Oh sheesh, that's a long one. Even with a little extra outsider pov at the end.
On another note: Guuuys! A few more reviews and we'll have cracked the 600! Your well earned random facts are already written and ready to be posted – after I've wrestled chapter 48 into compliance, of course.
Hanada is staring at her.
It's not the usual heated jealousy that the girl tends to direct at Hisana, but something more considering. It's nothing outright positive, but there's not ill intent either. "Uchiha," she finally says, voice still scratchy and painful sounding. "We need to talk."
The rest of team 11 turns towards her, half braced for a fight, but the muted, almost shy look she sends them is enough to catch both boys off guard.
"All right," Hisana agrees easily. "Go on."
Hanada looks at her as if she didn't really expect her to say yes. A bit lost she stares at Hisana, then back at her team. "Come on," Hisana finally says, taking pity on the usually so forceful girl. "I'm not hungry yet. Let's get something to drink."
The boys look at her as if she'd spontaneously lost her mind. Maybe because Haru's stomach has been growling for half an hour, too nervous to eat, or maybe because Hanada could very well try to murder her in a dark alley, but Hisana only shrugs. "I wanted to talk to her anyway."
"Well," Sora finally allows, "if you say so. See you back at the hotel."
Walking the streets with Hanada feels decidedly less safe than doing it with her team. For a brief moment she regrets not following them back to the hotel, but whatever Hanada wants from her, Hisana can smell an opportunity for business.
She leads Hanada through the Suna back alleys, amused to see that they are just as busy as they seem to be during day time. The little hole in the wall she'd been to with Temari is easy enough to find and entering it for the second time doesn't feel nearly as daunting. The barkeeper is a familiar face now – even if only vaguely – and she's secure in the knowledge that at least half of these people know that the Kazekage's daughter likes her. There's no danger here. No more than in the rest of Suna, anyway.
Behind her Hanada is vibrating with tension. "Do you drink?" Hisana echoes Temari's words only half seriously, curious what the answer will be. It takes a second before the words seem to click.
"No thank you," Hanada cries in a high-pitched voice, apparently torn between a newfound need to be polite and the old habit of being a bitch to Hisana. A few of the patrons flinch at the volume.
Hanada's keigo is a little rough around the edges, as if she doesn't use it very often. The girl herself seems to notice, grimacing a little when she stumbles over her words. It's interesting. Hisana has long since stopped trying to figure out how she knows this language – Japanese, or whatever passes for it. It's only every once in a while now that she takes active notice of it. For a moment she ponders whether she'd have noticed Hanada's slip ups immediately after waking up in Konoha, or if it's only her familiarity with Shizuha's constant flow of low, perfect keigo that makes her take notice.
"You sure?" she wheedles, maybe a bit sadistically, watching the other girl struggle with whether or not being a chuunin makes her enough of an adult to drink. When no immediate answer comes she instead turns to the barkeeper who is watching them with mild interest.
"Ya friend's a lightweight, huh?" he asks with a toothless grin. "Got some palm wine, if ya want."
"No thanks," she decides, unwilling to be entirely defenseless in a strange village. The threat of Sabaku no Gaara is still hanging over her head, even if it feels a little more distant than it did yesterday. The man tuts at her, but fishes a bottle with a familiar pink liquid form a shelf instead. "Young ninjas – no idea 'bout the good stuff. How you ever gonna grow big 'n strong without vitamin a?"
"'Vitamin Alcohol'," a lady at the bar informs them. Behind Hisana Hanada makes an appalled noise. She kicks her.
"Sorry about my friend," Hisana tries apologetically under the ninjas' narrowed gazes. "She's a bit … sheltered."
She slaps down some coins, flashes them her most disarming smile, and takes their drinks to a nearby table. Hanada follows with a scowl, unwilling to be alone with the strange Suna-nins. "So," Hisana starts, before the stupid girl gets herself into real trouble, "what do you want?"
"Sensei said I should probably thank you. So … thank you. For, you know. That was – " she struggles with herself " – … appreciated." She doesn't look very appreciative.
"You are welcome," Hisana purrs, viciously downplaying what was actually the truth. She doesn't like the girl, doesn't care much about what she is doing and how she is feeling in general. But … But. She is still a Konoha ninja. Sora cares about her in some capacity. She is mean-spirited and self-centered, but she also has a certain amount of skill that Hisana can't help but respect. There's no way she can ever really dismiss Hanada, no matter how much she likes to pretend. Hisana has pondered how the little annoyance may fit into her life then, if so obviously not as a friend, or god forbid, a rival – though she has no doubt Hanada thought it would head that way. No, no matter how much she actually doesn't mind any of Kakashi-shishou's habits that may have rubbed off on her, a rival simply won't do.
Instead, there's something that came to her only very recently.
"Say, Mami-chan," she starts carefully, pointedly ignoring Hanada's outrage at the familiarity, "now that we have left this … silly, silly animosity behind us why don't we become friends?"
Hanada's eyes clearly state that there's nothing she'd love less than that. "I mean," Hisana continues, unabashed, "we were clearly having a moment right then. All friendshippy. And I think Sora would love it if all his friends got along, don't you? He's so big on teamwork."
She sips on her glass unhurriedly while Hanada squirms on her chair. "He's was disappointed you don't seem to be interested in us, Haru and me. Saving each other's lives … that forges bonds, you know?"
"Oh! Yes, of course!" Hanada breathes, a calculating glint entering her eyes, "Why, no, you must have misunderstood – Hisana-chan. You see, I simply didn't think … you'd want me to intrude."
There is a vague awareness in Hanada's face; some sort of acknowledgement that they're playing a game, even though she's not yet sure where Hisana is planning to take it. The power dynamics of it are clear though, at least for now.
"I know you must be so tired right now, with your recent injury," the Uchiha simpers, somewhat theatrically pressing a palm to her cheek, "and we're in no hurry of course, but I'm in dire need of a new sparring partner. And you have such interesting talents! Wouldn't it be just perfect for a little bonding between us?"
The expression on the other girl's face might be suppressed triumph or low-level panic, Hisana isn't entirely sure, but Hanada quickly dons a face she's seen Sakura wear around Yamanaka Ino about a million times already.
"Oh that's just so sweet of you! Of course I will help you, I'm sure you would do the same for me!"
Hanada swats at her arm and gives a high-pitched giggle. It all feels very much like a performance – overdone and fake – but no matter how generally irksome Hanada is, she isn't stupid. She has recognized her first ever opportunity for politicking and forging some sort of alliance with Hisana will serve her well in the end. A business partner is always a good thing to have.
"Oh, you know," Hisana demurs, "there's really just one thing in particular I need your help with. And I know just the thing to pay you back."
Maybe it's karma for being mean to a little girl. Cosmic payback of some sorts. But when they leave the bar Hanada announces she has a last check up at the hospital before they leave tomorrow and that she won't be accompanying Hisana back to the hotel. It's a bit as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice water in her face.
It was easier during day-time to convince herself that a murderous, insane Jinchuuriki isn't waiting for her around the next corner. Especially so when she has company. But there's no use in begging a teenage girl to pretty please take her home, someone might want to kill me. Hanada is half a head shorter than Hisana and Gaara would probably eat her whole anyway. So she waves the girl good-bye with the last bit of faux cheer she can scrape together.
It's still hot outside, even when the sun has sunk almost an hour ago. But the chill that shakes Hisana is entirely coming from inside her. Not quite fear, but getting there. Every now and again she can catch glimpses of people moving inside their homes, lamplight throwing their long shadows onto the streets. These people wouldn't, couldn't help her, but their presence is still a comfort.
Really, Hisana is reasonably sure that Suna won't risk a war with Konoha for butchering one of the last Uchiha. But 'accidents' do happen. Especially if Gaara is involved, and she really does think that the Kazekage doesn't understand his youngest son nearly well enough to properly assess the risk here. Ironic, really, because he of all people should. As his father. As his Kage and maker. As someone who's had to clean up after the red-head for a pretty long time already. Short-sighted, short-sighted, she thinks. Whatever his deal is with her, is it really worth risking to piss of the Hokage? Her cousin? A bunch of other major clans who are all fairly fond of her? If Sasuke wanted to kill the Suna Jinchuuriki for this, Hisana is about ninety percent sure that at least the Aburame would assist him. Not the Nara maybe – too dangerous – but Shiki herself may be a different story.
So lost in thought, comforted by memories of her friends, she almost doesn't see it coming.
Hisana turns a corner and the force of his presence nearly takes her off her feet. In the middle of the street, lamplight casting its comforting shadows on him, stands Sabaku no Gaara. All four foot and five inches of him. He would have looked almost inconspicuous, if not for the malevolent chakra that pulsates from him like sickness. Bile rises up in Hisana's throat. How foolish of her – thinking she wouldn't recognize his chakra. As if this hot, acid, disgusting chakra could be anything but him. In the half-light she can't make out his face, only the color of his hair. A gust of warm desert air blows over her neck and raises goose bumps all over her skin.
He's so small, she thinks irrationally. Like Naruto. Naruto, who's chakra was warm and bright and who'd never made her feel as if her heart is about to jump out of her throat. Get a grip, she thinks as the boy cocks his head, almost as if he can hear said heart thumb wildly inside her chest. Could he smell fear? Chakra has already crawled up her face, enhancing her senses. She can smell her own fear, as well as the rotten, metallic scent of old blood that clings to this small boy.
Don't run, she thinks. Running is useless. But what else could she do?
There is no warning, no outward sign of tension before sand gathers around her. Hisana jumps and the trap snaps shut below her, spraying dust and gravel everywhere. She kicks off a wall, hoping to sail right over it, but there's no escaping the sand; it shoots after her like a striking viper. The Sharingan flare to life with a burst of panicked chakra, but it's of little use. Every time she doubles back the sand follows her. The reaction time is amazing and terrifying.
Half a plan is already forming in Hisana's head, but it goes against every single instinct she has. Again the sand tries to encase her like a wave of water and only now she fully appreciates why they call him Gaara of the Sand Waterfall. Instead of turning tail and running back down the dark streets like she desperately wants to, she shoots forward. Dust explodes all over the street when she bursts through the sand that trickles onto her hair and face like from a giant hourglass.
The only sign of Gaara's surprise is the slight widening of his eyes before he regains control of his features. Hisana can see them now, a perfect shade of malachite and absolutely blank. He doesn't care about her. He doesn't hate her. He only wants her dead.
Despite Gaara's impassive expression the sand around him grows more frantic the closer she gets to him. Hisana's arms are chafed raw from any contact with the sand and her nerves are frayed. The Ichibi's chakra is toxic. Dodge left, doge right. For one terrifying moment her hand is caught; her bones crunch together painfully before she can free herself.
"Suiton: Teppodama!" she wheezes, summoning as much chakra as she possible can. The drain is overwhelming. Water shoots towards the Jinchuuriki and is stopped by a wall of sand. Just a bit more, she thinks, as the almost white sand turns dark and sludgy. "Suiton: Teppodama!"
The wall sinks sluggishly to the floor, too heavy to hold. Gaara's face twists in disbelief and anger as he tries to will it into action. Hisana fumbles for the small bottle of Nara pills in her vest. The small 'plop' of the lid seems almost comically out of place. Familiar bitterness stings her tongue when she pops three of them at once while her opponent is distracted.
Stone is ground up into more sand; the crunching noise is so loud Hisana can almost believe someone will hear and come for her. But there's no time for such foolish hopes. The pills kick in with a dizzying surge of her chakra. "Teppodama!"
This one is smaller, more concentrated, and hits the Jinchuuriki head-on. Gaara stumbles; stones drop back down to the ground, abandoned and forgotten as he touches his face, wet sand dripping onto his feet. "Come on," she whispers, "come and get me yourself."
Whatever detachment Gaara may have felt towards the fight, it' vanished. She's gone and mad it personal now. He snarls at her, fear and fury warring on his childish face. The Ichibi's chakra is so thick in the air that Hisana can't help but turn away and retch. Gaara seems to take no pleasure in such a petty victory; instead he stares at her as if she were some rabid, alien animal. As if it were his life they are fighting over. "Come and get me," she repeats hoarsely, spitting onto the ground to rid her mouth of the taste of vomit. And then he moves.
Yellow has eaten up his green eyes. Hisana tries to block his attack with a kunai, but it breaks under the sheer force of his violence. She slides out of the way quickly, but her shoulder cracks ominously where it overstretches as the broken weapon is knocked out of her hand.
A sharp, stinging pain behind her eyes warns her that the Sharingan is reaching its limit. She can force more chakra into it, but a few blood vessels must have already broken. Hisana needs him to come closer. But not too close. Her breathing is heavy and loud in her own ears. In grotesque fascination she watches blue veins crawl over the boy's pale skin, a sickly yellow spreading like a rash before his arm turns into … something.
Lighting fast he pins her against a wall. A feminine scream echoes from inside the building, but neither of them spare it any attention. The pressure on her sternum is enormous; Hisana's ribs crack and snap like match sticks. "Look at me," she hisses, feeling the blood of a punctured lung bubble up her throat. Gaara stares at her, yellow eyed and delirious, as if he can't help himself. This will work, she tells herself in wild hope. This has to work.
"Let me go," she tries, but his claws only wrap more tightly around her torso, eyes flickering away. "Look at me!"
They stare at each other in a bizarre sort of stalemate. She has to have some sort of hold over him, or she would be long dead, Hisana realizes. "Let. Go. Now."
She forces down the panic, tries to recall a feeling of peace and calm. Sasuke is at home now. Already asleep, probably. She recalls the texture of their bed sheets, the sound of his not-quite-snoring. She feels tired. Exhausted and worn out. It's late; midnight is no time to fight. It's time to sleep.
"Go to sleep," she tells him as leans his half-transformed forehead against hers, sand-armor scraping at her face. "Now."
Gaara's lips curl up in disgust to bare his fangs. The anger is returning to his eyes, but she wills him into compliance. Yellow eyes flicker to green and back, even as his grip on her tightens more. Her vision is getting fuzzy and blood is running freely from her mouth. Almost, she thinks. So close. "Now!" she hisses one last time before her vision turns black.
The Kazekage watches as a squad of jounin pries his youngest son off the Uchiha girl. His transformation is wavering, sand dropping in wet chunks from his monstrous arm. Shaking and shivering like this he looks even more like the animal that he is. Tonight won't be a good night for the citizens of Suna; the tailed beast is awake now, for better or worse.
"Did it work?" Baki asks in mild interest, voice rising over the whimpers of the Ichibi's panting vessel.
"Not yet," his superior admits. "But maybe one day."
"And … is that a good thing?"
The Kazekage's eyes the unconscious girl, fussed over by his personal medic-nins.
"I haven't decided yet."
Here you go: Gaara for your entertainment.