Quotidian ch.7 pt.1
By: firefly
Note: After months of piecing this last installment together, this fic has finally come to completion more than a year after I started it. It's just…been magnificent, having you lovely readers humour my love for crack scenarios, and treating it with the same seriousness as you would anything else.
I'd like to thank you all from the bottom of my heart for being so supportive and patient. This fic has turned out to be the longest one I've ever written, and I certainly wouldn't have been able to complete it without your lovely feedback and encouragement. Thank you.
So here's the last chapter, split into three parts. As always, reviews would be love. Happy reading.
Reaching Terminus pt.1
"Ends and beginnings — there are no such things. There are only middles."
—Robert Frost
Clouds rolled leisurely over the horizon towards Suna, the blue and grey cumuli unusually dense for that part of the desert. A tinge of humidity descended on the otherwise arid landscape, hints of ozone detectable in the air.
As summer faded to autumn and the first of September approached, the biennial advent of monsoon season approached with it.
Outside the bedroom window, preparations for the storm were well under way. The streets resonated with hammer falls and the far-off echoes of drilling as tarps were placed over roofs. Sand was purged from drainpipes and gullies were carved out with shovels to dispel the imminent flooding.
Oblivious to the world outside her room, Temari slowly opened her eyes and stared blankly into nothingness.
Clock's ticking.
In the silence of her room, the words resounded with harsh clarity within the confines of her mind, lucid despite the torpid meanderings of her muddled thoughts.
The light of dawn spilled weakly over the bed, highlighting the bluish black circles under her half-lidded eyes and the cracked, bloodstained skin of her lips. The pillow sank slightly as she inclined her head, drawings her arms closer towards her chest and slowly exhaling.
Vaguely, she realized she'd been covered with a blanket, and an exploratory sweep of her fingertips over her face yielded the sensation of grit and sore, dried skin.
The tear streaks had long since evaporated.
After their last meeting at the border on the night of her birthday, she had slept no more than three hours in the three nights that followed. He had inexplicably disappeared once more, leaving her to spend her last three shifts alone at her post, perplexity and worry stealing away her sleep.
A lump rose in her throat.
Her hand drifted back to the bedspread, aimlessly tracing circles in a feeble attempt to distract her from the memory of the events that had nearly shattered her the day before. As the image of the woman's lifeless face reappeared once more in her mind's eye, Temari forcibly squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her fists.
In her obsessive preoccupation with a missing nin who was miles away in River country, she'd let an actual threat slip past her completely.
She should have noticed the odd attire of the man that had walked past her on her way to the council building. She should have recognized the suspicious furtiveness and speed with which he strode past. She should have realized that the neighbourhood she was in was liable to collateral damage when, a moment later, a squad of jounins ambushed the area.
In a dazed fog, she'd turned at the muffled sounds of a shouting jounin, the words hardly registering when a barrage of kunai showered the area, one of the knives shattering one of the house's windows just next to her head.
The jarring noise of shattering glass threw her out of her stupor long enough to gather her senses, and before she could even turn to catch a glimpse of the fleeing quarry, a sharp scream rang out from within the house.
Without thinking, she broke the rest of the window away with the end of her fan, jumping over the ledge and into the living room. The redness was what caught her eye first, spreading with alarming speed past a coffee table, a vivid contrast against the tan-coloured floor, and for a moment she stood frozen, arms limp by her sides.
The realization that it was blood registered with agonizing slowness, an inexplicable sense of perplexity rooting her to the spot. It looked unreal—the house, the glass, and the crimson puddle seeping across the floor. For a moment, she felt convinced that she was dreaming again, certain that the dark-clothed missing nin was some manifestation of her fears and this entire situation merely a figment of her exhausted mind.
The faint gurgling that sounded from behind the table startled her out of her reverie, and as she moved inside towards the source of the blood, the floor seemed to give away from beneath her feet.
A civilian woman lay on the ground, pressing her hands to the spurting wound in her neck. The bloodied kunai lay discarded nearby. The sight was enough to jar Temari to her senses and realize no nightmare could justify the sheer agonized panic in the woman's eyes.
"Help," Temari whispered, almost inaudibly, eyes wide. "Help—"
She dropped to her knees, fingers prying the woman's blood-soaked hand from the wound, pressing her own down hard.
"Help," she continued hoarsely, raising her voice as the woman stared up at her in a daze, arms falling down towards her sides. "Help!"
The sound of her voice escalated till her screams for help mingled with the screaming of the children that had walked in on them.
She should have known the severity of the wound would kill the woman in less than five minutes. She should have known applying pressure wouldn't help. She should have recognized the blood soaking into her clothing as a sign of it being too late. But still she cradled the woman's head in her lap and still she screamed for help, until the gurgling lapsed into silence and the children ran out into the street, their cries fading in the distance.
Medical assistance arrived when the blood had already begun to coagulate against her skin and clothing, finding her sitting blank-faced with the dead woman in her arms. A moment later, Kankuro appeared with one of the medic nins, his look of grim concern falling on blind eyes.
She'd been escorted, silent and expressionless, back to the house.
"Are you okay?" Kankuro had asked slowly, carefully, when she'd stood motionlessly by the stairs for a few minutes, staring into nothingness. "I sent a messenger to tell Gaara about it—"
"Fine," she'd said loudly, blinking slowly before looking at him. "I'm going to go take a shower."
Kankuro's brow furrowed in tacit concern as she wordlessly turned and started up the stairs. She emerged onto the second floor and entered the bathroom, hardly aware of her actions as she stripped mechanically, remaining expressionless even as dried blood flaked off her arms and onto the tiles.
Standing near the pile of bloodstained clothes, Temari stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror.
Congealed blood dried and cracked against her bare skin, reflecting a rusty, brownish red gleam under the light of the bare bulbs. It splattered her neck and the side of her face, a heavy contrast to her pale skin, some of it drying in mid-drip between her breasts. More blood, almost gauze-like in appearance, coated her torso and most of her right thigh, itchy and smelling faintly of copper.
She passively listened to the soft, barely audible scrape of her loose hair against the dried blood as she lowered her head, feeling the parched ends catch on the red grit.
How do I feel? She asked herself expressionlessly, staring at her reflection. Do I feel nothing—like I'm supposed to?
Automatically, she reached up to scratch the blood where it had dried on her neck, pulling her hand back and gazing at the red debris caught beneath her nails.
The crow's a trickster. His words have double meanings.
Hardly aware of the soundless voice in the back of her mind, she found herself replaying some of Hidan's departing words, raising her gaze to her reflection once more, eyes tracing the blood streaks on her skin.
By the way…
Her fists clenched by her sides, an uncontrollable lump rising in her throat.
Bet you look good in red.
The mirror shattered, the jarring noise mingling with the short, enraged scream that left her lips as she smashed her fist into the glass, oblivious to the shards that rained over her bare feet.
A moment later, she felt the lump in her throat swell to the point of near suffocation, and she wasn't crying as much as she was just struggling to breathe, her breath hitching sporadically in her throat, shoulders trembling and body caving inwards, arms unconsciously rising to surround her middle.
The blood scraped against her forearm and her left foot slid back over the tiles, shortly followed by the right. She backed away from the shards of her reflection, fighting to keep her breathing steady and struggling to stifle the harsh, painful sounds accompanying it.
Her back connected with the tiles of the wall and a jolt of shock at the cold shot up her spine, making her legs give out. She slumped down to the tiles, sobbing openly now, curling her arms around her torso.
A moment later, she heard three hesitant knocks on the bathroom door.
"Temari?" Kankuro's voice sounded muffled, uncertain. "You okay?"
For some insane reason, memories of her screening test came to mind, along with the perpetual question asked of her and all shinobi expected to commit and witness murder and destruction.
How do you feel?
She felt the bile, acidic and bitter at the back of her throat as she grimaced and forced herself to lie.
"I'm fine…"
"…are you sure?"
"I'm fine!" she screamed, digging her nails into her sides, burying her face in her shoulder. "Leave me alone!"
She couldn't breathe. She was covered in death, covered in red, and her flesh felt like it was being rent apart as the blood and grime steeped itself deeper, burrowing and entwining into her skin, branching out with hooks and gnarls and teeth, burning like a second skin.
And still, still, all she could think of was—
Bet you look good in red.
Her mouth soured instantly and a moment later she was bent over the toilet, retching till tears formed at the corners of her eyes and every sobbing gasp felt like a serrated knife in her chest.
Muddled thoughts—nonsensical and repetitive and jumbled—streamed through her mind like a hemorrhage,
I'm vile, sick, disgusting. Like him. Because of him. Because of no sleeping and every day—every day needles in my arm, every day pills and oblivions, every day nightmares and black birds. I'm tired. I'm worried. I'm sick. This is torment. This is violation of the nth degree. This is a rape of sanity. You're a parasite, a malignancy, raping me—feeding off of my sanity. Help me. Help me. Help me.
Violent tremors wracked her frame as she lifted her head, swallowing painfully on a parched, burning throat, squinting through tear-blurred eyes at the reddish tinge of dried blood coating her body.
Another wave of nausea surfaced at the sight and she tore her gaze away, scrambling to her feet, clutching at the wall to keep her balance as a disorienting wave of vertigo flooded her senses.
She had to get it off. In every second that passed, it felt like the blood and grime were irreversibly sinking deeper into her flesh, a sensation that had her fingers straining to tear into her skin and claw it out.
Stumbling into the tub, she dropped to her knees once more and turned the faucet on full blast, thrusting both hands into the gush of hot water and furiously ladling it and rubbing it into the ruddy grime, paying no heed to the angry red splotches spreading over her arms.
The blood wore away beneath her scrubbing hands and hot water, yet a soiled, unclean feeling remained. Raking her nails over the unseen grime did nothing to relieve the feeling of filth, and just as her breath began hitching uncontrollably in desperation, nails drawing blood on her skin, she remembered.
Raising her head, she caught sight of the window and the outline of windblown sand accumulated outside the glass.
She pictured the oasis and she pictured him from more than a month ago, ladling up handfuls of sand and rubbing it into his bloodstained skin.
It gets the blood out.
She nearly slipped as she clambered out of the tub, feet staining the white tiles a dull red. Oblivious to the pain of several shards of the mirror cutting into her feet, she pulled the window open and grabbed fistfuls of the sand on the ledge, stumbling back to the tub immediately and scattering the coarse grains against her reddened flesh, scrubbing it in brutally.
A hoarse, weak noise of relief and despair sounded in her throat as the sensation of unseen grime dissipated, disappearing into the drain. She continued scrubbing, furiously scouring every inch of her frame and face till her own blood surfaced beneath the ministrations.
Finally, when the pain of the self-inflicted abrasions mingled with her grief and the caked grime washed away, she slumped forward against the wall, bowing her head below the gush of hot water and giving in to the harsh sobs wracking her frame.
She couldn't remember ever cutting loose like this, couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so completely broken. Her chest ached with each hitching sob and the tears felt like saline fire against her reddened face, every inch of her aching so profoundly she made no attempt to stifle her sounds of grief.
Someone knocked on the bathroom door again and she ignored it, unable to think past her own anguish. No matter how long she sat there and despite her frequent attempts to choke back the sobs, the horrible ache in her chest only worsened and she started crying anew, unable to stop the shaking.
And when the sound of the bathroom door forcibly banging open broke through the perpetual gushing of water, she took no notice, only bowing her head further towards the drain, arms encircling her trembling body.
"Gaara, wait—" Kankuro's startled voice broke through the noise and a moment later the continuous onslaught of hot water ceased, the removal of the gushing sound making her sobs sound all the more wretched and pronounced in the silence.
She didn't look up, didn't care that they could see her naked and curled up in the tub. She couldn't bring herself to move.
A sharp intake of breath sounded in the stifling silence as they took in her huddled form, the burns, abrasions and mud covering her skin, and a moment later Kankuro's soft, pained voice filled the humid space.
"God, Temari…"
Then a hand descended gently on her shoulder and she reacted instinctively with a jerk, flinging her arm up with a muffled shriek.
A strong hand seized her wrist and forced her arm down by her side, and almost instantly she was draped in a soft, dry cloth, the fabric obscuring her trembling frame. A comforting, warm weight settled against her back, and when Gaara's voice murmured for her to calm down just next to her ear, it took her a moment to realize that her youngest brother had clambered into the tub behind her, and that the cloth draping her was his Kazekage robe.
She squeezed her eyes shut, shoulders taut with the strain to hold back the new sobs rising in her chest, and the most she could manage was to bow her head and bite her lip so the tears fell silently.
Gaara wrapped his arms around her from behind, tight enough to get her to stop shaking, taking no heed of the muddy water soaking into the knees of his pants.
"Temari," he murmured, keeping his voice steady despite the alarming sounds of her stifled whimpers. "Calm down. Stand."
How far had she fallen, she wondered, when the mere idea of standing, of moving and living, seemed unfathomable to her in that moment. How far, when the most she could do was grip fistfuls of the robes, lacking the strength to bring her legs to movement.
This feeling of helplessness, of pathetic weakness made the despair double, and before she could slump forward in despondence Gaara tightened his grip around her, shifting so he could pull her up.
"Stand," he encouraged quietly. "Temari, stand with me."
When she finally managed to balance her weight on her quaking arms and rose to her feet with Gaara's assistance, Kankuro stepped forward instinctively to balance her, hardly recognizing this woman's face, unable to fathom that this was Temari, his sister, who hadn't shed tears in front of him since Yashamaru's death.
"I've got her," Gaara assured him as they stumbled over the side of the tub and onto the tiled floor of the bathroom, Temari resembling a limp rag doll in his grip. "Tell the secretary to cancel all my meetings."
Nodding reluctantly, Kankuro quickly left the bathroom, expression taut with worry. Gaara waited for him to clear the hallway before slinging one of Temari's arms around his shoulders, gripping her tight as he moved out of the bathroom, supporting her all the way to her room, where he carefully set her down on the edge of her mattress and sat beside her.
She held one hand out in front of her, staring at it through streaming, glazed eyes, willing it to stop shaking and feeling nausea and something akin to panic as it continued to tremble.
"Temari."
Gaara's calm, steady voice sounded distant and far off amidst the cacophony of nonsensical thoughts plaguing her mind, and he had to repeat it twice more before he could get her attention. And when she finally turned and looked at him, saw his face, saw him in simple black pants and t-shirt, free of his Kazekage attire, and saw the honest concern beneath that impassive mask, she felt a wave of desperation that bordered on hysteria.
"Not you," she found herself whispering, eyes tearing uncontrollably again. "Not you, Gaara. Not again."
At the slight flicker in his eyes and the barest hints of concern etched in his features, she felt her resolution double to mania. She felt desperate to hide him, protect him, keep him safe from any and all danger. He'd changed so much, he'd been given another chance, he'd finally become her brother—and she would die, she decided, willingly die to ensure he lived the life that up until recently had been denied to him his entire existence.
The blood of that civilian woman—she could still feel it, acid-hot against her skin, and the mere thought of having Gaara's or Kankuro's blood on her instead made her grow numb, made her forget the terror and despair long enough to look at her youngest brother and remind her what she was suffering and fighting for.
This is what you're protecting, she thought. This. This is your life, your family. This is what keeps you going, and you can't—can't—let him take this away. You'll die before you let that happen. You'll die before you let harm come to them.
She touched Gaara's face, features contorting slightly in suppressed, despairing determination, paying no attention to his confused, concerned expression, paying no attention to the way he asked her questions, questions that seemed alien and unimportant to her ears.
This crying, this weakness, this bullshit—she thought furiously. Stop it, suck it up and live for their sakes. Suffer for their sakes. Die if it ensures their safety. Die if it will take that fucking missing-nin with you. Die if you can save them. Strong, be strong. Don't cry, don't fall. Stand, fight, move forward and protect them.
"Not you, Gaara," she whispered again, voice broken and feeble yet still containing some semblance of reassurance. "I promise…never again."
Her brother had looked torn between confusion and apprehension, and she sincerely regretted the look of unadulterated fear that had crossed his features when her vision abruptly deteriorated to a white haze and she'd fallen forward, feeling him catch her and say her name in a tone she'd never heard before.
She had heard fear and worry. She had glimpsed a changed, mending boy, and remembering it now as she lay motionless in bed, a sense of renewed determination encompassed the overwhelming weariness, compelling her to rise to her feet and venture towards the window.
On the horizon, the nearly complete line of barricades splayed a bleak, dark line across the bed of sand, grey clouds billowing innocuously overhead.
The next meeting would be their last. Three barricades remained. There was only one post left.
The next time she saw him, she would be alone.
Temari raised her hand, pressing it to the cool glass and closing her eyes as the faces of her brothers rose in her mind's eye, reminding her again why she was doing this.
Yet beneath that sense of purpose, a part of her knew this suicidal mission was to sate her own hatred towards the one who'd snatched whatever facets of normalcy remained in her life. When it came to that final confrontation, she wanted to see him bleed for her and her alone.
"I'll die for them," she murmured, breath fogging on the cold glass. "But taking you with me is what will make it all worth it."
The picture on monitor 17 generated static as the camera slowly changed trajectory, sweeping slowly across the empty landscape. A lone guardsman stood watch at the single remaining post, dead centre in the space reserved for the three remaining walls to go up.
An hour remained in his shift. Then it would be her turn.
Temari didn't let her gaze stray from the screen, counting the perpetual ticks of the clock, the only sound in the otherwise silent surveillance room. A moment later, the door clicked open behind her, the faces of the arrivals reflected in the numerous surveillance screens. She couldn't bring herself to turn around and face them.
"Tonight is the last night of your patrol duty."
Temari didn't answer, afraid of meeting her brothers' gazes, focusing on the camera transmission instead.
"You don't have to go," Gaara said a moment later, the sound of his voice eliciting a painful ache in her chest.
She said nothing for a long time, steeling herself and forcing her features to look impassive before she finally turned away from the screen.
Gaara and Kankuro's expressions alone were almost enough to drag her back into the profound state of sorrow and misery she'd dredged herself in hours before, and the pain instilled by her nails digging into her palms remained the only thing distracting her from the impending breakdown.
"You said it yourself," she said, managing to sound calm and reassuring. "It's my last night. All the cameras are up. I'll just get it over with."
Kankuro gazed at her doubtfully.
"But still, you don't have to. Just stay here, we can send someone else in for you."
Her faint smile grew rigid, nails digging harder into her palms.
"It'll be fine," she said automatically. "Don't worry so much, Kankuro."
"How can you tell me not to worry, after what happened last night?" Kankuro retorted heatedly. "You can't just—"
He abruptly fell silent when Gaara raised his hand, her youngest brother sparing her an unreadable look.
"This is your last night." He paused. "You won't go back after this one."
"I won't," she repeated. "The last barricades go up tomorrow, and then the monsoon hits. There'll be no point in going back after that."
Gaara stared at her silently for several moments, and for each passing second he looked at her, Temari felt her resolve wane, eyes misting uncontrollably. She nearly breathed in relief when he finally looked away.
"Go, then."
Temari took a step forward, heart beating frantically in her chest as both brothers turned to go back through the door. It seemed unfathomable that this could be the very last time she'd see them, and the tears she held in restraint nearly escaped when she reached out.
"Wait."
They paused, turning to glance at her.
She didn't want it to end like this. She'd hoped to have at least given each of them a hug before she left. She'd wanted their last conversation to hold some semblance of meaning, of lasting impact.
But doing either would have alerted them to her intent, and she couldn't risk that. Not now.
"Just…don't wait up," she said thickly, forcing a faltering smile. "Okay?"
"And you be careful," Kankuro returned, gaze intent. "Okay?"
She nodded, and a moment later, she found herself alone once more in the surveillance room. Releasing a slow breath, she picked up her bag, sparing the door her brothers had departed through one last glance before she left the building, emerging into the frigid night air.
The nightly journey had become so routine she was hardly aware of herself snapping open her fan and catching a gust of wind, barely conscious of her surroundings until she was airborne, cruising over the desert and towards the barricades.
When she arrived, a lone torch flickered in the black expanse below, the area eerily bereft of the light and fellow jounins she'd come to know during the past months. The quiet impact of her feet against the sand sounded all the more pronounced in the silence, catching the remaining patroller's attention.
"Hello, Temari-san," he greeted tiredly, looking grateful for her appearance. "Bet you can't wait to get this one over with, huh?"
She gave him a faint, strained smile.
"You have no idea."
Without much further preamble, the jounin bid her goodbye, taking off westward and back towards the village. Temari watched him go, feeling eerily calm despite being completely alone, arms limp by her sides.
Mechanically, she trudged through the sand to the single torch, taking her spot under it and withdrawing a flare from her pack. Habitually, she lit and tossed it without even looking, well-aware by now where the oasis was. As her hand slipped back inside the pack to grip a kunai, her fingers instead found a plastic casing, tensing when she realized what it was.
Removing it, Temari slowly pried off the lid, staring expressionlessly at the last stimulant injection remaining inside.
Her fingers twitched, touching the tube of the syringe, eventually closing around the slim handle. Just as she was about to remove it, a voice broke the silence.
"Just you and me this time, huh?"
Temari dropped the plastic casing back into her bag, dumbfounded when she raised her head and saw him standing in the circle of red light, scythe already discarded in the sand. For a moment, she couldn't speak, a cold, unreal sensation of dread rooting her to the spot.
"I know, I'm early," he continued when she didn't reply, sitting down near his scythe. "But I figured I owed you some extra time, not showing up the past three days and all."
Temari merely stared at him, lips parting soundlessly in shock.
She wasn't quite sure what she'd been expecting upon his arrival, but none of her predications had included him behaving as if they were carrying on as per normal. He had to know this would be their last meeting.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" he finally demanded, after her prolonged silence.
"What are you doing?" she managed to get out, anger slowly replacing the uncertainty. "What are you trying to do?"
"I don't know, almost seems like I'm trying to start a conversation," he replied sardonically. "What the hell do you think?"
Temari glared, fists clenching by her sides.
"If this is another one of your mind games, I'm not falling for it. Let's just get this over with."
He stared at her, momentarily silent.
"This is the last day anyone patrols the border," she continued, unaware of just how shrill her voice had become. "This is your last chance."
"For what?" he asked, nonchalant.
"For what?" she echoed disbelievingly, a derisive laugh escaping her lips, sounding almost hysterical. "We're alone, you bastard. What more incentive do you need?"
"Something you're trying to tell me, Blondie?" he asked, the smirk evident in his tone. "Want me to come over there that badly, do you? And as for us being alone…"
He trailed off, glancing behind her. She followed his gaze, eyes darting towards the plexiglas square obscuring the camera in the barricade next to her, her gaze irrevocably straying to the miniscule red light indicative of the recording.
He grinned, waving jauntily at the camera.
"I seriously hope you guys are getting my good side."
"There's a monsoon due to hit by tomorrow," she interrupted, mind racing, a faint ringing in her ears as she clutched the frame of her fan. "No one will enter or leave Suna for five days unless they plan on drowning themselves. You won't get another chance once the last barricades go up."
Her heart thudded in painful anticipation as she tensed, readying herself to fight, waiting for the moment he reached for his scythe.
Instead, he merely canted his head, arms remaining by his sides.
"I thought I told you in the beginning," he suddenly said, tone amused. "I'm not gonna do anything."
"Then why are you even here?" she demanded, no longer caring about the rules. "Why did you come back?"
"Use your fucking brain," he said, tapping his temple, a slow grin spreading over his face. "Ever think that maybe it's because I just like you?"
"You're full of shit," she spat caustically. "You and I both know why you're here."
"Oh yeah? Enlighten me."
"I shouldn't have to," she said bitterly. "Why else would you be here, besides the obvious reason?"
"Wait, wait, wait," he interjected, sounding both amused and mockingly surprised. "You think I'm here to kill you or something? You? Why the hell would I wanna do that?"
She didn't reply, glaring hatefully at him over the shawl as he laughed.
"Seriously, you're the last person I wanna kill, Blondie. Feel special."
"Then why," she said, voice low with barely constrained anger. "Why are you here?"
He smiled, eyes narrowing into a squint in the lambent red light.
"Maybe," he said lightly, casually, "I just wanna finish what Sasori and Deidara started."
Temari leapt to her feet, sand spraying up behind her strides as she unthinkingly advanced forward several steps, the transmitter emitting a high-pitched squeal into her ears as she skidded to a stop, just before the border line.
Breathing hard, clenching the fan so hard her knuckles whitened, she pinned him with the most withering glare she could muster, words escaping her in a snarl.
"You touch my brothers and I'll rip your goddamn head off."
Forcing herself to stay behind the line became all the more difficult when he burst into laughter, the sounds harsh and grating in the barren landscape, sending a shiver down her spine despite the distance.
"It's fucking ridiculous how easy it is to piss you off," he managed to get out after a moment, breathless from laughter. "You take everything so damn seriously. And—and what really gets me is that you think you'd actually be able to stop me."
"Try me," she gritted out, veins standing out in the back of her hand as she clutched the frame of the fan. "You have no idea what I'd do to you."
"Then give me an idea," he replied, tilting his head up at her, stretching out a hand invitingly. "Come over and show me."
Unthinkingly, she took another step forward, pausing only when the transmitter erupted with a second high-pitched squeal. She tore it off and threw it into the sand, well aware that the camera behind her had detected the motion and was now focused solely on her movement.
A cold smirk pulled at the corners of his lips, eyes narrowing in increasing amusement as she hesitated, his fingers flexing in a mocking, beckoning gesture.
Gradually, her rage dissipated into barely constrained fury, fingers curling into trembling fists.
"Why are you doing this?"
"Do I need a reason?" he retorted, dropping his arm. "Maybe I just like fucking with you."
"Is that why you're here?" she snapped. "Just to torment me?"
"Gimme a break. You're not that special."
"Then why?" she finally burst out, voice bordering on a shriek as she flung her fan to the ground, advancing till she was over the line, over the border and in his terrain, no longer caring about protocol. "Why are you here, if not to kill me? Why the hell are you here, you son of a bitch?"
It would have been a relief if he'd reacted as she was expecting and killed her for crossing the line. It would have satisfied her to know that at least she'd been right about his motives if he hurt her, if he took advantage of the fact that she'd given him reason to react without fear of reprisal from the other side.
But her bewilderment doubled when he merely sat there, unmoving, staring up at her in silence.
Breathing hard, she remained still, waiting for a response, disregarding the fact that she was weaponless. At this point, all she wanted was to know why.
After a long stretch of silence, he finally moved, and her heart thudded deafeningly in her ears when he slowly stood up, dragging his scythe up with him. It didn't even occur to her to try and reach for her fan. She could only stare, transfixed.
"Honestly?" he finally replied, lazily. "I only came here to tell you something."
Her eyes widened when he turned to leave, glancing up at her over his shoulder. He spared a look towards the camera before stepping away from the circle of light.
"I'll be back one more time…when it'll really be just you and me."
A dark haze filtered the sunlight, casting a dim grey light over the council building and the village square, portentous of the massive storm to come. Despite the dreary atmosphere, the enthusiasm and spirit of the crowd was high, practically every civilian and shinobi clustered close before the podium.
Temari sat on the stage near her brothers, staring blankly into the mass of happy expressions as Gaara's advisor ended the speech.
"…and on behalf of the Kazekage and myself, as well as the entirety of Suna, we thank you for your combined efforts in furthering the security of our village. Congratulations on a job well done."
The village square broke out in applause as the barricade construction workers and engineers humbly bowed, shaking hands with various council and audience members. Far out on the horizon, the row of barricades stood complete at last, an endless expanse of black across a sea of brown. Even from where Temari sat, kilometers away, the construction looked formidable and impenetrable.
"Also!"
The crowd gradually fell silent once more as Gaara's advisor made his way once more to the podium.
"We are fortunate that the engineers were able to complete the wall before the monsoon hit, which brings me to my next point. Please be informed that the severity of the storm will most likely cause a power-out and severe flooding. All outgoing shinobi missions are canceled, and all residents are restricted to the village until further notice. As it is due to hit some time in the night or early morning, please use the time you have now to prepare yourselves accordingly in keeping with emergency procedures. Thank you."
"Finally," Kankuro breathed in relief when the crowd finally dispersed, rising to his feet and rubbing his head. "I thought that guy would never shut up."
Temari slowly followed suit and stood, gazing out past the dispersing crowd and towards the horizon, tracing the line of barricades with her eyes.
I'll be back one more time…when it'll really be just you and me.
She hadn't understood the words when he'd said them last night and she couldn't understand them now. At no point would the cameras be deactivated, so there was no question in meeting him without ever being monitored. Appearing during the monsoon itself would be absolutely insane, in addition to being pointless with the cameras trained out across the desert.
The back of her eyes ached as she followed Kankuro home, head throbbing with the lack of sleep from the night before.
Part of her latched onto a sense of forced relief, of feigned optimism and certainty, assuring her that it was over, that he'd had his chance and that there was no getting by the border now; not only due to the security, but because of the impending storm. The oasis would swell and overflow and grow into a lake. The barricades would be struck by lightning. The sand at their bases would fester into mud. The wind would reach cutting speeds. The rain would drown anything and everything without mercy.
Yet despite that, she couldn't shake off the feeling of unease, even as she forced a smile and nodded in response to Kankuro's carefree remarks, even as she made her way home and closed herself into her room, slumping into bed in exhaustion.
"It's over," she murmured, fingers curling over her bedspread, tired eyes gazing past the gently rustling curtains and into the dim grey sky. "He won't be back."
And despite the slip of doubt lingering in the back of her mind, she eventually gave into the exhaustion, slipping into a fitful sleep.
River Country. 12 hours later.
Deep, throbbing notes resonated throughout the silent hideout, carried through the rooms and grounds on a silken, humid breeze. Quicksilver streams glistened and quivered on the horizon, imbuing the mild zephyrs with a rich, wet smell as it infiltrated the open windows. Beneath the stars and the surreal sheen of midnight light, the hypnotic pulses of the music—Konan's accompaniment to her ritualistic, nightly paper-folding—brought haunting ambience to the otherwise silent hideout.
Footsteps soundlessly treaded the hallways, drowned out by the muffled music. After a long, wearisome day, Kakuzu was looking for nothing more than a restful night's sleep, grateful for the eerie stillness. As he traversed the barren halls, crossing the open doorway leading to the balcony, he came to a sudden stop.
Slowly doubling back, he stared at the figure sitting in the centre of the balcony, facing the view of the dilapidated village and glittering stars, the silver hair unmistakably Hidan's.
The Jashinist sat in one of the cement-stained, rickety lawn chairs scavenged from the riverside, slouching so his head rested against the top of the backrest, arms hanging over the sides and legs stretched out haphazardly in front of him. In his right hand, he loosely clutched a bottle of some unidentifiable liquid.
Kakuzu stared at it, bemused. He'd never known Hidan to be a drinker, and in the back of his mind, he idly took notice that his partner was facing the direction of Suna.
After a long, uncharacteristic moment of silence between the two, filled only by the deep euphonies of the music, Kakuzu finally spoke.
"Is there a reason you're drinking, Hidan?"
The Jashinist was quiet for a few long moments, fingers twitching slightly around the neck of the bottle. His voice came out slightly hoarse, as if from disuse, when he spoke.
"Just for old time's sake."
"You don't drink alcohol."
"…'the fuck makes you think it's alcohol?"
Kakuzu stared at him, puzzled.
Wordlessly, sluggishly, Hidan lifted his arm and tilted the bottle back, swallowing the remaining contents before dropping it lethargically to the floor, voice sedate.
"It's cyanide."
Kakuzu narrowed his eyes, watching his partner warily and aware of some unhinged, implacable tone in Hidan's voice. In retrospect, he reflected, the events he'd witnessed most recently had never come up in the history of their partnership. The latest emerging facets of Hidan's behaviour were entirely new.
"Just trying it one last time," Hidan continued, flapping his hand idly. "See if it works before I go."
Kakuzu glanced knowingly out at the horizon, in the direction of Suna, voicing his question nonetheless.
"Go where?"
Hidan snickered, fingers tangling into his hair and scratching lazily before going still.
"You know where."
"There's a monsoon due to hit Suna by tomorrow," Kakuzu intoned, a cold smirk starting beneath his mask. "I wouldn't recommend going, unless you have a death wish."
Hidan's fingers tightened visibly around the neck of the bottle, veins standing out in the back of his hand. His reply was strained, the reaction unusually controlled considering the nature of the jab.
"I won't come back."
"Am I supposed to be concerned?" Kakuzu asked flatly.
"Be happy, bastard."
"What will I tell the Leader?"
"That I fucked off for good."
"And what if you don't?"
Hidan remained silent for a few seconds, staring out at the view of the urban decay and glistening river. When he spoke, the conviction in his voice was enough to make the Falls nin desist and listen.
"I'll admit it, sometimes I say a lot of shit when I've got no fucking clue what I'm talking about. But this time…"
His hand left his hair, the silver strands mussed and gleaming in the dim night light, rosary beads clinking faintly as he wrapped his fingers around them.
"This time, I'm sure."
Kakuzu sneered. "It won't work."
"It'll work," Hidan snapped suddenly, head shifting lethargically on the backrest before he tilted it up, turning to glare venomously at his partner. "It'll work, you son of a bitch. Seriously, it'll work, it'll fucking work, and…I won't be back. I'm not coming back."
Kakuzu stared at him wordlessly as he dragged himself out of the chair, staggering as he knelt to pick up the bottle of cyanide, drops of crimson speckling the dusty concrete and eliciting faint gurgles between hitched, shallow breaths.
"It'll work," Hidan breathed, head bowed towards the ground as blood dripped between his parted lips, soaking into the grey dust. "I won't be back. You and the whole fucking Akatsuki…you were all just one giant piss stain in my life—a fucking piss stain…and seriously, I'm done with you."
He raised his head, tone resolute despite the hoarseness of his voice.
"So here's to me fucking off the face of the earth and away from you bastards for good."
He lifted the bottle and inclined it forward slightly, violet eyes flecked with spider lines, smile lopsided and bloodstained.
"Cheers."