Chapter 2

It was almost completely dark now, the sky glittering with stars as it waited for the arrival of the moon. The dark ocean of sand beneath lay deathly still as the last of the day's warmth was returned to the heavens. It was not silent, however, as staggering, inhuman footsteps preceded a heavy crash and a raised cloud of dust. Temari's eyes flew open as a shock reverberated through the wood and stone beneath her, pulling her from her lulled state. Her legs came swinging down as she rolled from her chair, grabbed her fan and headed to the north side of the tower. Ready to defend herself from an attack, she cautiously peered over the railing.

Below her, in a pile of rocks that hadn't been there before, was a figure lying in a crumpled heap. They didn't move, or make any sounds, so Temari could only conclude that they were either injured or dead. And there was a faint trace of chakra in the air, as if someone had just cast a jutsu. As her eyes adjusted to the darker shadows below, she could make out a hue of dark red on the head of the figure. Her heart jumped in her throat before she fell into the calculating coolness that her years of training had forged. Springing onto the railing, she opened her fan before swinging it beneath her. Her bare feet landed securely on the stiff paper as she leaned forward and to the left, angling for a swooping dive. Her sarong flared out behind her as she began her descent, the night air rushing up her bare legs to tickle her exposed thigh.

It only took a moment to drop from that distance, and she pulled her fan out from under her at the last second, landing in a crouch, one palm on the sand, the other holding her fan out to the side. When the figure failed to stir, she straightened and silently approached. As she moved closer, she could tell that it was a man, and thankfully, not her brother. But his back was to her, and she couldn't make out anything else, except that the back of his neck was mottled red and white from a sunburn. The shallow rise and fall of his chest told her he was still alive, albeit barely.

Folding her fan, she used the end of it to prod at his back. "Hey!"

He didn't respond, so she poked him again, this time hard. Satisfied that he wasn't trying to ambush her, she used her fan as a lever and rolled him over. His face and arms were as badly burnt as his neck, and she figured that he had stumbled across her outpost just as the desert was getting the best of him. But he had been using chakra just before he collapsed, so it was no accident that he was in this part of Wind Country. She didn't see a forehead protector anywhere, but that didn't make him a civilian either.

Resigning herself to taking him in, she secured her fan under one arm before grabbing his legs and turning him the rest of the way over. His head flopped to the side, hair splayed around him in a dirty tangle. Facing him, she adjusted her grip on his calves and began dragging him backwards, around the side of the building to the door. He was deceptively heavy, though nothing she couldn't handle. Wielding a bulky weapon since childhood had given her a surplus of stamina and arm strength.

After dropping him to open the door, she pulled him the rest of the way inside. Cringing when his head accidentally hit the doorframe, Temari pulled him through the kitchen and into the bedroom. Tossing her pack from the bed to the shelf and setting her fan to the side, she straddled his legs and bent down to hook her arms under his shoulders and lift him to the bare mattress. The smell of drying sweat and earth filled her nose, carrying with it the scent that was uniquely his. Ignoring their closeness, she lifted until he was upright and turned until his torso was even with the bed. With a small grunt she laid him back down, before lifting his legs with a little less care and swinging them onto the bed.

Glancing around, she located a couple of heavy leather straps. They had probably been borrowed from the interrogation department when the place was initially stocked, and left unused on the shelf until now. Thanking whoever had the foresight to put them there, she unfurled them and snaked them through the frame of the cot and around the ninja's body and legs, cinching them tightly into place. She looked over her work, satisfied that he wouldn't be able to get loose once he woke up.

Sparing a few minutes, she retrieved her fan and headed upstairs. She had to get a message to Suna about their intruder and have their ANBU come and pick him up. While she could probably manage him for a while, she had no idea how strong a shinobi he was, or how much chakra he had at his disposal. Plopping down at the desk, she pulled out a slip of paper with red edges and began scrawling the coded message. Moments later it was done, and she stood, rolling it up and inserting it into a red tube. Just as she was heading over to the hawk's cage, she glanced out the window and paused mid-step.

It was difficult to see in the darkness that surrounded the tower, but there was definitely a foreboding haziness outside. Changing direction, she walked to the door instead and stepped out onto the balcony. Her hair was caught in the strong wind that greeted her, and her skin was pelted with small granules of sand. It hadn't got bad yet, just started from the looks of it, but a sandstorm was about to sweep through. There was no way she could send the bird out in that. Her message would just have to wait until it passed.

Feeling uneasy at the unfortunate turn of events, she turned and went back in, and set the note on the desk before detailing the previous couple of hours in the log. They didn't have a holding cell or any sort of lockable room, and she made sure to make a note that they needed one from now on, as well as chakra enhanced restraints. After that she headed back downstairs to stand guard in the room until he woke up.

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An intense chill swept over Kisho as he was brought back to awareness. His whole body ached, inside and out, the shivers making his muscles spasm uncomfortably. His throat felt as if he had been forced to swallow the infernal sand that surrounded him, and even though his eyes were still closed, they burned unmercifully. By some miracle he was alive, though at this point he wondered if it was a blessing or not. A groan escaped his split lips, answered by the sound of shuffling somewhere beyond him.

Remembering that he was in enemy territory, he tensed his muscles and prepared to defend himself. It was then that he realized that he was no longer slumped over, indeed not even outside, but lying on his back on a bed of some sort. He couldn't move his limbs when he tried, large bands crossing over his chest and legs held him securely in place. He forced his eyelids apart, only to be met with the blinding torture of an overhead light, shining right in his face. Out of instinct he turned his head away, despite the protesting of his stiff neck and damaged skin, until his watery eyes were focusing on a doorway beyond his shoulder. He couldn't see anyone, but the shuffling came again before a voice broke over him, the strong feminine lilt accented with the dialect of the southern countries.

"Well, I guess you're awake now."

Angling his head so he could see down his body, his captor finally came into view. She was standing at the foot of his bed, a large tessen fanned out in front of her as she poised for attack. The fierceness in her teal eyes gave her away at once as a kunoichi, which hardly surprised him considering how close he was to Suna. She wore no forehead protector, and most of the rest of her was hidden behind her fan, so there was little more he could learn about her until she spoke. Forcing a dry swallow, he prodded her.

"Who are you?" he croaked out, pain searing his throat with the effort.

"I'll ask the questions." she returned sharply. "Why were you in the desert, headed toward Suna?"

He was silent for a moment, studying her defensive impatience. "I was headed to the coast and got lost." he lied.

"Nice try, but I don't believe you. You were using chakra when you collapsed. Why were you going to Suna?"

Kisho tried to swallow again, and nearly choked on the thickness of his tongue. He'd never get through a whole conversation this way. "Can I have some water?"

Temari eyed him warily for a long moment, debating on what to do. There was no doubt now that he was a shinobi, and not one of Sand's. The problem was, there were too many factors left unknown. He didn't seem very forthcoming with information, so she had to assume he was an enemy. But was he alone or with a team? And what exactly was his mission? She didn't want to help him only to have him escape or attack her, but if he died without telling her why he was there, Suna could be in serious trouble. Maybe if she showed a little compassion he would cooperate with her until this situation was resolved. After all, you caught more flies with honey than vinegar.

She sighed heavily and tucked her fan under her arm before moving to the shelf where she had tossed her pack and retrieved one of her water bottles. Cautiously approaching, she pulled the stopper up and leaned forward, tilting the bottle until a stream of water fell between his parted lips.

The lukewarm liquid was pure heaven. Kisho swallowed rapidly, with some difficulty at first, until the pain in his throat eased. She pulled back all too soon, and he licked his burnt lips to moisten them as his eyes pleaded for more.

Temari shook her head at the unspoken request. "You can have more in a few minutes. Drink too much and you'll be sick. I am not cleaning up after you if you do."

His lips twisted in a small pout before he grimaced as another shiver wracked his body. She let her eyes run over his lobster-red skin, inwardly wincing at the size of the water-filled patches spread over his arms. She had been burnt that badly as a genin once, when Gaara had disappeared on them and they had spent nearly three days in the desert looking for him. Kankuro and Baki's long sleeves had spared them, but her exposed arms and legs had turned bright red and blistered terribly. When Baki finally located her brother and they returned home, she had spent nearly a week in bed, cold and sick from sun poisoning. It had been absolutely miserable.

Without a word she turned back to the shelf and set her fan within easy reach. Locating a thin, white cotton blanket, she shook it out and tossed it over him. He hissed in pain as the cotton brushed against his blisters, but gave her a grateful look once it settled into place.

"Thank you." he said, his voice a lot smoother now that the water was doing its work to heal his body.

She inclined her head at him in acceptance before giving him another drink. Satisfied that he wouldn't die on her right away, she set the bottle down and crossed her arms over her chest. When she felt his gold eyes on her body, following the movement of her arms, she couldn't stop the blood that rushed to her face and threatened to turn her cheeks pink. Forcing it back down, she focused on her previously unanswered question. "Now, what were you doing so close to Suna?"

He stared at her silently, his gaze lifting to her face as he took her in. She was pretty, in a wild sort of way, with shoulder-length hair that lay in layers around her. It reminded him of his lions, minus the bangs, of course. Her skin was tanned evenly from her life in the desert, much like his own, the result of spending more time outdoors than in. His eyes swept over the rest of her, from the form fitting tank top that showed her curves off nicely to the skirt that hung from her hips loosely. He moved back up to her face in time to see her eyes narrowing as she stepped toward him.

The blanket was roughly pulled from him before a resounding crack sounded in the quiet room. For a split second he felt nothing, then pain burst across his shoulder where she had slapped his sunburn, snaking its way up his neck to flare through his head. He ground his teeth together to keep from crying out as she fisted her hands on her hips and glared down at him.

"Hey! I'm talking to you! Don't think for a second that just because I helped you that means that I won't kill you if you don't cooperate."

He returned her glare full force and when the pain subsided to a nasty stinging, spoke. "Don't think that just because you helped me I'll tell you anything."

They stayed that way for several minutes, each one willing the other to back down. Fatigue finally forced Kisho to give in, and he turned his head away and closed his eyes. She could kill him if she wanted to; as soon as her fellow Sand nins arrived to take him to Suna, he was a dead man anyway. Yes, he knew it now. From the way she kept pressing with her questions, he knew that not only was she from Suna, but that she was alone with him here as well. But they weren't far from the desert village, and her comrades would be on their way as soon as the sandstorm he could hear raging outside let up. Better to go now than be tortured first. But he was too weak to force her hand. He had regained very little chakra while unconscious, and the blanket had warmed him considerably, making him drowsy. If she let him live through the night, he would make his attempt in the morning.

"Goodnight…" he mumbled to her before allowing the darkness that had been creeping around his vision to swallow him.

Temari watched in dismay as the ninja on her cot just fell asleep right in front of her. She couldn't believe his blatant dismissal of her. Did he not think she was serious? She could kill him right now and not bat an eyelash. As the minutes passed and his face relaxed in unconsciousness, her temper cooled. She might be as fierce a fighter as either of her brothers in a battle, but she couldn't stay angry with him when he looked so serene. Picking the blanket up from where she had dropped it on the floor, she made sure his straps were secure and covered him back up.

Preparing for her inevitable guard duty, she retrieved a chair from the kitchen and set it near the shelves so she wouldn't have to stand all night. Sitting down, she watched his chest rise and fall, and his face lose its lax expression every once in a while when he tried to turn and his protesting nerves sent pain signals racing to his brain. Outside, the wind grew until it was howling, barely a perceivable moan through the thick walls. Eventually it became hypnotic, and Temari banished the sound to the back of her mind before she was lulled to sleep, focusing instead on using her time to sharpen her weapons and do a maintenance check on her fan.

After a couple of hours she rose and stretched, taking measured steps around the room, silent as a stalking cat. She was used to this kind of work, and didn't mind the long silences accompanying the press of boredom. She might not have been able to move much physically, but she kept herself busy mentally, cataloguing the details of the room, the questions that would need answered when her prisoner woke again, the lines of his face.

At this last one she edged herself back into her seat and brought her chin down on her closed fist, elbows resting on her thighs as her heels pressed into the lower rung of the chair. Her eyes roamed over his form, taking in the tangled mess that was his hair as it splayed over his forehead whenever he turned his head toward her. It looked like it would forever be getting in his way, and she wondered why he was never inclined to cut it. It certainly wouldn't be very productive to blind yourself in battle every five minutes. But she couldn't say she didn't like it. In fact, she wondered how nice it would look washed and brushed out until it was smooth. The black tips at the end were interesting too, almost giving him a sable look.

She followed the trail of his hair onto his skin, studying the hue of his tan in the places that weren't burnt to a crisp and taking note of the nearly invisible scars that lay scattered across it like a map. They were too small to mar his looks, but lent him an experienced air, though he couldn't possibly be more than a few years older than she was. But age didn't equal experience, as she and her brothers knew all too well. Gaara's fierce face rose in her mind, and she couldn't help but compare the two again. Though their eyes were similarly shaped, the dark outline around her brother's made them seem far larger. And this man's eyebrows were black, arching evenly over his ocular bone. He had a slightly larger nose and a more squarish jawline, his face lacking the rounded quality that gave her brother his air of innocent menace. Now that she had a better look at him, he didn't look all that much like Gaara after all.

The hour of dawn approached and still the sandstorm raged around the pair. Temari had tried to go out on the deck for her check several times, only to be driven back inside by the biting sand. She wouldn't have been able to see anything anyway, not that anyone would be able to move out there. So she resigned herself to watching her prisoner and waiting. He slept on, and several times she nudged him with her toe out of boredom just to make sure he wasn't faking.

She had just decided to start reading from her book again when there was a silent shift in the air. Temari lifted her head, seeking the source of the change. Then it had occurred to her that it was silent. The sandstorm had passed as abruptly as it had started. Relief washed over her and she stood to leave the room. She could finally send the hawk with her message, and she would send another with it, inquiring if there had been any damage to the village. She glanced at her prisoner only to find that his feline eyes were on her, the urgency in the deep gold rings nearly startling her.

"You have to let me up." he suddenly demanded.

She scoffed. "Not a chance."

"If we don't leave right now, it will be too late. It's just below us, I can feel it."

Temari frowned in aggravated puzzlement. This was the worse attempt at winning over a captor she had ever seen.

"Feel what?" she found herself asking anyway.

"The earthquake!"

"I don't feel any-"

She was interrupted by a hard vibration right beneath her feet. It flowed upward through her bare soles and tingled up her legs in a strange sensation, making her stare at the floor, which seemed to flex right before her eyes. Then she glanced back up at her prisoner.

"How did you know?"

Kisho was nearly frantic now, struggling against his restraints as he glared at her. "It's already too late to run. Unstrap me or we'll die!"