— Pluck —
Part I
Chapter 7: Song of Regenbogen (Part I)
It was nearly two in the morning, and Gaara was still in his robes.
A fine silk, pine with turquoise cuffs, the hem swaying at his bare ankle; it was fit for a king, indeed. A king who should be sleeping. And that was Temari's main annoyance. Not her only one, mind you; there was so many things that was bugging her to the bone, some that were much more dire than her kingly brother not sleeping — but . . . still. It was two in the fucking morning, for Gods' sakes! And he was still awake, still in his robes, and still watering those damn plants.
"You're going to drown them at this rate," she snapped, clicking over to him in her heeled sandals to pull the snout of his watering can away, a few drops of water falling to her feet. She sneered and gave her brother a look, who betrayed nothing with that blank face of his that he's perfected all his life. That only irked her more. When is he going to stop using that face around me? "The plants are fine, Gaara. Matsuri told me she watered them this morning . . ."
His mouth curled, but he pulled away and placed the watering can on a nearby round table.
But Temari wasn't done.
". . . during breakfast. You know — when you flaked on us."
No signs of irritation came to him, but Temari knew she was tugging at his patience. The heavy sigh that left him was clear enough.
"Brother." He turned away, robes fwapping behind him. "Gaara." When he was behind his empty desk, he whirled around and glared at her, and she glared back as she marched over, folding her arms and clicking her tongue. "I can't understand your stubbornness sometimes."
His eyes squinted in a way that told her she, of all people, should understand the power and stamina of stubbornness, and she laughed and waved her hands.
"You know what I mean." Planting her palms on the desk, she leaned forward and looked him in the eye. "But I'm being serious. Why are you avoiding Hinata?" His squint was replaced with a wide—eyed sort of look that made her crinkle her nose and snort. Dumb does not fit you, little brother. "Don't act innocent. Kankuro and I see it — anyone with two eyes can see it. I worked hard in tracking her down. I thought you'd be happy to see her. But she showed up two days ago, and you refuse to see her!"
Turquoise eyes flickered and wavered, and he rubbed the back of his neck, lips twisting.
There's no way he's getting out of this one, Temari thought with a snort. I worked too hard on getting her here, and he's not about to waste my efforts.
"You've known her since you two were ten, Gaara. You had a damn crush on here when you were thirteen —" He scowled, but she continued, "and she used to come visit us every month. And now you're hiding in here. Like a kid." She leaned on her left leg and put a hand to her hip. "Are you ten again, Gaara? Should I tuck you in and bring you your teddy bear?"
Gaara shook his head, hair falling into his face, mouth moving quickly, though not a sound left him. Huffing in frustration, he rounded his desk, grabbed her right shoulder, and dragged her to the middle of the room.
"Oh, puh—lease, Gaara," she said, pulling out of his grip. "You're not kicking me out. Hinata was sweet enough to come help you. I don't care if her memory is a little fuzzy — and frankly, Gaara, you shouldn't, either. She's still Hinata. She's still our friend. And you still need to —" He pointed up at the skylight, and she followed his finger and gasped, ". . . see her . . . ."
Up there, caught up between the glass and the ceiling, was one feather. White.
"That's . . ."
That's Sasuke's . . . right?
Her eyes fell back on her brother.
And if Sasuke was here, then that means . . .
"You saw her?"
He nodded, mouth quirked a bit in amusement. Temari wasn't sure if she should be relieved that he had finally seen Hinata or irritated that he had just let her ramble on about nothing for three minutes. Eventually, she settled in the middle, and when she slapped his back, he arched a bit in pain from the power behind it.
"Gods, why couldn't I have been blessed with two, nice, behaving sisters instead?" She rubbed at her temples, caught a glance at her chipped nail polish, groaned, and glanced at the shadows of the puppets beneath the door. "Did she help you at all?" In the corner of her eye, she saw his expression cool down to his normal poker face. "Did she use magic? Medicine?"
He stepped forward and turned to her, and she knew the answer instantly.
". . . I shouldn't have listened to him."
How could she have been so blind? So stupid? She's known Hinata for more than half the time she's been alive, and never once did Hinata mention any special magic or ability she had. She didn't say anything about healing people or bringing back voices — so why did Temari think she suddenly could now? Why had she let someone convince her? This wasn't helping anyone. All she had done was drag another person into the line of danger — and all for what? A hunch!?
Feeling her entire body turn hot, she whipped around, stomped over to the desk, pulled out a pen from her pocket, and slammed it on the desk.
"Write."
Slowly, he walked over to her. He was giving her that look — she knew he was. The hopeless one. The exhausted one. But she only glared at the pen, and hissed, once again, "Write, Gaara."
When he picked up the pen and clicked it, her eyes never left it. Not once. Like that would do any good, and she knew she was getting her hopes up for nothing, but . . . she couldn't help it. She had to try. Had to keep looking at it. Had to hope, pray, believe that if she didn't look away, then it wouldn't disappear, and he could finally — finally — tell her what was wrong.
But the second he pulled out paper, the pen was gone. Lost. Vanished in thin air. And she knew it would happen — she always did. For a month, it had been like that. It would be there, then it would be gone, never to be found again. At first, she and Kankuro had thought it was some sort of joke Gaara was playing on them — or an uncharacteristically long spout of laziness to make them do his piles of paperwork. But then it kept happening and happening and happening and happening —
It was like a curse. It had to be.
He couldn't talk, and whenever he would try to write down his thoughts, the pens and quills and ink would disappear.
"Dammit."
Now completely red, Temari grabbed the closest thing to her (one of Gaara's potted Apache Plumes) and flung it against the wall. "Dammit!"
The doors opened, and puppets peeked in, looking for any danger inside. She saw Gaara wave them off before he rounded the desk and grabbed her right arm, which was searching for something else to throw.
"Let go of me!"
Her left hand moved — to slap him, to push him away, to something — but that was held back by a string of sand. She hissed and clenched her jaw, fighting against him, struggling in his grip. Were she more sane, more calm, she liked to think she could easily break out of it — but —
"This is useless," she all but barked, glaring at him, trying to twist her wrist free from the sand. "We're wasting our time. We have a Moon Witch who can't help you and some mysterious fuckwad who's pretending to be you to threaten her! You can't talk — the pens keep fucking disappearing — Kankuro's pulling all—nighters to make more puppets — a chandelier nearly killed three people yesterday — and we're in the middle of a damn sandstorm, sitting around like ducks, just waiting to be attacked! It's so fuckin' useless! Nothing's working! I can't do anything to help you —"
Temari tried to hold back the tremble moving through her entire body, but the more she thought of how hopeless this situation was, the harder and stronger it got; until Gaara had to put more pressure on her to just keep her sturdy.
"What if you die?" she whispered, looking into his eyes. "What if they kill you — what if I couldn't save you — what if this is the last time I ever speak to you —"
And though she hated to do it, she cried. Sobbed, really. Wailed, for half the time. And she leaned into those expensive, exquisite robes of his and stained them with her tears and fading lipstick and just — just — just cried.
And though Gaara hated to do it, he let her lean into him, letting her listen to his heartbeat.
Calm.
Unaffected by her tantrum.
How like him.
But she knew he cared. Even before he slowly, reluctantly, sheepishly wrapped his arms around her, she knew.
...
It took a while for them to clean up the mess. Gaara was huffing and puffing, and Temari knew he was only doing that to make her feel guilty, so before she left his chambers, she told him she'd buy him two more plants to replace the one she threw.
"And get some sleep," she reminded him, tugging at the sleeve of his robes. "You need to be fully awake for tomorrow. Just in case."
He nodded, but didn't move to follow her orders.
Stubborn brat.
She pushed her hands on the doors, and they creaked open. Something else came to her, and she turned around before she stepped out.
"And about the guy," she said. "The one who's writing the letters. We'll get him, alright? So don't be scared."
Because before her stood a man with sand ready for his every command, but when she had turned, she saw nothing but a small, scared boy clinging a teddy bear to his chest. Her brother — her baby brother.
Heart fluttering, she cleared her throat, told him good night, and left.
...
She hadn't even taken five steps down the hallway when —
"Ah, Ambassador!"
Matsuri was rounding the corner, smiling, a few papers at her chest, which she held out to her upon stopping in front of her.
"These are the signatures from the maids in my section."
Temari took them. "Thank you, Matsuri," she said, smiling kindly at the smaller woman, "but you didn't have to stay up all night for me. I told you I would take them tomorrow."
Matsuri's smile did not shift as she laughed, eyes gleaming.
"Ambassador, I'm sure I've told you this a thousand times, but —" And her fingers, crossed at her lap, tapped a tune that Temari was vaguely aware of, "when you're a maid, you never sleep."
The blonde snorted and nodded.
"You and my brother would be perfect for each other."
And she turned, intending to gather the new signatures with the rest she had gathered, totally unaware of the blush on the maid's face as her smile crept and grew.
That morning, the puppets moved to the side when Hinata Hyuuga approached. She supposed it should be expected. Gaara was seeing her now. There was no reason for him to continue to hide behind those doors. But, still, it was like a gallon of air left her lungs when she saw the guard puppets lower their swords and move to the side upon her arrival. It made her feel accomplished, and she smiled at them before pushing open the door and walking inside.
"Gaara, we're here."
He was sat on the ground, back against the boarded doors of the balcony, skull leaning on the glass. His eyes were closed and his breathing was calm, and she wondered if he was asleep. But when she walked over, his eyes slid open, and she realized he had simply been listening to the noise outside.
Hands on the wood floor, he pushed himself to his feet, gaining a good three inches on her, and at their proximity, she had to bend her neck back to keep eye contact with him. There was a slant to his gaze, a sort of curious look, as he stared at her for a moment — then two moments — then several moments. Then, the doors opened, and he looked over her shoulder and past Sasuke. When she turned, she saw that maid again — Matsuri. She held a silver tray with a mug of something steaming inside.
"Good morning, Your Majesty!" she chirped. Her gaze hovered and smoldered on Hinata for a moment, then she looked away and placed the tray on the desk. "We've done the rounds and haven't found anything suspicious. No reports from the soldiers. The castle is sealed!"
Howling wind pressed against the windows. Gaara walked past Hinata to grab the mug from the tray, taking a sip from it and watching the maid press the now empty tray to her chest. Even from where she stood, Hinata saw him stare Matsuri down, a sort of storm behind his gaze. The maid flushed and floundered, shifting from one leg to the other.
"Gaa — ah, Your Majesty, I can't," she whispered, eyes sliding to the two other guests in the room. "Ambassador Temari doesn't want me to let you know anything, and there are . . . ."
Gaara huffed and swiped at his robes.
Matsuri blinked, and then slowly nodded.
"I know. You are the king . . ." After another passing minute, she sighed, and gave in to Gaara's quiet request. "I don't know much details. Temari is working on some paperwork about the current bandit attacks on the foreign produce coming in. I think she mentioned something about discovering a black market where it's all being sold for twice as much. And, ah, Kankuro is dealing with the letters from the council. They are requesting a meeting right after the sandstorm. With you." Her gaze fell to his mouth, then his neck, and then to the ground. "They still won't listen to the predicament you're in."
Gaara scowled, opened his mouth, realized nothing would escape him, and gestured for her to continue.
She blinked, then turned her head to Sasuke, who stood next to Hinata, waiting with her. "Ah. Um, Ambassador is requesting your presence," she said. "Something about signatures."
Hinata turned just in time to see Sasuke's uncovered eye blink. She recalled him mentioning how they were looking for whoever wrote the letter to her. To hear they had gotten all those signatures — at least 300, she was sure — in such a short time . . . well, to say she was surprised would be an understatement.
Sasuke was already halfway to the door, rolling his shoulder, gesturing for her to follow. And she would have, but —
"Ambassador Temari requested only you, Thor," Matsuri said, peering at her. "She wants as little ears about as possible."
Sasuke clicked his tongue and stopped moving altogether.
"I won't —"
"I—It's fine, Sasuke," Hinata said, shooting him a smile. "Go ahead. I'll be with Gaara."
And for a second, the Thor Warrior hesitated. Contemplated. Wondered what the best course of action was. She'd never seen him so undecided before, and it made her feel a little uneasy with everything.
But then he sighed, and Matsuri finally turned back to him, smiling.
"I'll take you to her."
"I know how to get there," Sasuke muttered, pushing open the doors and walking out.
Matsuri gasped, bowed, and flushed under Gaara's eye. "Ah, u—um, stay safe, Your Majesty." She stared at him for a moment, blinked, then turned on her heels and scuttled after Sasuke, closing the doors behind her.
When Hinata turned back, Gaara was already by the rightmost wall, a watering can in hand as he brushed his fingers against the green leaves of his potted plants.
She walked over to him, watching, noticing the flutter of the weeds on his throat, and said, "She seems very loyal to you." He eyed her, mouth twisted in wonder, and she laughed softly. "She's willing to be your eyes and ears outside of this room, even going so far as to snoop in your siblings' business."
Her gaze fell on the plants before them. She could barely recall the garden knowledge her mother had shared with her, but even then she could tell they were cared for well. Properly loved.
"When I had first come here, I couldn't stop thinking about the stories I've heard about you. About how much of a cruel king you were."
His head snapped her way, eyes surprisingly wide.
Gasping, knowing she had unknowingly insulted him, she raised her hands and quickly said, "B—But now I know they're wrong. Nothing but gossip. Because . . . if you were cruel, she wouldn't be here. I wouldn't. No one would be."
She watched his shoulders relax, and his gaze softened as he nodded. A ribbon of sand curled out from behind him and drifted to the bookshelf behind his desk, grabbing a book from the top shelf. It was thick and heavy and reminded her of the kinds she would find in her father's study, though she hadn't the memory of what they entailed. The sand flipped to a page in the middle and then held it out to her. She took hold of it, saw a sketched drawing of a man that somehow looked familiar, and read the paragraph about him.
It was about Raza, the king before Gaara.
His father.
She read about his cruelty, about his untamed rage that had sent Sand 1 into war multiple times during his reign. She read about his brutality towards his own staff, his own family; and when he had died twenty years ago in an assassination, no one had come to his funeral. He wasn't even given the luxury of being buried with his wife, who had died four years before him in the midst of giving birth to her last son.
When she had finished, Gaara turned to a page near the back and pointed to a picture of a boy, young, too young to be crowned as king. It was him. And when she read, her stomach churned, for the only paragraph he was given was speculation of whether or not Sand 1 would succumb to another reign of terror, for, surely, the universes worked in horrible ways. Like father, like son, right?
And Hinata — she's felt her bouts of anger. She's learned well from her cousin how to properly control herself in her moments of rage. And it was perhaps those teachings that kept her from ripping the book in half.
"That's not true!" she yelped, dropping it on the desk so that she could grab at Gaara's sleeves. "You're — you're not like your father. Not at all! And I know I can't remember you, and that right now I barely know you, but you have to believe me. I know people. I can look at them and tell what kind of person they are almost immediately, and you — you're not cruel. Gaara, you're not cruel."
His swimming eyes sprung between her face and her hands clinging at his robes, and he nodded.
I know, he mouthed, tilting his head, eyes narrow. I know.
And maybe he did. Maybe he knew he wasn't the monster his father was. But when Hinata lifted her right hand and plucked at his throat, more stickers fell and fizzed, and she knew he took relief in her words.
...
When he picked up his mug of no—longer—steaming tea — ginger tea, she could tell by the smell — and took a slow, long sip, Hinata gathered her courage, straightened her spine, and spoke what had been on her mind for a while.
"I know I'm here to help you," she said, catching his attention, "and I know you can't talk right now, but . . . I'm so lost, here." Her hands rubbed together, despite the constant and always present heat of the place. "Please, can you tell me one thing about me? About how I was when I was here? About what I did and who I knew?"
He settled back on his desk and placed his drink down, a finger tapping on the wood as he pondered. Then, a sort of light came to his gaze that reflected along his entire face, and once again, his sand went to the bookcase and pulled out a book. This one was thinner, smaller, with a bright, colorful cover. He flipped it to perhaps the fifth page in the book and presented it to her, gesturing with the nod of his head for her to read.
And she did, and upon the first sentence, something sharp and hot shot through her skull.
"Regen . . . bogen?"
Why does that sound familiar?
When she kept reading, she found that it was a phenomenon that only happened in Sand 1. The sand there was special and unique, unable to be found anywhere else. It reflected the sky — golden like the sun at noon and silver like the moon at night. The sunrise was when Regenbogen happened. The rainbow of colors in the sky would reflect in the sand, and the world danced in paradise. Gaara tapped a finger under a sentence — the Song of Regenbogen — a tune the people of Sand 1 would sing upon sunrise.
I don't understand, Hinata thought, looking away from the page to find Gaara's gaze. What does this have to do with . . . ?
His right hand rose to tap her forehead, and he gave her an expected look.
Wait.
"You think," she mused, slowly, "that if I heard the song, I might remember something?"
He looked at the boarded windows, frowned, but nodded, nonetheless.
Though she was skeptical, she had to hope. Just a bit. Even if it wasn't much, she reacted to the food here. That was something. And clearly, Gaara believed there was something significant about Regenbogen to her. Maybe it would help. She wasn't about to give up on it without even starting.
"O—Okay," she whispered. "Then I'll wait for Regenbogen."
And he looked pleased, but that kind expression left him when noise sounded behind the door. They looked over and saw the shadows under the door move. The puppets were being replaced. It seemed normal, but somehow, when Hinata looked back, Gaara turned dour.
"What is it?"
His eyes were narrow and sharp, and he tried to mouth something to her. Something she couldn't quite make out.
Sa . . .
Hinata watched closely, concentrating.
Sas . . .
"Oh, Sasuke."
It had been a while, she realized, since he had left. Worry filled her chest, and she bit her lips together and glanced at the door.
"I should go find him."
Not even a step, and a hand already grabbed her arm and pulled her back. She looked at him, and he stared back. Her gaze flew over his expression, trying to understand what was wrong, what he was trying to tell her. Then her gaze trailed down, and she understood.
"I'll come back later to help you more with your voice," she said, gently slipping her arm out of his grip. He didn't move to tighten it, but he still looked put off. Oh, dear. I hope he doesn't think I'm abandoning him. "I promise I'll be back, Gaara. I need to go find Sasuke. I shouldn't be too far from him."
His expression didn't change, but there was nothing she could do to change that. Hinata only smiled, reminded him a final time she'd be back, and left. The doors closed quietly behind her, and the puppets didn't even glance at her. Rubbing her shoulders, which had been arched with tension due to Gaara's sudden change in moods, she pondered her next moves in helping him as she walked down the hall, vaguely remembering how to get to Temari's office.
"Moon Witch."
She blinked at the cool drone coming from her left. Oh, he was coming back —
But when she looked up, it wasn't Sasuke who had called to her. It wasn't a covered face that she met. Instead, it was that face that seemed to pop out of the shadows without warning. The one that, somehow, made her uneasy. At first, she thought it was just his eyes. Still and emotionless. Even Sasuke had expressive eyes; when he wanted to let the world see them, of course. But these eyes never changed, only existed. But now that she looked at it and analyzed it closely, she realized why she was so put off about it.
It had no stickers. Not even one.
It was clean.
But . . . everyone has stickers.
"O—Oh." Slowing to a stop, Hinata tried to smile, unsure if she should be scared or . . . or . . . or something else. Something she wasn't totally sure of, yet. "Um, good morning, Sasori."
"Oh, for the love of —"
"Let me see them."
That was the first conversation between him and Temari as Sasuke, quite frankly, kicked open the door to enter. It croaked, barely hanging onto its hinges, and Temari sneered as she pulled out a thick stack of paper and threw it on the desk.
"Knock yourself out," she muttered, turning back to the paperwork she had been working on before he had loudly interrupted her. He began to thumb through the first pages, not needing the letter as a reference. He's read the thing enough times to be able to recite it. Backwards. Perfectly. "And, hey, it wouldn't kill you to knock every now and then, you know."
He ignored her, and she snorted.
"You'd also do good in lookin' someone in the eye when they speak to you." Something squeaked, probably her chair as she readjusted her position in it. "Asshat."
He glanced over, a snide remark just tickling the tip of his tongue, but he paused upon seeing what she was holding. A wax stamp. The Sand King's wax stamp.
Frowning, he backed up and locked the door behind him. "Ambassador, did you submit a signature?"
She snorted and rolled her eyes, not looking up from her papers. "I don't see a reason to."
Stepping over, he pulled out her quill from its inkpot and threw it before her, some of the ink dripping onto her papers, which made her hiss and rush to clean it up. She glared at him, and he did not look away, only saying, "Enlighten me."
She frowned. "What the hell is up your ass, Uchi —" Then, her sharp gaze found the stamp in her hand, and her scowl tightened. "You cannot be serious."
"I suggest you start writing," he drawled.
"I'm his sister!" she yelled, standing, fingers curled on the wood surface. "He's mute and unable to write anything down. I'm taking on nearly half of his duties. Of course I have the stamp — doesn't mean I wrote some shitty fuckin' letter to scare poor Hinata!"
Recalling the empty desk in the Sand King's chambers, Sasuke supposed, for a moment, she could be telling the truth. But Guards did not just suppose, and he didn't budge.
"He lost his voice," he said, "not his ability to write."
"Sasuke — dammit — there's a curse, okay?"
He frowned, and she ran a hand through her blonde hair, which was messy and nearly falling out of its buns.
"You never mentioned —"
"I know I didn't," she snapped, tired eyes drilling into him. "He — can't, alright? Whenever he holds a pen, it disappears. He can't write at all." Upon his silence, she calmed down, shoulders collapsing, frown falling. She rubbed at her eyes, then pinched the bridge of her nose, groaning. "Look. I didn't think it was anything important —"
"Not only do we have someone pretending to be His Majesty," Sasuke drawled, "but they may also have magic." He crossed his arms and stared her down. "If what you're saying is the truth."
Clicking her tongue, she grabbed the quill, scribbled down the signature, then rounded the desk. "We can go to him, if you need to see it for yourself." Her voice was low, as if figuring he wouldn't take the bait. But he moved to unlock the door, and she clenched her jaw. "Gods, you're despicable. Why didn't you bring Hinata with you? She's a lot easier to deal with than your —"
At that, his hand dropped from the knob, and he turned back to her.
Wait a second.
"Find me Matsuri's signature."
Her scowl did not lift. "For the love of — it was a mistake, Sasuke. Will you leave her alone already?" Despite her words, she fished through the stack of signatures, huffing and tsking the whole time before, eventually, finding it. "Matsuri's been working with us for nearly five years — there's no way —"
"It's her."
He knew immediately. The sample handwriting looked nothing like that of the letter's. It was messier, barely illegible. And that was the point. She must have figured out they were suspecting the staff and made it purposefully different.
She wrote with her non—dominant hand. She must have. The way she wrote her Ks and connected her As together were still the same, and it was so obviously clear, Sasuke was irritated he hadn't just gone with his instincts and dragged her into one of the interrogation rooms.
Temari looked between the sample and the letter, balking. "But —"
And now . . . Hinata was alone. Shit.
"Notarize the soldiers," he told her, pushing open the door, wings already out and flexing. "I want her found."
...
It didn't take him more than twenty seconds to reach the hallway that led to the king's chambers, and he was only half—surprised to find her out and in the hallway. Of course she wouldn't just wait inside for me.
He flew to her and landed between her and Sasori, who didn't step back to give him room, only stared blankly at him.
"Oh, Sasuke —"
"Why are you out here?" He couldn't tell what kind of tone he had — he was too busy checking everything and making sure the area was safe. But he caught a glance of her flinching, so he supposed it wasn't as calm as he wanted it to be.
But then again, Guards weren't supposed to do much supposing.
"I'm sorry, but —"
"It's Matsuri," he told her. Seeing that the place was clear, he was able to watch the color literally drain from what he could see of her face. "She's the one who wrote the letter."
Hinata played with her hood, humming nervously, head tilting slightly as she cautiously looked around her.
"So you finally realized."
And to the side, Sasori regarded them. His face was blank, but Sasuke heard the sarcasm edging his tone.
Hinata looked at him. "You knew?"
He didn't look at her. Only at Sasuke. "I thought it was obvious."
Frustration buzzed in his chest, in his ears, in the fingers that gripped at his scabbard. Hinata, who must have witnessed his consideration in whether or not to cut the dumbass down, gripped his arm, keeping him steady. Sasori looked down, hummed, and then turned on the balls of his feet and walked away. Cockily. Like he was toying with him.
Fucker.
He tried to move, but Hinata was still holding his arm.
"Don't," she whispered. "He saved me from the chandelier."
He sneered and snapped his arm away from her. "And I saved you from being killed." That buzzing inside him roared and popped, and he realized it wasn't frustration in him, but electricity. Loud, raging electricity. "That doesn't make me a good person, Moon Witch."
And if he wasn't careful, that electricity would shoot out and fry her. He stepped back and leveled his breathing. Hinata watched his face — no, not his face. Whenever she looked at him, it was like she was looking at something else, something not him. And it was so fucking annoying and irritating, and he wished she'd just stop. It made him feel like a charity case; like the only thing she ever saw when looking at him was a pitiful sight.
Just leave me alone.
And she wasn't a mind—reader. If she were, she would have stayed far away from him the second they met. But at that moment, she must have sensed what he was thinking, for when they walked down the hallway, she made sure to keep a foot or two between them.
Thank the Gods.
And yet, a few times along their short journey back to her room, he found that distance narrowing. Because of him. Because he had longer legs and he walked quicker, yet still, he lagged at times. He slowed. She got close, and he walked faster again, and then he slowed once more.
He should just make up his mind.
Reall, he should. But still . . .
It was something to think about.
Maybe.
Something to suppose on.
They couldn't find Matsuri.
She had to still be in the palace — no one could survive in such a horrible sandstorm. So unless she had a death wish, she was somewhere in these walls. Waiting. Planning her next move.
Hinata couldn't relax.
She felt like someone was constantly watching her — and, well, that was true. Sasuke and Temari and Kankuro were all looking out for her. She knew that. But . . . there was something else, and maybe she was being paranoid, but she couldn't ignore it.
It was getting late — around eight in the evening, she believed. Ten hours after they had found out Matsuri was the one pretending to be Gaara. She'd barely been able to do anything — barely been allowed to do anything — but she was so exhausted already.
"I'll tell you what you need."
In the grand entrance, Temari approached her, something of a smile on her features. Everyone had been gathered there to be interviewed and asked about possible hints about Matsuri's whereabouts. Sasuke was in the midst of them, no more than a couple of yards away from her in case someone so choose to try a sneak attack on her. He took his job seriously, she began to understand. It was to be expected. He was a serious man, and he must have been born into the Guard. He did it well. Too well.
You need a bath, bubbly and practically boiling, and after that, you need to sleep. For ten hours, at least," Temari said.
Hinata laughed, though sounding a little forced, and smiled. "I suppose you're right."
"I always am."
They both looked at the crowd. Puppets surrounded the walls and halls, stood and ready for anything to transpire.
"Y'know —" Temari knocked her shoulder slightly and gestured to Sasuke, "he was the one who figured it out. Hell, I'm pretty sure he was suspecting her since yesterday." Her neck popped and she rolled it and sighed. "If I had just listened to him, maybe we'd have her locked up somewhere by now."
Her fingers began to tremble as she remembered his aggravated glare in the hallway just that morning. "Why are you out here?" he had asked, tone so low and ferocious that she had instantly felt guilty for being there, even before realizing what she had done wrong.
I could have been killed, she thought, shuddering at the thought. I shouldn't have left.
"You're probably right," Hinata said, turning to Temari. "But she was your loyal maid. Even I would have my doubts."
"She was our loyal maid."
Temari glanced over at a small group of maids, then locked eyes with Sasuke and waved him over. He finished his interrogation with a soldier and walked over, and she nodded to the maids.
"Those three roomed with Matsuri," she said. "Maybe they can tell you something."
Sasuke didn't even bother to look at them. "You ask them."
Temari huffed and frowned. "You really can't just nod and agree, now can you?"
"You're their boss," he droned.
"And it's because I'm their boss that they won't tell me shit." Putting a hand on her hip, she looked him in the eye, and Hinata couldn't believe the courage behind her. "They won't tell me all the details because they don't want me to think they were in on it. They're maids, Sasuke. They want to keep their jobs." And then, suddenly, she smirked and patted his shoulder. "Now if a tall, dark, handsome Guard just mosied on over and worked his magic, so to speak, then I'm inclined to think they'll be willing to spill a few more of the juicy details."
Sasuke visibly winced, pulling away from her hand, as if it burned him. He stood for a while, looked over at the maids, then, finally, sighed. "Fine."
"Good boy," Temari cooed. "Moon and I will be right here. Watching."
He walked over to them, a noticeable slug in his step, and when the maids saw him approaching, they looked like they would melt into goo. From where Hinata stood, it looked like he was talking — just doing what he did with the others he had interrogated. But based on the squeaking and cooing and giggling coming from Temari, he must have been . . . doing something else.
"Gosh, Moon," the blonde sighed, "I can't stand the guy, but even I'm envious of you. I mean — come on — you get to look at that face all day for four days straight!"
That was true. At a stickered, covered face that made her feel anxious every time she looked at it.
"I don't . . . understand."
"Eh?" Green eyes peered at her, puzzled. "There's nothing to understand. The man has a masterpiece painted on his face. Any straight woman would jump at the chance to have him so much as acknowledge them."
He . . . did? Hinata tried to imagine it, but she couldn't. All she knew was that right eye and that left cheekbone.
I'm sure . . . he could be handsome.
The limited features she's seen of him would suggest that, and even the rest of him wasn't something to ignore. He was tall. His voice was . . . nice. And Hinata was quite fond of his wings — broad and flawless and muscular.
"Seriously," Temari whispered. When Hinata blinked, she realized Sasuke was coming over, the dark weeds on his face curling with displeasure. "Maybe I should have gotten you a different Guard. Y'know, someone less noticeable."
"Are you done gossiping?" he asked, stopping before them.
Temari's simper did not leave as she leaned in, and asked, "Did it work? Your magic?"
He didn't say a word. Not even a sound. He was so quiet, Hinata was almost sure he had stopped breathing completely. Then, a shuffle of cloth, and he handed Temari a crumpled—up note, muttering it was something the maids had given him. The blonde gleamed and snickered, and Hinata's curiosity grew tenfold.
...
Around ten at night, Hinata got out of her bath, dried herself, got dressed in a nightgown, and entered her room, whispering a shy good night to Sasuke as she made her way to her bed. What she had expected was for him to close the door to wait in the hallway, like he had done the first night. But when she glanced over and saw him still in the room, her heart fell to her stomach.
Is it because of last night? she wondered, flushing with embarrassment. Does he think I'm a kid who can't stand to be alone?
And though . . . she much preferred to not be alone, she didn't want him to force himself anymore. Not after the day he's had.
"U—Um," she began, stutter picking up upon his approach to the bed, "I—I'll be alright, Sasuke. You don't have to be in here —"
"I do," he cut in, pulling off his cloak and throwing it over the back of her desk's chair before settling on the right side of the bed.
He . . . does?
She wasn't totally sure what that was supposed to mean, but she wasn't about to ask him. Hinata knew she had been treading on thin ice with him all day, and to annoy him any more would just be stressful for both of them. She needed sleep, and he needed to focus. They should do just that; thus, Hinata got in bed, brought the sheets over herself, and curled on her side to sleep.
But, instead, she stared at the wall.
Not a pint of drowsiness was in her.
The fear of Matsuri still being out there, readying an attack, kept her nerves buzzing. There was no way she could fall asleep. Not tonight.
"Temari . . . told me you have a handsome face."
Wait. That was her just then, right? What am I saying?
She prepared for the huff of annoyance, or just that sort of heavy, disappointed silence that made her insides shrivel up — and it was silent after her blab, but not the kind she expected. It was different. She wasn't necessarily sure how, but it was. Something about it wasn't dour or angry or peeved. It was just . . . silence.
Turning over, wondering if he had fallen asleep, she looked at him and found a dark eye staring back.
"And a few days ago, Suigetsu told me that . . . women flock to you —"
"They don't," he said, tone not as grounded and sharp as she had expected.
"The maids —"
"They didn't come to me, I went to them." He turned to face the door. "No one flocks to me."
She smiled, hoping she hadn't embarrassed him.
"Well, either way, I don't see it."
He blinked, slowly, but didn't move to look back at her. "Are you calling me ugly, Moon Witch?"
Hinata gasped and sat up. "Oh, no! O—Of course not!"
"Then unattractive."
"No. Sasuke, I didn't mean —"
At last, he looked at her, that same sparkle she had seen before in his gaze.
"Not to your standards, then?"
Her hands fell to her lap, curling into her sheets. "I just can't see it, Sasuke," she said. "I can't see your face."
"You mentioned that before."
And he didn't have to say the second part to that sentence — You're blind. It was there in the air, floating before her, and Hinata shook her head and gave a weak laugh.
"I just wish you'd let me see it." Laying back down, she pulled her hair to the side so it wouldn't get knotted under her skull. "I want to see it."
He hummed, almost inaudible. "So you can flock to me?"
"I thought you said no one flocked to you."
"They don't."
For a while, she watched the fog escape her lips with every breath. Then, her eyelids fluttered shut, and to the ceiling, she whispered, "I'm sorry I didn't stay with Gaara."
"If you could see my face," he droned, "you wouldn't have even thought about staying. You would have come with me no matter what."
"Is that . . . the magic Temari was talking about?"
The mattress shifted next to her. "Probably."
She blinked her eyes open and saw him laying down, eyes shut.
"Are you tired?" she asked. I'm sure the two days of no sleep are getting to him.
"No," was his immediate response, followed by a quiet, "Pretend you're asleep, Moon Witch."
She wished he'd stop calling her that. Even Moon would have been better. But instead of protesting, she settled into the softness below her and did what he had said.
And for maybe forty—five minutes, they both pretended. She kept still, eyes shut, simply letting her imagination wander to keep her busy. She thought back to Moon 2, to her garden, to the melon bread her mother would leave for her and Hanabi and Neji to eat in the mornings. She'd think of flying through the clouds while on her way to the market to get new fabric for her sister's dress. There were so many holes in her memory, so she would come up with something new to fill them up. Her father would be in his study, reading his books about flowers and magic. When sunset would come, Naruto would come flying out of the red sun to dance with her; and, sometimes, she'd sneak out at night to fly through the moon to find him in Sun 1. They'd dance along to Sasuke's quiet breathing beside her, and when she curled her fingers into the sheets, it felt like hair. Short and warm and beaming like sunlight and —
And that perfect universe was stolen away from her upon the creak of a door.
Before she could sit up, could even process anything, Sasuke had shot into the air and out the door. There was noise and screaming, then a loud thud. Hinata jumped off of the bed and out the room, only to find Sasuke just a few yards away, pinning Matsuri to the ground.
She hissed and wiggled, trying to get out of his grasp. Footfalls approached as puppets came to aid Sasuke in keeping her there.
"Lock her up somewhere," he told them as they took hold of her, stopping her from escaping. "I'm coming in the morning to talk to her."
Matsuri snapped her head his way, smiling meanly. "I'm not scared of you."
He didn't react, didn't even blink. He just turned away from her as the puppets dragged her off. Hinata watched them for a moment, then followed Sasuke back into her room, closing and locking the door behind her. What just happened?
She knew Matsuri had just tried to attack her. Knew that, somehow, Sasuke knew that —
Because . . . he wasn't outside. Hinata looked at him as he searched the room for anything at all Matsuri could have dropped. She thought he was gone, so she came in to attack me.
Walking over to the bed, she dropped onto it and exhaled all the air out of her lungs.
He saved me. Again.
"Thank you —"
"You should sleep now."
Their gazes met, and he stopped between her bed and the door.
"You should, too," Hinata said. Matsuri was caught. There was nothing for him to protect her from.
But when he moved, it was to the door, and she began to wonder if she was completely safe.
"I'm not tired."
He was gone, and Hinata laid back, found that the quilt was gone, and went back to pretending to sleep.
Chapter 7 — End