruit, one he'd been dying to sample after receiving an inkling of the sheer intimacy, raw brutality and tactile nature it implied. He wondered how it felt to be rendered breathless, wondered if the lack of air would heighten his senses and make him hypersensitive to every bruise mottled into his skin, every burst capillary, every spasm and every break and every dying heartbeat.
Most of all…he wanted the intimacy. He wanted the warmth of her hands and not the cold, unfeeling steel of kunai.
"Make it hurt," he murmured, grip tightening on her wrists. "I want it to hurt."
She gazed at him expressionlessly, unblinking before her hands moved upwards slightly and she suddenly shifted her weight, knees digging into the sand as she leaned forward, her growing proximity in sync with his mounting pulse. When she finally became still, her obscured, dark face hovered less than a foot from his, eyes as frigid as the biting wind.
He stared up into them, grasping her wrists, mouth parched and pulse racing, blinking as the ends of her hair brushed over his face, the cool breeze gently cajoling the strands into movement. The bed of sand shifted and warped beneath his bare shoulders, the chill of parched earth penetrating deep, though he felt none of it.
"Why do you do this?"
Her whispered voice seemed to reverberate from somewhere within his own mind, she was that close, tremors of desperation and misery tracing her undertone.
"What do you want from me?"
Four drops of blood fell against his face from somewhere within the darkness in quick succession, one after another, matching the throbbing beats of his pulse as the grip around his neck grew a fraction tighter.
What I want is what we have, what this is, what we are.
"What do you want?" she repeated, voice shaking now, teal eyes dark and glistening. Two more drops of blood fell against his left cheek, sliding down and leaving streaks of desaturated crimson.
The bed of sand distorted once more when he suddenly released her wrists, unable to resist the burning temptation of heightening the intimacy and intensifying the pressure against his throat, hands feverishly searching both cloth and skin for something to grip.
His fingers curved over the elbow of her left arm, squeezing with enough force to bruise, his other hand sliding between the wayward blonde locks brushing over his face. Clenching a fistful against her temple, he tugged until her hair draped his face and she was close enough to bite, the sudden increase in proximity heightening the weight of her hands against his throat and the throbbing pain accompanying it.
Through the harsh gasps on both their parts, the messy web of blonde hair that obscured her, the darkness of their closeness, he managed to make out one wide, bright eye, the lashes tracing it matted with something dark and red.
"Make it hurt," he whispered breathlessly, intoxicated by the sensation of her fingers closing around his throat, inebriated on the closeness, the intimacy. "Hurt me, you fucking bitch. Give me everything you've got."
The anticipation all but made him ache, eyes drifting shut beneath an onslaught of dizzying euphoria, tongue running in relish over blood-speckled lips at the feel of her nails puncturing skin.
Then her hands were squeezing, choking, hurting—hurting so good—and the sporadic dripping of blood against his face ceased completely, the sensation replaced by that of her obscured lips mouthing soundless maledictions against his skin, caressing his cheek like the beating of gossamer wings.
"I know…" he whispered in assurance, justifying her malevolence between hitched breaths, eyes closing in euphoria. "I know, I know…show it to me…"
Pain ensnared him, rolling over him in cresting waves, drowning him in ecstasy, and as black oblivion pressed in at the edges of his vision, he dug his nails into the back of her arm and clenched ruthlessly at the fistful of hair, feeling several strands snap as his head tilted back helplessly into the sand, words escaping in harsh, mindless whispers between heaving gasps.
"Make me see God."
Hidan jerked awake to the sounds of his own heaving, choked gasps, hands immediately flying up to his throat as he rolled onto his side and propped himself up on one arm, wide-eyed and sweating, reeling with the sudden rush of blood to his head.
The bed at the other side of the room was empty, the deep hue of twilight illuminating the tousled covers and pillow. He couldn't bring himself to care about Kakuzu's absence, struggling to catch his breath and staring in blank shock into the darkness.
A dream, he realized disbelievingly.
Glancing at the nearby clock, he grimaced at the sight of the glowing, red digital display.
It read 3:23 AM.
"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, slumping back against his bed, hands smoothing back his hair and stilling over his face, breath held momentarily as intensely vivid fragments of the dream resurfaced in his mind.
Eventually, he lowered his hands and touched his neck again, fingers lingering on his pulse as it gradually slowed to a normal tempo, tracing skin that should've been mottled with bruises, feeling the contours of cartilage that should have collapsed. Opening his eyes, he half-expected to see wisps of blonde hair entangled between his fingers, and released a slow breath when he found them devoid of the broken strands. He wasn't sure how to respond to see them shaking slightly.
Letting his arm drop back to his side, he idly fingered the rosary around his neck, staring up at the ceiling, mind beleaguered with an onslaught of thoughts and recollections.
He tried picturing her icy gaze as he'd seen it in the dream, but only found himself capable of conjuring a flimsy imitation. Vaguely, he recalled something about feeling wetness on his face, and a brush of his hand against his cheek yielded nothing despite the persistent tingling of ghostly sensation.
Breathing deep, he closed his eyes, brow furrowing.
Seven days down…forty-three left. And I'm already like this…
He opened his eyes at the sound of faint, sardonic laughter, then vaguely realized it was coming from him. Shaking his head and grinning in disbelief, he spoke aloud to the ceiling, voice husky from sleep.
"Gonna go fucking crazy by the time this is over, seriously…"
The grin gradually faded to a faint, whimsical smile, violet irises lazily searching the dark ceiling through half-lidded eyes. He wondered what she was doing at the border right now, wondered how she was coping with his absence, whether it kept her awake and besieged her with thoughts and dreams of him the way it besieged him with thoughts and dreams of her.
An odd, implacable ache vaguely reminiscent of regret started somewhere in his chest as he pictured her there alone, the feeling not unpleasant but peculiar all the same. Another snort of disbelief sounded in his throat before he wrapped his fingers around the rosary.
"Damn bitch," he muttered under his breath, moving onto his side and pressing his face into the pillow, eyes squeezing shut. "Got me talking to myself here…shit…"
Minutes passed in silence as he tried fruitlessly to go back to sleep, and when his eyes began to ache with the strain to keep them squeezed shut, he opened them partially and stared blankly into nothingness.
She's there right now at the border, under that torch, tossing those goddamn flares…waiting for me.
Despite himself, he smiled slightly.
And she'll keep waiting, no matter what happens. She'll wait for me till the fucking apocalypse.
Following that last thought, a wave of comforting drowsiness blanketed him, quelling the unsettling uncertainty. Laboriously, he turned onto his front, nestling the side of his face into the pillow, tracing the bedspread and imagining the cool friction of coarse sand sliding beneath his fingertips.
"Wait a little more, Blondie," he whispered into the darkness, blinking hazily before closing his eyes. "I'll come back."
Two weeks later. Sunagakure.
"…Rotate 14 degrees.
Switch to standard vision.
Adjust angle of inclination 6 degrees.
…Transmit."
A brief flux of electric blue light filled the dark room and illuminated the inhabitants' faces, dimming and fading almost immediately to a washed-out grey. Seated before the main plasma screen, transmitting footage from the first security camera installed in the barricades, the young technician held his breath and pressed gently on the zoom switch.
Behind him, a group of fellow technicians, the head of the security department, Gaara, and Temari stood by watching tensely.
"Come on…" the young techie breathed, putting the slightest of pressure on the zoom switch, watching the screen unblinkingly.
The screen continued generating static, the jagged, chaotic dance of lines accompanied by complete silence in the room. Gaara glanced at Temari from the corner of his eye, nodding slightly when she met his gaze briefly and offered a faint smile.
It had been more than two weeks since the first barricade went up. Today would mark Suna's first attempt at accomplishing mass border surveillance. Constant video footage would be transmitted back to the security towers in the village from cameras installed within the metal barricades, protected from wind, sand, and any form of attack behind windows of fire-proof Plexiglas.
And now, Temari thought anxiously, watching the screen unblinkingly, now would be their first attempt at getting it to work. The ghostly glow from the screen made the members of the tech crew appear ghoulish and discoloured, and Temari could only imagine the sort of specter she made with the harsh light illuminating the dark circles under her eyes and washing out what little colour that remained in her face.
Her grip tightened on the back of the techie's chair.
It had been twenty-two days since she'd last seen him. Sleep seemed to have abandoned her completely, and when she wasn't resorting to doping herself up on Gaara's sleeping pills just to get enough rest to function, she was pumping herself full of stimulants to stay awake during her night shifts at the border, shifts that now progressed unremarkably and without incidence.
The oasis seemed to have dimmed into a gaping black hole in the middle of the desert, the rutilant circles of light cast by the flares eerily bereft of purpose. The sand remained undisturbed, smooth and pristine along the border, the cold bite in the night air seeming to intensify at his absence.
For twenty-two days, she'd faithfully kept her post, ignoring the aching cold and never relenting in her search, tired eyes that were bright with synthetic zeal sweeping the empty dunes of sand. And for twenty-two days, she returned home each night with a feeling of sickening dread, as if he'd emerge from the darkness the instant she left her post, as if he'd already be in the village by the time she reached the house.
Multiple times during those nights, she'd stopped halfway between the border and the village, frozen with panic, suddenly torn between wanting to run back and wanting to run ahead, beleaguered by the possibilities of being too late on both ends.
And despite her moments of panic and sickeningly convincing delusions of being too late, the border remained empty following into the morning and Gaara and Kankuro lived through the nights in complete, blissful ignorance, leaving her breaking at the seams and struggling to hold herself together.
Resorting to pills and needles to maintain a faint, constantly weakening façade of normalcy became quotidian, and she took them without second thoughts despite the worsening, random bouts of pain she felt in her muscles and the hallucinatory effects that brought specters openly into daylight.
Twice, mistaking umbrages that were merely products of a muddled subconscious, she'd thought she'd seen him in the village. Four times, she'd thought she'd spotted him at the border. And three times, she'd thought she'd heard his voice caressing the shell of her ear before drugs dragged her down into a smothering, artificial sleep. The dreams, however, were constant, following her from her bed into the day when she was awake, blurring the line between reality and the unconscious fabrications of a disturbed mind.
It was now the first week of August and she was reaching the end of her tether.
Any day now he would return, and she was doing anything and everything to prepare herself for the possibility of their next meeting being their last.
"Ah, there!"
Temari was startled from her reverie by the excited exclamation, blinking when the grey static on the screen darkened and the distinct curves of sand dunes became visible in black and white. The group of technicians burst out in excited cheers and congratulated each other, and even through the noise Temari managed to hear Gaara releasing a long, slow breath of relief.
"Wait, wait, this is just standard vision," the techie said over his shoulder, grinning widely before returning his attention to the switchboard. "We've still got infrared."
With that, he flicked another switch and the image on the screen dimmed to a cooler hue, resembling a black canvas streaked with random strokes of blue.
"This way," he said proudly, pointing at the screen. "Even if it's dark, and even if the motion detectors fail, we'll get an image showing us anyone with a heat signature in bright red and orange. There's no way anyone can sneak by us now. Cameras will be pointing at every possible entry way, and anyone with chakra will show up on infrared."
With that, he spun around in his chair and grinned up at Gaara.
"You're guaranteed safety now, Kazekage-sama."
While her brother smiled slightly and thanked the young technician and the noise of celebration continued in the background, Temari switched back to the camera's standard vision, staring at the endless expanse of barren sand. If this was the amount of surveillance one camera could offer, then the installation of the rest would cover every inch of the border east to west.
For a blissful moment, brief and inconsequential as it would prove to be later on, she felt true relief.
Kankuro glanced over his shoulder at the setting sun, brow furrowing under the glare before turning back to stare dubiously at his discarded puppets and scrolls.
"What's with you, all of a sudden, wanting to practice taijutsu?"
Temari managed a small, cynical smirk, amused by the instant look of vulnerability that crossed his features as he stepped away from his weapons to face her.
The day had elapsed in a hectic whirlwind of activity for the technicians and border constructors, and after spending most of her time observing from the sidelines, tense and high-strung from unused adrenaline supplied by the injections, she sought Kankuro out for a spar and found him practicing his puppetry alone near the security towers.
She felt it prudent after realizing she'd be helpless against the prowess of a missing-nin without the aid of her fan. Despite its morbidity, every form of death she could imagine herself encountering had to be dwelt upon. There were no what-if's she could overlook.
Stepping forward, Temari withdrew her fan from its holster and dropped it in the sand beside her.
"I need to brush up on my skills," she answered succinctly. "I'm not as good as I should be."
This was half-truth. The other reason was that she'd felt unusually fervid and uptight, finding herself experiencing facial tics and random, uncontrollable spasms in her hands and legs after taking the morning's injection. Most unsettling, she'd hardly been constraining the urge to lash out at someone in violence, just to be able to release the tension.
"Neither am I," Kankuro groused, looking vaguely uncomfortable. "When the hell was the last time we practiced hand-to-hand?"
"Never."
"No wonder this feels so damn weird…" he muttered before settling into a fighting stance, fingers flexing as he held his arm out in a defensive position. "Uh…how serious do you—"
"Fight to kill," she answered flatly. "Don't hold back on me."
A look of surprise flashed across his face, then almost immediately morphed to shock when she lunged at him, spinning in mid-air to land a kick at the side of his head. Cursing, he ducked and stumbled back, staring at her in astonishment when she caught herself and immediately assumed another fighting stance, eyes calculating.
"Come on, Kankuro, stop being soft."
"I'm not being soft!" he snapped back, rubbing his neck. "I just didn't expect you to get so serious."
"Start expecting it," she muttered. "I don't have time for anything less."
Regarding her curiously at the last comment, he said nothing and nodded instead, preparing himself as she made her move. Darting to the left, she released the pent-up, tightly wound energy of the stimulants in an onslaught of underhand punches, aiming for the vitals and digging her heels into the sand for traction as she propelled him back.
Kankuro surprised her by blocking and evading her hits with lightning-quick reflexes of his hands, his nimble fingers catching her fists and deflecting them to miss or land mere grazes against his frame. She took a shallow breath of surprise when he seized her wrist and pulled her forward, using her own momentum to drive a knee up into her abdomen.
Seized by the sudden urge to make some sort of debilitating impact and release the pent-up force straining against the tips of her fingers, she let out a guttural cry and lunged forward, taking the impact of his knee against her hip and shoulder-checking him in the chest.
Stunned momentarily by the blow, Kankuro stumbled back, only to land flat on his back when Temari descended and swiped his legs out from beneath him with a kick. Before he could fully realize he was down, she leapt into the air and somersaulted to gain enough momentum before bearing down with her heel, aiming for his head.
The kick skinned the side of his head when he rolled out of the way, the impact leaving a sizeable dent in the sand before she went after him. They continued in this fashion relentlessly for ten minutes, Kankuro eventually slowing beneath the strain as she picked up speed, ignoring the screaming of her overwrought muscles, driven by sheer force of will.
Another five minutes elapsed, and soon Kankuro was bleeding from a split lit, bruises blooming across his cheek. Sweat and her relentless assault had scoured the paint from his skin.
Temari hadn't bled yet, but bruises mottled the skin above her ribs and back where he'd landed hits, the skin of her face scraped raw beneath impacts with the rough terrain.
She felt none of it, clenching her teeth to the extent that her jaw ached, pulse throbbing deafeningly in her temples as her vision drifted between registering her surroundings as washed out and colourless, then suddenly and overwhelmingly bright and colourful, the vivid contrasts disorienting.
Kankuro no longer resembled her brother; his hair, face, and clothes were obscured behind the haze of rage-driven bloodlust clouding her eyes, hiding the familiarity of his features and rendering him a blank, faceless specter.
Circling him with her fists held out, she stared at his featureless face with fixed intensity, staring until sweat ran into her eyes and they stung with the descending coolness of sundown. The brightness of the landscape vanished without notice in the haze of her mindless urges to inflicthurt, and as the first searchlights blazed from the tops of the security towers, globes of pulsing colour filled her vision.
Blinking against the harsh glare, she squeezed her eyes shut momentarily to dull the sharp pain, then opened them again.
Then she saw his face, and stilled.
Wide, white grin.
Sharp eyes.
Winsome features.
Devilish intent.
The shadow of a curved beak spread across a matte backdrop of sand.
A beat. Then two. Then—
Hey, Blondie.
Kankuro leapt back with a startled cry when Temari lunged at him with a high-pitched scream, the sound unlike anything he'd ever heard from her before. Despite his attempt to dodge, her nails managed to rake a fair portion of the skin on his neck away, the stinging sensation going unnoticed beneath the shock at her vicious attack.
He'd barely managed to stand upright when she lunged at him again, fist connecting brutally with his side in an impact that should've snapped a tendon in her own hand. Staggering away, he managed to remain upright beneath the agony and caught her fists when she came at him again, only to have her drive a knee into his side and take hold of his arm when he instinctively let go.
Screaming with effort, she flung him bodily across the sand, following the instant she released his arm, tackling him with every ounce of her weight the moment he'd managed to stagger to his feet again.
Winded, he collapsed back against the ground, wincing at the impact before he raised his eyes and blanched at her expression.
Her eyes were nearly slits from the force of her livid expression, lips colourless and drawn back into a vicious rictus of a snarl, blood streaking her cheek and running over her mouth. He threw his head to the side, sand spraying up against his face from the impact of her fist.
Before she could hit him with the other fist, he seized her arm and lunged forward, tackling her back into the sand and pressing every ounce of his weight against her in a desperate attempt to hold her down.
"Temari," he tried to shout, finding his voice croaky and weak from breathlessness. "Temari, stop—"
Her heaving breaths sounded harsh and grating in her throat, eyes alight with venom. Like a woman possessed, she wedged her forearms between their bodies and pushed with enough force to make the bones in his chest creak, another scream of effort and rage sounding in her throat, muffled behind her clenched teeth.
"Temari," he gasped hoarsely, struggling to keep his weight on her. "—the fuck's gotten into you?! Stop! Tema—"
His voice was abruptly cut off when her hands got free and immediately seized around his throat, squeezing with enough force to make his trachea and every blood vessel collapse. Choking, he reeled back, trying to tear her hands from his throat. Then in a last ditch effort, he swung his leg and caught her in the side, knocking her off.
More skin from his neck tore off beneath the unrelenting grip of her nails, and coughing violently he stumbled back, about to give up and run, struck with a horrible sense of awareness that his older sister had lost her mind.
But when Temari got to her knees, clutching her side where he'd kicked her, she suddenly doubled over and dissolved into a violent coughing fit. And when her knees gave out and she collapsed face-first into the sand, Kankuro forgot his apprehension and felt unadulterated terror take its place.
Rushing over to her motionless form, oblivious to his own injuries, he turned her over, saying her name repeatedly and feeling the blood drain from his face when he saw the stream of crimson dripping steadily from the side of her mouth. Her face had gone stark white.
"T-Temari," he stammered, slapping her gently on the cheek. "What's wrong?"
When she made no reply and the blood continued to drain with alarming consistency from her mouth, Kankuro felt a sickening weight settle into his stomach. Ignoring the protest of his muscles, he worked his arms beneath her knees and back, staggering to his feet and holding her tight.
Without hesitance, he turned and ran off in the direction of the hospital, leaving his puppets and her fan discarded beneath the glare of the roving searchlights.
River Country.
Echoing plips of dripping water reverberated throughout the hollow cavern, the sounds surreal and unearthly when played off the surrounding, slick rock walls. Eight wraiths stood motionless on rocky pedestals, transparent and wavering like a flickering hologram, save for one.
Every eye in the room stared in his direction, eerily fixed as their holographic bodies blipped in and out of focus. Another drop of water fell, unleashing a cacophony of echoes until the sound faded back into silence.
"You're late."
The voice was calm and devoid of feeling, but every member in the room was able to detect the cold anger obscured behind the nonchalant tone. The air was oppressive with it.
Hidan felt it and didn't care, staring back at the leader with reckless disregard, shrugging in response to his statement.
"It has been brought to my attention that you've discovered an occupation outside Akatsuki," the leader continued, hawkish gaze focused intensely on him.
"Yeah," Hidan admitted, tilting his head in an expression of apathy. "So what if I have?"
The leader's gaze darkened and there was a tangible rise of air pressure in the room, along with a barely perceptible shift in the others' postures.
"After this point, consider yourself freed of that occupation. You are not going back."
The finality of his statement was obvious, and the complacency with which the others regarded him reflected it. To question was to die.
A small, cynical smirk pulled at the corners of Hidan's lips.
"What the hell makes you think I won't go back?"
The silence following the question was stifling, and more than one of the other members shifted on their pedestals, wary of the danger the Jashinist was inciting on himself.
"Are you questioning me, Hidan?" the leader asked softly.
"I thought that was obvious, seriously."
Hidan blinked when the leader's hologram vanished from his pedestal and an instant later was standing directly in front of him, the rings of rinnegan staring piercingly into his own eyes. In the silent game of intimidation that followed, Hidan's humourless smile only widened, eyes narrowing as he stared back, refusing to waver or submit.
Though every member of the Akatsuki was bestowed with preternatural immunity to fear and pain, Hidan's brand of fearlessness bordered at the end of the spectrum teetering on madness. Immortality aside, he did not back down. He did not fear pain. He held the door open in invitation to death. Disregarding physical prowess and ability, this alone defined him as one of the most dangerous members of the organization.
The leader knew this and regarded him with cold, calculating intensity before speaking.
"You will not go back."
"If you've got a problem with it," Hidan returned, taking a step forward and bringing them within inches of each other, voice softening into a venomous murmur. "Why don't you kill me?"
They regarded each other in tense silence for a long moment, until the leader inclined his head slightly.
"How high is your pain tolerance, Hidan?"
Hidan didn't reply, smile growing fixed as his fists clenched by his sides.
"Because after I am finished with you, you will wish you'd kept that foul mouth of yours shut."
"What the hell are you waiting for?" he said recklessly, smile widening into a malevolent grin. "Don't let me hold you back, Leader-sama."
"I did not want it to come to this, Hidan."
"Stop lying to yourself, you bastard."
The leader paused, voice flattening with complacency. "Only fools invite punishment."
"Am I supposed to be scared?" Hidan asked with genuine scorn, disdain darkening his eyes.
The leader raised a hand and almost instantly the other figures in the cave vanished, leaving the cavernous space empty save for the two remaining. Nothing changed in Hidan's expression to show he noticed or even cared.
"Fear would be the logical response. You've incurred my punishment, after all."
Hidan shrugged, preparing himself for the vicious onslaught of agony he knew the leader was capable of inflicting, and managed a contemptuous smirk all the same before the murk enveloped him.
"The only punishment I fear is from God…"
The flickering, holographic hand reaching for him solidified into corporeality, and Hidan closed his eyes and smiled.
"…and you're not Him."
Temari woke to the sensation of cold metal sliding over the skin of her chest, brow furrowing before she opened her eyes, squinting in the obscenely bright light. A white ceiling met her gaze, and a glance to the side revealed a man in a white coat she'd never seen before.
Vaguely, her mind registered a beeping sound reminiscent of an electrocardiograph.
"Ah, you're awake," the man said with a relieved smile, moving back and slinging his stethoscope back around his neck.
Temari stared at him blankly, mouth parched and mind muddled. She felt inexplicably heavy.
"If you're feeling drowsy, it's because of the morphine," the man said a bit more seriously, a furrow marring his brow. "Temari-san, your brother brought you to the hospital after you collapsed. Do you remember what happened?"
Temari managed to work some saliva into her mouth to get herself able to form words, voice emerging hoarse and croaky.
"I remember…sparring."
He nodded, writing on a clipboard before glancing back at her.
"Temari-san, it's been four hours since you were brought in. Tests show an alarming amount of Gezderene, the stimulant, in your bloodstream. So much that, during your spar, your body's natural enzymatic functions started breaking down as soon as the drug was used up."
She merely stared at him, disbelief and the proof of the suspicions she'd been harbouring rendering her face utterly blank.
"Your organs are becoming dependent on the drug, Temari-san. Fortunately, it was only your stomach that reacted at the withdrawal this time." He regarded her somberly, setting down the clipboard. "If you use it anymore within the next two weeks, your other organs will start to follow. You may fall into a coma...and there is the possibility of death. Do you understand?"
Temari nodded, the motion barely perceptible from where she lay.
The doctor paused, then leveled a troubled gaze at her.
"Also…your brother described a…mental change in you when you were sparring. Sometimes, overuse of Gezderene causes chemical imbalances in the brain…hormonal irregularities. And even more rarely, abundance of certain chemicals will lead to hallucinations and feelings of uncontrollable aggression. Psychosis, if you will."
He paused once more, looking at her apprehensively.
"Do you understand now why there are strict regulations on the distribution of this drug?"
Temari swallowed hard, closing her eyes to fight back tears when he spoke softly.
"Because if everyone used it to the extent you did, they'd not only kill themselves, but their own friends and family by mistaking them for enemies. I am revoking your right to obtain anymore of the stimulants."
She could only nod, feeling incredibly sick, nausea souring the back of her throat.
…they'd not only kill themselves, but their own friends and family by mistaking them for enemies…
If it came to that, she never wanted to see the injections again. The doctor must have noticed her compunction as she thought of Kankuro, and gently patted her hand before taking his leave.
A moment later, both Gaara and Kankuro stepped into the room, Gaara devoid of his Kazekage robes and Kankuro holding an icepack against his face. Temari took one look at him and wanted to scream, wanted to rip the IV out of her arm and find that abhorrent son of a bitch who'd reduced her to mistaking her own family for the enemy, for making her inflict harm on one of the only two people who mattered to her. She wanted to find him and hurt him, kill him, tear him, rend him apart.
Oh, God, her own brother…
"Hey," Kankuro greeted her uncertainly, standing awkwardly in front of the bed as Gaara took a seat near her side. "You feeling okay now?"
The distinct look of fear and uncertainty in his eyes immediately brought her from a state of murderous rage to one of profound misery and sadness, and she closed her eyes and swallowed hard again to choke back the tears.
A warm hand closed over one of her trembling fists, and she opened her eyes and glanced to her side, finding Gaara staring at her arm and the discoloured flesh at the junction above her elbow. His expression made her want to collapse in on herself.
"I'm sorry," she whispered faintly, voice hoarse. "Kankuro, I'm…"
He shook his head, relief flooding his features at her tone before he crossed over to Gaara's side, sitting next to him and taking her hand. The sight of livid red scratches marring his neck brought a lump into her throat.
"Forget it, Temari. I…you know I don't like this—any of this—" he gestured aimlessly, helplessly. "You know I don't like what you've been doing to yourself, or the fact that you won't tell us what the problem is, but…"
At this, he paused, glancing at Gaara from the corner of eye, looking resigned.
"But Gaara has faith in you. He told me to have that much, and trust you to do the right thing…whatever the hell it is you're doing. I don't like it, but until the barricades are up…I'll deal with it."
Temari stared at him in surprise, before glancing over at Gaara. Her youngest brother didn't meet her gaze, merely staring at the sight of her hand in his, expression unreadable. For the first time since she could remember, she wanted to take him into her arms and embrace him the way she'd only ever embraced her mother.
In that moment, her love for Gaara deepened to a state as profound as the love she held for Kankuro.
As if sensing his siblings' gazes on him, Gaara spoke, voice soft.
"You are not going back to the border tonight, Temari. I'll keep my word and let you return until they're complete…but not tonight."
She'd had a feeling he'd say that, and could only nod in resignation, morphine dulling feelings that would have comprised panic and fear into vague uncertainty.
They remained with her until visiting hours were up and a nurse respectively ushered them out, assuring Temari the overnight stay was simply for observation. She could only nod weakly in response, desperate to drown in the delirium of morphine and profound, aching tiredness that reached past her bones and tugged at her soul.
Glancing out the window at the moon, she pictured the border, imagining the dark oasis and empty expanse of barren sand, and could only pray it would stay that way through the night. And if it didn't…
"Wait for me," she whispered, tired eyes sliding shut. "I'll come back."
River country.
Darkness infiltrated every corner of the room, slashes of bright moonlight illuminating jagged bits and pieces of the interior. Silence reigned in the blackness, save for the soft, strained breathing on the far side of the room, muffled against the fabric of a bloodstained pillow.
Luminous green eyes roved the trembling, half-naked form lying facedown on the bed, head tilting to the side in genuine curiousity and bemusement.
"You're insane, you know that."
The strained breathing hitched with something vaguely resembling a hoarse laugh, agony deadening and stifling it into silence almost immediately.
Kakuzu slowly rose to his feet, padding over the floor to stand at his partner's bedside, staring in morbid fascination at the fatal wounds and lacerations marring his bare torso, blood gleaming like black ink in the slices of moonlight.
Every major organ had been pierced, lungs flooded with blood and heart rendered motionless. Skin had been torn and bones abused with the invasion of cold steel grating along their edges, piercing from front to back in various angles along his body.
The metal implements lay discarded and bloody on the floor, the blood already dried and flaking as it coagulated over the gaping punctures and weeping lacerations. Reaching down, Kakuzu grabbed his wrist, pressing his fingers to the artery.
No pulse beat against his fingertips, and yet the broken, battered body before him continued to breathe and suffer and laugh, laugh in a way that was disturbingly quiet yet hysterical despite the agony.
Shaking his head, Kakuzu turned to return to his side of the room, until the moonlight caught the glossy glint of what resembled a photograph. Pausing, he moved his gaze away from the injuries and glanced at where Hidan pressed the side of his face against his pillow, his obscured gaze seemingly on that of a snapshot held in his bloodstained hand.
The picture was creased and dented after the uncontrollable throes and spasms of his fingers, but the main subject of the shot was clear enough. Even from where he stood, Kakuzu could make out the face of Suna's current Kazekage and jinchuuriki, not bothering to hide the surprise in his eyes.
The uncertainty only grew when his partner ran a bloodied thumb over the Kazekage's face, obscuring it behind a screen of red, then the man next to him, and another man in the front, leaving only one figure's face on the left visible.
Lowering his eyes, Kakuzu stared at a disordered pile of pictures that had undergone the same treatment, the blood on the faces drying to a dull, desaturated brown, leaving only one face—always the same face—visible. It was a young woman.
Instinctively, the Falls nin knew there was more to this woman than what the status quo would suggest. This was not merely a matter of relationships and illicit love affairs. This was something else.
"What is she to you?" Kakuzu found himself asking, unable to hide his intrigue as those blood-crusted fingers yearningly traced her expression, caressing every curve of her face.
Complete silence fell as the strained breathing ceased altogether, fingers stilling against her face.
Then a moment later, Hidan brought the picture closer to himself, folding back the half with the Kazekage so only she remained visible.
Despite the state of his ravaged body and bizarre behaviour, the sound of his serene, murmured response disturbed Kakuzu more than anything else.
"…my salvation."
Suna. Three weeks later.
Replacing her daily injections with a prescribed dose of vitamin supplements to undo the damage had been difficult, but it had been three weeks since her stay in the hospital and she could feel vestiges of her vitality returning.
Three weeks of being back at the border during the night, and still no sight of him. It was now the twenty-second of August.
Her nerves were frayed and sleep still abandoned her, but she persevered with renewed determination all the same. After the night in the hospital with her brothers, she'd given into her circumstances and let her behaviour evolve to full-blown obsession. Bouts of intense training comprised her days in the village, and every night that passed without him gracing the border, she only felt her mania grow.
There was no living and breathing without his name sounding in her mind like a mantra, no rest before faint recollections of his face crossed her mind's eye. And accompanying them, his voice—that coy, taunting voice, talking to her, eroding her already falling defenses against utter insanity.
Amidst all the internal chaos, she'd had no idea how to react when Kankuro told her the fellow patrollers were throwing her a birthday party. Gradually, increasing numbers of the patrollers were removed from their posts as more barricades went up and more cameras were installed. There were approximately only 120 barricades left to go, and considering their inward progression from east and west, the last would go up in the middle of the border.
Temari had nearly burst out in hysterical laughter when the engineer offhandedly mentioned that her positioning at the border was almost precisely in the middle. Eventually, she would be the only patroller left.
This revelation only incited relief. When it came to that final confrontation, she'd want to end it herself. Enough lives had been lost with Gaara's kidnapping.
In contrast to that, the issue Kankuro raised with her about attending her birthday party was not only frivolous and inane, but unthinkable considering it would interfere with her shift at the border.
"You're acting crazy, Temari. Can't you take one day off and enjoy yourself? Honestly, you look like shit."
"Thank you," she replied icily, polishing the frame of her fan in the kitchen, catching sight of her harrowed expression in the gleaming metal. "But no."
"Okay, sorry, not like shit, but…" Kankuro trailed off, sounding exasperated as he pushed his dinner away. "Come on, even Gaara gave you permission to stay home. You've never been around ever since you started going over there—"
At her sharp glare, he raised his hands in supplication, looking chagrined.
"I know, I know, you have to till they all go up. But…come on, not even one day? Not even your birthday?"
Temari stared at him blankly.
"What's so great about it being my birthday? I'm just getting old. Why celebrate that?"
He frowned. "You're turning twenty, stupid."
"Yeah, that's old."
Sighing, Kankuro rubbed his forehead before leveling her with a worried gaze.
"Please, Temari? It's the least you could do after…"
Temari froze, eyes roving instantly to the fading scars tracing his neck, and his expression became distraught the instant he realized what she was thinking.
"God, no, I'm not trying to guilt you into it for beating the shit out of me or anything. I was just—"
Temari shook her head, rubbing the bridge of her nose, thinking hard.
Any day now…he could be back any day.
At the same time—
But it'd only be one night…the majority of the barricades and cameras are up. He wouldn't be able to get by without detection.
"What are the odds…" she muttered to herself, oblivious to Kankuro's bewildered stare. "That it'd happen tomorrow…"
"Is that a yes?" he ventured.
Temari exhaled heavily, bowing her head towards the table before speaking.
"Fine."
Despite herself, she couldn't help but smile faintly when Kankuro laughed in triumph and clapped her on the back before leaving the room, hollering to Gaara that he'd convinced her. A moment later, he returned with a bag, thrusting it into her arms when she gave him a curious look.
"The other girls picked it out for you," he explained. "Said I was supposed to give it to you if you agreed to go."
Blinking, Temari stared down at the bag as Kankuro turned and left, reaching inside and grasping what felt like a wire hanger. Withdrawing it, she could only stare in blank shock when a red dress spilled from the hanger and draped her knees, the vivid colour a startling contrast against her grey clothes.
Her heart skipped a beat.
Bet you look good in red.
The momentary lapse gave away to idle thoughts, and she shook her head before placing the garment back into the bag, dropping it to the side.
…what are the odds…
River Country.
Recovery had been an excruciating, arduous process, speedy considering his preternatural ability to heal, but agonizing all the same.
Hidan didn't bother dwelling on it.
The stats regarding Sabaku no Temari had revealed perfunctory details like her location and date of birth, and he had been waiting for a certain date to arrive before going back. He'd been saving a surprise.
Descending the stairs leading from the hideout into the basement, Hidan strolled past torture implements, stacks of top secret documents, and what resembled a pile of Sasori's old, unused puppets.
Stopping at the farthest end of the basement, he opened another door and closed himself in, reaching up and pulling the chain on the red light bulb, casting a dim, rutilant glow over the darkroom. Various new pictures hung from the line over the multiple sinks, products of Zetsu's occupation as the Akatsuki's head spy.
Without lingering at the photographs, Hidan headed to the corner of the room towards a large, white compartment that resembled a mini refrigerator. It held Zetsu's private stores, snacks for when he'd spend days at a time in the basement, developing his photographs.
Descending into a crouch, Hidan pulled the door to the fridge open and fumbled past the bottles, reaching for the largest he'd kept stored in the back with Zetsu's permission. A slow smile pulled at the corners of his lips when he withdrew it, raising it to catch the dim red light.
Perfect.
August 23rd, 10:07 PM.
"Temari-san, you really shouldn't look so grumpy at your own party. You'll scare away all the boys."
Temari raised her head from the cake she was picking at, aiming a tired glare in the young chuunin's direction. Alarmed by the look, the girl quickly left the table.
Wiping whatever remained of the lipstick the girls had smeared on her onto a napkin, Temari crossed her arms and sat back in her chair, watching her brother and fellow patrollers make spectacles out of themselves in their drunken attempts at dancing.
Gaara had dropped by briefly when she'd cut her cake at 8 PM, reluctantly posed for a picture or two, then departed for a series of meetings. She'd sat in the company of her fellow patrollers, falling out of the loop when she refused sake, ending up as the only sober person remaining.
The girls in the patrol group had forced her to wear her hair down and don the lurid red dress, barely managing to get lipstick on her before she'd snapped and barked at them to back off. No doubt, she would've enjoyed herself more if anxiety wasn't gnawing at her insides and flooding her with a feeling vaguely resembling chronic nausea.
Her shift would begin in less than an hour.
Glancing at Kankuro from the corner of her eye, she sighed in exasperation, taking note of his wide grin and carefree expression, feeling guilty at the thought of running out on him. One of the girls had let slip that the entire party was his idea, and she'd spent a good hour in her room before attending, sick with a mixture of guilt and nerves and aggravation.
Damn you, she thought inwardly, without any real malcontent. Couldn't you have just left it till the barricades went up?
The fault was hers, she knew. Kankuro was oblivious to the predicament she'd been in for the past two months, and only because of her refusal to trouble him with her worries. Sighing, she forced a smile at one of the patrollers who sat down beside her, willing herself to forget the presence of the clock.
Hours passed, the tightening knot of anxiety in her stomach only worsening when she caught sight of the time.
1:30 AM.
The wave of apprehension that washed over her literally left her feeling light-headed, and she had to clench the edge of her table to get a hold of herself. Thoughts of what if? prodded her from all directions, the laughter and conversations surrounding her fading to a disturbing hum in the back of her mind.
What if…what are the odds…what if…reunion…red…not until August…
"Temari-san, are you all right?" one of the patrollers asked her, looking genuinely concerned. "You look ill."
Temari stared at him as if he'd grown another head, hardly comprehending his words beneath the string of apprehensions lacing her jumbled thoughts. Eventually, she found herself nodding, hardly even aware of herself doing so.
He smiled reassuringly, patting her on the back.
"You work too hard, Temari-san. There's nothing to worry about now—nothing can get by those cameras."
She tried to smile but it faltered into a strained grimace, fingers clenching into fists on the table. Seeing her expression, he laughed lightly, as if her concerns were silly and unfounded.
"Really, nothing can get by those cameras, Temari-san. Just now? Suni-kun told me they picked up a heat signature near the oasis. Might be that weirdo who uses it to bathe, so really, nothing to—"
He was abruptly cut off when Temari leapt to her feet, knocking her chair over with a noisy clatter, eyes wide and heart racing in her chest. Kankuro glanced over at her in surprise, and she met his gaze briefly with wide eyes before whipping around to look at the clock.
1:57 AM.
The floor felt like it would give away beneath her feet.
"Hey, what's the matter?" Kankuro asked when she stumbled over the fallen chair, ripping off her shoes. "Where are you going?"
"Sorry, Kankuro," she barely managed to utter before dropping everything and tearing out of the room and up the stairs, grabbing her shoulder pack, fan, and boots. A moment later, her feet were beating up sprays of sand as she raced out past the houses, oblivious to the stinging cold of the night air.
Minutes later, she flung open her fan and caught the next gust of wind, leaping up onto the canvas, fingers gripping her shoulder pack till her knuckles whitened. Her cheeks stung from the cold and the impact of her loose hair whipping against them in the wind, but her gaze and focus remained resolutely on the row of dark barricades marking the horizon.
Adrenaline replaced the anxiety and nausea, and her stomach ached with something akin to anticipation.
Fifty-three days.
An eternity to her.
Wait for me.
The time it took to reach the border felt twice as long as it usually took, and by the time she'd descended onto the sand and sprinted over to her post, towards the flickering flame of torch fire, her nails had gouged crescent-shaped welts into her palms.
The jounin who'd substituted in her place turned at the sound of her landing, eyes widening at the sight of her running directly at him. A bewildered, vaguely alarmed expression overtook his features when he recognized her, eyes roving her hair and state of dress before stammering.
"Temari-san? What's going on?"
"Go home," she ordered, fixing him with an icy stare. "Now. I'm taking it from here."
Blinking at the sudden dismissal, he merely nodded and took off, leaving her to take her place by the torch. Feverishly, she searched her bag for the flares and pulled two out, yanking the caps off and flinging them in the direction of the oasis.
The black sand was instantly illuminated by the intense red glow, followed by another circle of light when she tossed the second flare. Heart racing, palms sweating despite the cold, she stood there breathing shallowly, breaths condensing into short bursts of vapour as her eyes swept the sandy shore of the oasis.
Nothing.
Swallowing hard, wincing at the pangs of frigid air in her lungs, she took a step forward, sweeping her gaze over the sand once more. Another step forward, then to the left, eyes straining and squinting into the blackness beyond the flares, seeing nothing save for the glistening, inky surface of the water.
Minutes passed, and suddenly struck with realization, she removed the digital watch from her pack, breath stilling at the sight of the display.
2:26 AM.
Breathing laboriously, she glanced between the time and the flares, brow furrowing. The last few times they'd met, he had consistently left shortly after 2 AM.
"Shit," she breathed, dismay settling in.
The circles of light cast by the flares seemed eerily empty, burning without purpose, and abruptly the cold temperature made itself known to her, adrenaline receding and goose bumps breaking out over her bare arms. Gritting her teeth, she moved back towards the torch for warmth, glaring at the ground in disappointment.
Overhead, the cameras soundlessly changed their trajectory, the dark blue hue of dead landscape gradually lightening in the recording.
Temari shivered as a sharp gust blew sand over her ankles and knocked her pack over, sending documents careening back towards the barricades. Cursing, she ran after them, disoriented by the sudden darkness as she left the comforting glow of her torch.
The papers were a stark contrast to the black sand, visible and still once the wind subsided. Breathing hard, wincing at the cold, she knelt and gathered them, trudging back to where her pack lay sprawled on the sand. Kneeling just outside the circle of light cast by the torch, she stuffed the papers inside, purposefully avoiding the sight of her remaining two stimulant injections before closing the flap.
Another gust of wind blew her unbound, wayward hair across her face, cheeks stinging from the whipping strands. She remained kneeling, waiting for the wind to subside, and as it gradually died down and the stinging subsided, an odd prickling sensation met with the back of her neck.
Motionless, she remained sitting there in the dark, blinking and waiting for it to pass, unconsciously clenching fistfuls of sand when it only grew more intense and the hairs on the back of her neck rose. Without dwelling on the reason behind it, she slowly got to her feet and turned around, taking slow steps towards the torch, not stopping until she stood at the outermost edge of the light, staring down at the oasis.
The shadow was what caught her gaze first, eyes fixating on the sight of what looked like a long, curved beak splayed across the red sand. Then her gaze moved inward, recognizing it as the blade of a scythe, eyes eventually making it to the actual weapon and the sight of it in full view against his back.
She stared, numb as he raised his head slightly from where he was looking at the oasis, suddenly turning to glance up in her direction.
Her fists loosened by her sides, feeling the sand clenched in her grip drain through her limp, parted fingers. She no longer felt the cold.
Their expressions mirrored each other, recognition dawning on his features after a few seconds of staring up at her in silence. Temari blinked in the cool breeze, unsure whether she was hallucinating or not, but felt that doubt melt away when he took a step forward into the glow of the flares, gaze fixed on her immobile form at the top of the dune.
She stared back wordlessly, heart racing, unable to find a word to describe what she felt standing in his line of sight.
Gradually, a slow smile graced his face, eventually working its way into a grin before he finally spoke.
"I knew you'd be here."
Something in his voice snapped her from her thoughtless reverie, and almost instinctively she clenched her fists, eyes narrowing down at him.
"I had the same feeling about you."
Still smiling, he removed the scythe and dropped it next to a dark bag she hadn't noticed before.
"Decided to dress up for our little reunion after all, Blondie?" he asked, pleasantly surprised. "I'm touched, seriously."
Disconcerted, she took a step back towards the torch, still standing and taking notice that he remained on his feet, too.
"And in red," he continued in a marveling tone. "I've got to be the luckiest son of a bitch this side of Suna."
Almost immediately, she noticed something odd in the way he was behaving. Normally, where he'd flop to the sand almost immediately upon arrival, he now stood pacing casually within the circle of light, a swagger evident in his steps, gaze never wavering from her.
"Too bad I can't say the same," she retorted mechanically, though uneasiness engulfed her when he came to a stop, his smile tangible from where he stood.
"I wouldn't say that, Blondie."
Temari stared at him, a faint sense of uncertainty forcing her to drop all pretenses altogether.
"What did you do?"
His grin widened, and he finally lowered his gaze long enough to reach for the dark bag near his scythe, holding it out and raising his arm for her to see.
"Got you something."
"What?" Temari asked suspiciously, suddenly alert when she noticed him swinging the dark bag idly from side to side.
"A present," he answered, a tad too innocently for her liking.
She didn't reply, settling for fixing her narrowed eyes on him as he snickered.
"Don't worry, it's not a bomb," he added, rearing his arm back. "Catch."
Temari's eyes widened when he flung the bag towards her and she lunged away from the torch, rolling onto her stomach with her hands over her head when it landed.
A few seconds passed, and she cracked an eye open when the object inside the bag didn't explode. Scowling, she sat up at the sounds of his laughter, brushing the sand from her clothes before walking back to the torch.
Withdrawing a kunai from her pack, she knelt and gingerly prodded the bag, finding whatever to be inside rather large and solid. Biting her lip, Temari cut the drawstrings and hesitantly gripped the bottom corner, turning the bag upside-down.
The object fell onto the sand with a soft thump.
She stared at it for only a moment before reeling back in revulsion, a cry of disgust catching in her throat.
A head rested at her feet, giving the illusion of a man buried up to his neck in sand. Stringy, wet hair obscured most of the tumescent face, but the eyes—half-open and glazed—stared up at her through the dark, greasy tangles, the whites jaundiced and unusually familiar.
Recognition dawned on her as she took in the facial features, eyes widening in shock as she stepped closer to get a better look.
The flesh was stark white and seemingly etiolated, gleaming with peculiar, odorous moisture. It almost looked as if it had been…preserved. Her blood ran cold, eyes widening further.
"This is…"
"The missing nin you were looking for," he announced, sounding pleased. "Hirai Dairou, right?"
Temari slowly turned away from the head to stare at him in disbelief, utterly speechless.
In the red glow of the flares, the complacency with which he spoke made the wicked grin on his face appear almost demonic.
"Happy birthday."
Temari froze, eyes widening in shock.
For a moment, her heart seemed to skip a beat and a sensation akin to a cold finger tracing down her spine made the hairs on the back of her neck rise. Any attempt at denying her date of birth was futile. With her shocked silence, she'd given him the confirmation he'd needed.
Swallowing hard, fingers clenching and unclenching uncertainly by her sides, she tore her gaze away from her pack and the injections inside, forcing herself to look at him.
"How did you know that?"
He cocked his head to the side, tone disturbingly light.
"What kind of a shitty friend would I be if I didn't know something like that?"
Wordless, she only stared at him.
"Where's the gratitude, Blondie? I cut off that fucker's head for you and kept it in my goddamn refrigerator for two months."
If she'd been any lesser of a kunoichi, she might have given into the urge to retch.
"Wanted it to be all nice and fresh-looking, you know," he continued, finally sitting down, resting an arm on his propped knee. "That seriously goes to show how much I care."
"About what?" she said blankly, voice faint.
He stared at her in silence for a few seconds, and when he spoke, all vestiges of mirth had left his voice.
"What do you think?"
For the first time, she truly felt afraid of answering him, resorting to taking her bag and fan into her arms as she slowly sat down against the torch. Silence reigned for several minutes, the air growing heavy with a nameless tension she couldn't place. His presence had never incited this much uncertainty in her before.
"Looks like you guys were busy while I was gone."
She raised her head at his sudden remark, then glanced at the barricades.
"How long before they're all up?"
She considered him for a few seconds, then finally answered.
"End of this month."
He made a faint sound in his throat that might've been expressing either admiration or disbelief. After a moment, he raised his head, voice plaintive.
"What are we going to do, Blondie?"
Her brow furrowed at his tone, fingers gripping the frame of her fan. "What do you mean?"
"About us."
She merely stared at him, uncomprehending.
"Didn't realize how much of a bond we had until I couldn't see you. What are we going to do when the walls go up?"
A cold, sinking feeling started somewhere in her chest, descending to the tips of her toes and wrenching her insides. Before she could even think of replying, he continued, tone deceitfully imploring.
"I fucking missed you, you know."
"Stop," she said blankly, voice hardly above a whisper.
"Could barely sleep."
"Stop it."
"You missed me too, right?"
Temari squeezed her eyes shut, digging her nails into the palms of her hands to tear herself out of the deepening chasm of uncertainty and dismay his words were carving, soundless assurances repeating in her mind like a mantra.
—he's fucking with me, fucking with me, fucking with me—
Play the game, she thought inwardly, clenching her fists, eyes throbbing as she squeezed them shut. Play it and play it better than him.
The crow's a trickster.
Opening her eyes, she took a deep breath before speaking.
"I'd be lying if I said I didn't."
She'd spoken so frankly she almost convinced herself, and judging from his sudden silence it must have sounded just as convincing to him. A brief thrill at the minute victory relieved some of the anxiety tightening in her stomach, and she regarded him carefully, waiting for a response. He spoke a moment later, sounding genuinely bemused.
"Seriously?"
"I don't joke about these sorts of things."
"You're making this really fucking difficult, Blondie."
Her pulse quickened. "Am I?"
"I took an oath."
"For what?"
"To devote myself to God."
"Then what's the problem?"
"You."
"Am I distracting you?"
"A lot."
She didn't realize how reckless her next words were until the bleak silence that followed.
"If it's such a problem, why don't you kill me?"
Initially, he made no response, regarding her silently from where he sat as cold sweat beaded on her forehead.
"I might just do that," he finally replied, apathetically. "We'll see when we reach the finish line."
"When will that be?"
"Soon, Blondie. Clock's ticking."
Breathing shallowly, she swallowed frigid air on a parched throat, regarding him through narrowed, glistening eyes that stung from the wind chill.
Silence reigned for several minutes, and the moment she took her gaze away from his motionless form in the sand, she encountered the sight of Hirai Dairou's severed head lying a few feet away, staring at her with blank, tumid eyes.
Grimacing, she moved away from the post long enough to gather the sack and ease the head back into it with the tip of a kunai, painfully aware of the intense gaze following her every movement.
When the head was secure inside the bag again, she set it near the torch and sat down, glancing down at where he sat. Casting inhibitions aside, she parted her lips to speak.
"Thank you."
And despite the distance that separated them, she could feel his growing smile in the dark.
"You're welcome, seriously."
They both fell silent, and she found herself vaguely perturbed by the change in behaviour he'd been exhibiting since arriving. Where he'd normally talk for hours without pause, maintaining quiet for only minutes at a time, he now settled for a stretch of silence that spanned nearly twenty minutes.
Hot oil from the torch spattered the sand next to her with a hiss, an acrid, sickly sweet smell wafting through the air. Scorpions scuttled by her feet, stilling whenever the clouds obscured the moon, dimming the landscape to a drearier, greyer shade of navy. Breezes fanned the fire, filling the air with the faint sounds of flapping flames.
And the entire time she felt his gaze, watching her with fixed intensity, expression unreadable from where he sat.
Looking in other directions did little to distract from the unsettling awareness of his unrelenting stare, and briefly she wondered what he was looking for, watching her so intently. Questioning him would reveal her discomfort so she opted for equal silence, returning the unrelenting stare.
Although too far apart to establish true eye contact, both were acutely aware of the relentless observations on both their parts, and gave into the silence with abandon to memorize and contemplate what little they could see of each other. The only true sentiments and motives they'd ever express were expressed through silence, through the unspoken admittance that they both found the other worthy of contemplation, worthy of hours spent in the cold desert when the rest of the world slept.
Amidst the hate, odiousness, mind games, and lies, the fascination was constant and mutual. The allure was real. Genuine. Neither could deny that absolute truth.
Temari felt as though she'd been startled from a trance the moment the sun peeked over the horizon, the presence of the light suddenly eliciting movement from him. Blinking, she leaned back against the torch and watched silently as he stood and took his scythe, slinging it onto his back before glancing up at her.
It was always in these moments, just before he departed, that he'd incite her hatred to greater heights with taunts and mental torment. She waited for it, expecting him to break the carefully constructed web of lies he constructed every visit with that one debilitating comment, the one that would follow her and repeat on loop, pulling her profoundly, passionately, helplessly deeper in hate.
She expected it, and it was for that reason she didn't know how to respond when he finally spoke, tone mild.
"…I wasn't fucking with you when I said I missed you."
When she said nothing in reply, staring at him in blank surprise, he turned away and left.
The time it took to return home elapsed in what felt like a few heartbeats, and mechanically, hardly aware of the cold, she undressed and climbed into bed without taking Gaara's sleeping medication, unconscious before she could even get the blanket up over her body.
The dream came to her like it had come every night since she'd met him, the ever-vigilant crow watching her from various places in her room, gradually creeping closer with every subsequent dream.
Now, it was inches from her face, standing placidly on the bedspread next to her pillow, watching.
She couldn't move her head even if she wanted to, her incorporeal body held still by the weight of something intangible and oppressive overhead.
Part of her wanted to recoil in disgust from the carrion bird, wanted to burn her sheets and stop breathing to spare herself from inhaling its vile essence. Part of her wanted to kill it, wanted to break its neck despite its passive demeanor.
But she did nothing but stare at it.
Her eyes traced the aquiline shape of its black beak, taking in the intricate, flawless coat of pitch black feathers streamlining its body. In such close proximity, each feather gleamed midnight blue, iridescent and surreal in the moonlight.
Black eyes, gleaming with eerie intelligence, gazed back at her unwaveringly.
Her heart felt like it was going to explode out of her chest.
She couldn't breathe when it took a small step closer, pausing right before her incorporeal hand, staring at her almost expectantly.
You're vile, she thought, her heart pounding in her ears. You're cursed, hated, and feared. You eat the flesh of the dead.
She raised her heavy, incorporeal hand, feeling her fingers tremble under the weight of numbing fear.
The bird suddenly inclined its head and she let her hand drop.
The sensation of smooth, warm feathers trailing beneath her fingertips came suddenly and with an intensity that made her cease breathing altogether. It watched her as she ran her fingers down the back of its wings, unperturbed by the contact.
She felt what it felt, felt the subtle pleasure of fingertips trailing from the top of her head to the base of her spine, a gentle, stroking sensation. She felt its contentment, felt its complacency, and loathed it.
You're filthy, she thought, feeling its soft feathers taint her fingertips with unseen grime. You're corrupt.
She raised her other hand, gently running her knuckles over its smooth, black breast.
You're awful. You're all things bad…
She paused, her fingertips resting against its throat when she closed her eyes and finally breathed.
Then her fingers seized shut and the hollow bones shattered with an audible snap, the smooth texture of the iridescent feathers slowly becoming wet and warm against her palm. Opening her eyes, she felt her brow contort into a glare so vicious it hurt, clenching her fingers till her nails pierced through the fragile barrier of feathers and skin.
Even when my foundations collapse, I will traverse hell and transcend every human agony to end you.
She watched the blood stream over her hand, following the crimson spider lines with single-minded intensity and fervid promise.
…I will end you.
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