To Mend a Broken Doll

"You know there's only sugar in those, right?"

Daisuke raised a bored look at her. To annoy her further, he munched loudly on his spoonful of cereals frosted with artificial sweeteners, diabetes and potential coronary diseases.

"Is that so?" he replied.

Black ink stained the tip of his fingers and without having to ask, Aiya knew he'd been up all night to draw up some sketches. A new one had appeared on the fridge's door – an inhuman toothy smile straight out of a kid's nightmare. The drawing had scared her shitless when she'd gone for the orange juice this morning, just after she'd risen from four hours of mediocre sleep.

She glared at him.

"Yeah, I wouldn't want to see you on a hospital bed for diabetes," she replied. Then, she pointed at the fridge with her freshly manicured nail of a soft purple. "And I just want to let you know that there's no way this drawing is staying up there. It gives me the creeps."

Stretching her muscles, she drank the last of her proteinate, fat-free, multi-vitamins shake in one long sip. Her morning perfumed bath had worked some miracles on her body, her skin now softer than a baby's. That hour strategically spent in the bathroom almost compensated for the lack of quality sleep.

Daisuke sighed. "Alright, what's up?"

"Nothing's up."

Putting her empty glass in the sink, Aiya threw an upset glare at her unhappy cactus on the kitchen's countertop – its two predecessors unfortunately deceased, and she put a finger into its pot to feel the dirt's dryness like Himari had showed her. The little punk wasn't an easy one to please. Putting down his spoon, her brother elaborated his thought.

"Well, you're criticizing my choices of food whenever there's something going on at your job, and you're fussing over my drawings when it's about a guy. And this morning, you're doing both. So, I'm offering you five minutes of my precious time to complain about it."

She stared at him. She wasn't so obvious. Was she? Aiya looked at the amount of water in her glass. How much water a cactus actually drank? Was it even thirsty? She felt its dirt for a second time, unsure.

"There's nothing going on," she scoffed.

Her brother yawned. He wasn't buying her blatant lie. An arm casually resting on the back of the chair, Daisuke seemed completely unfazed by his tousled hair, which looked like it had just been hit by a hurricane. He was already dressed in his usual outfit, a simple shirt and chino pants, but he looked every bit as charming as ever. While she'd spent at least half an hour to master a tutorial about braided crowns for her hair, another forty minutes for her makeup and a well-invested fifteen minutes to match her accessories with her baby-pink scrubs. If it weren't for their hair the same color, fairer than a field of wheat, people wouldn't believe they shared the same blood, and even less that they were fraternal twins.

He knowingly raised a brow at her. "You've got three minutes left, little sister."

Oh, and her brother loved to remember her that he'd won the birth race, being the first-born of them, as if it granted him any brotherly superiority. She gave a little bit of water to her cactus, nothing more than a few drops, before she dumped the rest into the sink.

"It's a new patient," she admitted.

"Another complaint?"

"No," she huffed. "It's the Kazekage's brother."

His eyes lighted up with interest.

"I've heard about the border's intrusion," he said. He put a hand under his chin, a devious smile slowly making his way up to his lips. "I didn't know you'd ended up being the one treating him. Don't you feel so lucky to care for such an important figure?"

He was mocking her. Aiya rolled her eyes at him, frowning. Luck wasn't the word she'd employ to describe her days in the puppeteer's company. He'd always throw a long look at her makeup, nails and clothes, silently judging their odd colors with his piercing gaze. He'd complain about the hospital's food, the room's depressing lack of decorations, the sound of her heels clicking against the floor's tiles… A bored Kankuro wasn't a pleasant one, since the sole distraction of his day seemed to consist of making her lose her temper. He simply loved that game. It had only been three days, and she'd been close to commit a felony at least five times.

She scoffed. "You know I can't stand him. He's smug. And so arrogant. He's never taking me seriously. Sometimes, I just want to wipe that smirk off his fa-"

"And your three minutes are up," declared her brother. He dropped his empty bowl in the sink, gathered some of his sketching material and retreated to his bedroom. "I've done my brotherly job. If you're looking for me, I'll be in my room. Maybe I'll paint something. I don't know yet."

"Aren't you supposed to give me some advice, brother?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Follow your heart? Everyone is a unique snowflake?"

"Those aren't advice. They're just useless stuff people are saying randomly."

He leaned his shoulder against the door frame. Her brother wasn't teasing her anymore. His usual seriousness had crept back on his features, smoothing them down until there were hardly any emotions left on his face. Like her, he'd also changed over time. He wasn't the ever-smiling brother she'd grown up with anymore. No more funny jokes or lousy pranks. She'd seen a glimpse of who he was while he'd briefly dated Himari, but it wasn't anything if a pale apparition. And it's all your fault, whispered a snarky voice in her mind. A voice she'd muzzled over time. Or failed to. She hadn't been there when it'd mattered the most. She'd messed up. Badly.

"It suits you by the way."

She blinked, snapping out of her gloomy thoughts. "What does?"

"Mother's necklace."

Her hand unconsciously reached the delicate chain around her neck. Her fingers played with the tear of silver hanging on it, cold under her touch.

"I'm going to be late for work," she said, her voice slightly strangled with a vivid emotion. Pain. If she was alive, what would her mother think of her, right now? "See you tonight?"

He nodded. "Don't forget the deadline. It's today."

Stiffening slightly, she forced a smile on her lips. Grabbing her purse on the couch, she left for the hospital. The aparment's door closed behind her. She took the narrow metal stairs of the apartment, grasping the strap of her purse tightly. She hadn't forgotten about the deadline. It was often the sole thing that haunted her thoughts at night. Their mission. Their goal. I won't fail this time. No matter what.

…

Before leaving for the Land of Earth, Temari had dropped a few things by Kankuro's room. Either she'd only chosen black clothes purposefully or the man really didn't own anything of color in his wardrobe. Among the dark pile of clothes, Aiya noticed a small jar of purple paint, brushes, pencils and a notebook. She squinted her eyes to take a better look at that last item. A diary, maybe? Her curiosity had been piqued.

"Trying to secretly steal a pair of my underwear, pixie?"

She sighed. She'd forgotten momentarily about the room's main occupant. She rolled her eyes at him, annoyed. Sitting in the chair by the room's large window, the puppeteer tugged at her nerves with a simple smirk.

"Stop calling me that," she grumbled between her clenched teeth. Picking up his chart, Aiya grabbed the pen in her scrub's pocket and started to scribble some notes in the paper's margin. She quirked an eyebrow at him. "You're only at eighteen reps. I need two more."

"It's stupid."

She rolled her eyes. "It's basic movement."

"That's my point. Easily stupid."

It'd been two days since they'd started physical therapy to ensure he'd regain all of his mobility and he'd complained about the 'useless' and 'boring' and 'stupid' compound exercises every single day. With a heavy sigh, he got up, carefully extended his left leg – the one that had been maimed in the explosion, and followed a series of simple, slow movements, looking boringly at her the whole time. He finally dropped his feet to the floor.

"Happy?"

"The happiest moment of my life," she replied, full of sarcasm. "You can go back to your bed now."

For once, he didn't argue with her request. Even if he wouldn't admit it, he'd gotten tired from the exercises. She'd noticed it by the way his breath sounded a little uneven or his slightly slouched shoulders. He'd teased her more than usual today in what she knew to be an effort at taking his mind away from the pain. But he'd still done better than she'd initially expected him to. He'd recover faster than she'd planned at first.

As she scribbled down some additional notes, she heard the bed's sheets moving under his weight dropping on the mattress. "So, who's your hot date?"

Her hand froze, and she slowly lifted her head up. "What?"

"The hair," he elaborated. "It's certainly not for me. So, who's the guy?"

Her fingers gently touched the braided crown that stole thirty minutes of her day. A wry smile twisted her lips. Because a woman's decisions always had something to do with a man, right? Your hair is prettier that way, babe. Her fists clenched. He'd managed to piss her off before lunch break. A new record. His words shouldn't have reeled her up that much, but she'd wanted to please one man's particular gaze for so long in the past that she'd gotten sick of it. So she'd made herself a promise. Never. Again.

"I didn't do my hair all pretty for any man.," she replied sourly. Something heavy stepped on her chest. A weight full of bitter memories and raw emotions. It flowed out of her mouth. "I did it for me. That's all."

Surprise flashed across the puppeteer's expression, and Aiya purposefully avoided the man's gaze. Once again, she'd let her emotions come to the surface. The weight of her emotional turmoil was palpable, and she knew deep down that it was all because of him. Even though she'd moved on years ago, he'd still somehow find a way to weave his way back into her thoughts. She could still feel the echoes of his manipulative influence, like a shadow that followed her wherever she went. Somehow, he'd imprinted himself on her soul, leaving behind a trail of destruction that she could never fully escape.

Regaining her composure, she controlled the slight tremor of her fingers as she put the pencil back in her scrub's front pocket. I can't let my past mistakes affect me. Curiosity flickered in Kankuro's gaze as he observed her from a new angle, as if she were this sort of puzzle of which he was looking for the missing pieces. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that."

And with those simple worlds, the swirl of emotions twirling furiously in her chest vanished. She blinked, failing at hiding her surprise as she heard his apology. He could have belittled her emotions. Or invalidated her feelings by putting them on the account of her woman hormones. Or accused her of being a frustrated feminist. But he didn't. He'd just gain a bit of her respect by not acting like a complete jerk. Their eyes met.

She nodded slightly. "Apologies accepted."

…

When she got back home at the end of the day, all she wanted was to lay down on the couch with a bag of chips, a magazine and a scented candle. But she couldn't. Today wasn't an ordinary day. It'd been exactly two years and a half since they'd settled in Suna. Their deadline's day. So rather than join the sofa's comfort, the blond shuffled to her bedroom, lifted her mattress with a plaintive grunt, and pulled out a pile of papers with the edges slightly damaged.

When she knocked at her brother's door, a tired grunt answered her. She didn't wait for a clear answer to push the door open. Hunched over his desk, her brother was a portrait of intense concentration. His long fingers were darkened by the smudges of charcoal from his fusain pen. Every stroke of the pen was deliberate, every line precise and purposeful, as he brought his vision to life on the blank paper before him.

"Here," Aiya said, dropping a thick pile of papers on his desk. It contained a bunch of notes, like the Kazekage's schedule she'd memorized from Himari's calendar on the fridge, rough sketches of Suna's streets she'd mapped over time and the guard's rotation schedule at the gates. Years of intel. "I'm done."

As if he'd been in a trance, lost in the world of his art, Daisuke detached himself from his work, his eyes lifting from the paper. He slowly stood up from his stool, stretching his limbs with a languid grace. His eyes swept over the paper she'd dropped on his desk. He grabbed the pile to put it away in a brown envelope.

"Perfect," he nodded. "I'll send it. After that, we'll simply have to wait for an answer."

Opening one of the desk's drawers, her brother added a detailed map of the Kazekage's tower, with a three-dimension representation of every entry, exit, floor and staircase. He'd particularly highlighted the archive's section, in the tower's basement. With a hand sign, he sealed the envelope.

"Alright, keep me posted."

They'd finally gain back what they'd lost, but she couldn't shake the feeling of guilt at the thought of eventually betraying the trust of the people she'd grown to care about. When it'd all be over, she could only hope that someday, the people they'd deceived would at least understand their motives. She really hoped so.