A Matter of Time

"How's the babysitting job?"

Her brother's laid-back voice reached her ears, but she couldn't detach her gaze from the massive piles of mission's requests scattered all over his desk. She took a bite of her sandwich. "What happened to your desk?" she replied, her mouth full.

He shrugged his shoulders. "I guess the Kazekage sometimes wake up, suddenly remembers that I used to date his wife, and chooses to bury me under piles of paperwork hoping I'll suffocate. Himari actually tried for us to get along once, but it simply didn't work out."

Aiya smiled bitterly. Himari always tried for everyone to get along. To feel included. But sometimes, some people weren't meant to share the same air despite all of her diplomatic efforts. Aiya couldn't tell if her brother still harbored some feelings for her friend. Each time she'd stop to think about it, a scrawny hand would painfully dig its fingers into her throat and she'd gasp for air, suffocating. Because it was her fault if her brother couldn't be like… before. Lively and warm. Passionate.

"Stop worrying for me, sister. I'm fine."

He wasn't. She wasn't. But Aiya didn't reply. Couldn't. Unable to suppress her guilt, she threw a glance around her in an attempt to distract her mind. Her brother's coworkers would often leave the office around noon, eating out at one of the restaurants on the street's corner while he'd eat at his desk, alone.

The printer's sudden noise almost made her drop her sandwich on the floor. Her brother sighed, then pushed himself out of his chair. His slender body walked towards the printer, and he patiently waited for the sheets to come out.

Waiting for Daisuke to come back, Aiya ate the last bites of her sandwich. Out of curiosity, her eyes landed on a particular document. On a post-it, there was a list of names some of which had been highlighted in bright yellow. Some handwritten notes were filling the margins. Intrigued, she slightly hunched over the desk in order to read better when suddenly, a hand took the papers out of sight. She barely had the time to catch the words 'Request Denied' in aggressive red letters before the document disappeared in one of the desk's drawers.

"Sorry, my desk is a real mess."

She blinked. "Have you gotten any letters, recently?"

Her brother threw a quick glance around, making sure none of his coworkers had come back from their lunch pause. "I haven't. But it'll all be over soon. It's simply a matter of time."

"I know," she hummed. "We're near the end."

And in every case, it wouldn't end well.

"You don't look happy, sister."

Aiya hadn't realized her expression had been that transparent. She recomposed herself. She hadn't lost sight of their goal. Or of the promise she'd once made to her mother.

"It's nothing."

Her brother's gaze calmy trailed over her face, suspicious, but he didn't comment. These last years had been hard on both of them. Harder than they'd anticipated at first. Her brother's coworkers started to come back from their lunch. Putting on a smile, she stood up.

"I have to go back to the hospital. I'll see you tonight."

"Alright, try to not accidentally kill anyone."

Turning around, she childishly stuck her tongue out at him. "Very funny."

She hadn't strangled him… yet.

It had been eleven days. Aiya checked the small bump at the back of his head. Feeling the swollen edges of it, she tried not to ponder about the proximity of their faces as she proceeded to the physical exam. He'd tried to redo his purple markings, but his right hand had been grazed by the explosion, and the attempt at holding a makeup brush for a prolonged time ended in uncontrollable spasms and paint thrown angrily at the walls. The nerves had been damaged. It'd take some time to heal. Watching him over the last week, Aiya had realized the puppeteer felt uneasy without his markings, vulnerable under the outsider's gaze. Like hers, his makeup wasn't just a fashion statement, but a part of his identity. A carefully carved mask. He hissed when she probed a little too hard at the sensible wound.

"Damn, pixie. Be more careful, would you?"

"Sorry," she replied.

She didn't feel like arguing with him today. Kankuro threw her a funny look, surprised by her lack of reply. His gaze trailed on her, intrusive. It seemed it wasn't as much fun when there was only one person playing the game.

"You're wearing blue today."

"Congratulations," she retorted unenthusiastically. "You know your primary colors."

He frowned. "You never wear blue."

She froze for a split of a second, surprised he'd noticed that blue wasn't a color she usually kept in her closet. He wasn't being his snarky usual self today, and it was destabilizing her. She'd bought the scrub as a memory of her mother. The soft color of blue hydrangea, her mother's favorites. The color didn't match well with her complexion, so she'd usually avoid it, but the vision of the scrub's soft blue comforted her whenever she missed her. She felt compelled to defend it.

"It was my mother's favorite color."

He didn't say anything about how she'd used the past tense when mentioning her. Their eyes met for an instant, and Aiya saw the compassion in his eyes without a trace of mockery. He'd lost a mother too, after all.

Her hands moved to his stomach. Shinobis' bodies were all about sharp angles. Hard sets of abs used to strenuous effort. A line of dark hair ran down his firm stomach until it disappeared teasingly under the band of his black pants. Her mouth went dry. The man wasn't an ugly specimen of his sex. Far from it. Blinking away her disturbing (and highly unprofessional) thoughts, Aiya removed the bandages covering the wound at his side.

"You're never talking about yourself," he added.

"There's nothing much to say."

She pushed a bit of chakra at the wound almost completely healed, only to stimulate his cells at regenerating new layers of skin so it wouldn't leave any visible scars. His fingers curiously brushed past the hem of her left sleeve, briefly grazing the fabric. Rapidly, his hand retreated as if he'd just realized the nature of his gesture. Aiya released her breath, not having realized that she'd been holding it.

"It's a pretty color," he murmured thoughtfully.

She picked up the bandages stained with dried blood and threw them in the trash. "You're acting weird today."

His brows furrowed at her. "How so?"

"You're almost… nice."

"And it's a bad thing?"

"No. I mean, yes," she said, feeling frustrated for an unknown reason. "We don't really get along, remember?"

"I wasn't the one who started this petty quarrel between us," he replied flatly. He sat straighter in the bed, lifting his uninjured leg to nonchalantly lean his arm on the top of his bent knee. "I'm just feeling tired of it today, I guess."

"That's such a childish thing to-"

"It's simply the truth," he cut her off. "Just admit it. You've decided I wasn't worth your attention the moment we met."

The blond almost missed the hint of bitterness in his voice as he said it. Her mouth slightly aghast, she couldn't formulate an intelligent reply. His bare face turned to her, and his dark gaze didn't leave hers for a second. That's not true, she wanted to say. But she couldn't. So instead, she sighed, and her gaze fell on the tiny jar of purple paint underneath the chair. By some miracle, the jar hadn't shattered on the floor at the impact.

"I'll do it for you."

He frowned. "What are you talking about?"

She pointed at the discarded brushes. "Your makeup. I'll do it."

Once he was certain she wasn't mocking him, he slowly nodded. For once, Kankuro didn't find an intelligent thing to reply.

This morning, she'd clumsily brushed her teeth while applying a thin layer of foundation on her face. She'd wanted to try the organic brand from the Leaf Village for an eternity and she'd finally got her hands on a sample of their newest collection. Her younger self would often be perched on the bathroom's countertop among the beauty products, watching intently the way her mother's pale fingers moved expertly across her face. She'd always define her eyes with a charcoal eyeliner, adding depth to her gaze. But what she'd always remember when they'd go out to the village's market, was the deep, blood-red hue of the lipstick that contrasted with the paleness of her skin. A girl's pretty face is one of her most powerful weapons, my little bird. Don't let the others see your true emotions or else, they'll use them against you. Got it?

She hadn't listened to her advice, too naïve. Something painfully stung at her heart. Her lashes fluttered, chasing the emotion away. She scratched her throat. "How do you want your markings to be?"

She had made herself a cozy spot on his bed, with her legs carefully crossed. Each time she leaned forward, their knees touched briefly, yet neither of them commented on this impromptu contact that differed from their usual interactions. A strange tension hung in the air, but once again, no one bothered to acknowledge it. "Do as you wish, pixie. I'm all yours."

Something in his voice, as if he'd been a little out of breath, formed a tight knot in her stomach. A wave of sudden warmth overflew her, and Aiya prayed that her cheeks weren't betraying her with an embarrassing shade of crimson red. She scratched her throat. Her left hand lightly lifted his chin up. The purple tip of the brush touched his skin. Suddenly, the silence was so heavy with tension that she couldn't bear it anymore. "When did you even start to paint your face?" she asked.

He thought about her question for a moment. There was something strangely intimate about the way she'd lean towards him, their breath mixing together as they'd unconsciously adopt the other's breathing rate or the way his relaxed fingers were lightly grazing her right knee. "I think it was the summer before I started to attend Suna's Academy. It's a performer's thing."

She didn't even have to think about the pattern she wanted to paint. Her hand moved itself effortlessly, only stopping to dip the tip of the brush into the little jar of purple paint. Her fingertips unnecessarily grazed his jawline, and Aiya didn't have the strength to scold herself for the careless gesture. She gently tilted his head towards the room's window. A small smile tugged at her lips.

"I can totally imagine you as a child."

He raised a sceptic brow. "Really?"

"Yeah," she replied. "Lots of friends, many fangirls. Always disturbing the class by cracking some jokes, but the teachers couldn't bring themselves to scold you because you'd secretly be their favorite."

His smirk died on his lips. A distant expression erased the small wrinkles at the corner of his laughing eyes, replaced by sadness.

"You couldn't actually be farther from the truth."

She raised a brow at him, now the one being skeptical. "I don't believe you."

"I assure you. I wasn't one of the popular kids."

As he slowly turned his face towards her, she lowered her brush. "Are you really trying to make me believe this?" she scoffed.

He didn't fit the profile of the class's loser. He didn't have any weird quirks. Fairly attractive, he didn't seem to have any physical abnormalities that the other children could have turned into a cruel joke. His eyes hardened, and he suddenly couldn't hold her stare any longer.

"You can't understand," he sighed. "At the time, things were… different."

Not seeing his characteristic smirk anymore unsettled her, strangely. The need to lighten up his mood urged her to replied something. Anything.

"Oh, I get it," she teased. "You had your growth spurt later than the other kids, uh?"

He didn't even offer the glimpse of a smile. The puppeteer didn't pursue the conversation anymore. The blond didn't press the matter. Aiya realized she didn't know much about him, even if they'd technically known each other for years. As he started to lean back, her left hand shot up in the air to catch his face.

"I haven't done your lips yet," she said haltingly. "Stay still."

Surprisingly, he complied to her request without a single protest. She took her time to dip the tip of the brush into the paint, unable to bring herself to withdraw her hand. After she got the trembling of her fingers under control, Aiya skillfully covered his lips with a thin layer of purple. After she was done, he sighed.

"I don't know if you've heard the story of Gaara about-"

"I've heard the rumors," she cut him. Rumors always sounded the same to her ears. "The villagers aren't the most subtle."

"Most of the rumors aren't just made-up stories."

"I know," she replied. Himari had told her some part of it. Her solo investigations had filled the leftovers blanks. "But Gaara's different now, isn't he? Otherwise, Hima wouldn't be with him."

And Aiya wouldn't be afraid to give him a piece of her mind if he ever entertained the thought of hurting her friend's feelings. She didn't care if she seriously pissed off some demonic cat by doing so. Aiya furrowed her brows at the puppeteer, puzzled. She didn't get why he'd bring up his brother's somber past, especially when she'd seen how he'd tense up whenever he'd hear an ill comment about his little brother. Temari reacted all the same, ready to protect her youngest sibling at every cost.

He sighed. "Back then, I wasn't the Kazekage's brother. I was the demon's brother. The brother of the village's worst nightmare. Everyone stayed perfectly away from me and Temari."

The brush's tip gave its last stroke across the puppeteer's cheek. Their eyes met. She couldn't advert her gaze. Being the Kazekage's son might have protected him from being bullied at the time, but it didn't stop him from being isolated by his peer. Aiya could almost feel the aching loneliness in his voice as he spoke of it.

He scoffed dryly. "So no, I wasn't quite Mister Popularity. You wouldn't have wanted to be my friend at the time. For years, no one dared to approach me, except for-"

The end of the sentence died on his lips, but Aiya didn't have any difficulty to fill in the blank with a name. Kankuro always spoke of his brother's wife with an evident fondness. And Aiya could only understand him. Himari had the soul of an angel. A sudden wave of shame asphyxiated her lungs, burning her trachea all the way up until it left a bitter taste on the tip of her tongue. She'd have been one of those that didn't dare to cross his path. Back then, as a vapid teenager, she'd only care about the village's gossips, flattening her hair every morning so that nobody would notice the wild curls she'd inherited from her maternal grandmother and at last, to impress a bunch of people that couldn't have cared less about her. It'd ultimately led her to her doom. Such a foolish girl she'd been. Trying to extinguish the fire that'd started to burn into her chest, she discreetly pinched the inside of her forearm. She suddenly felt as if there wasn't enough air around her to fill her lungs. She unlocked her gaze from his.

"I'm done with your markings," she mumbled.

Jumping off the bed, she went to grab the portable mirror on the bathroom's vanity. She felt his gaze following her every movement around the room. It made her skin tickle. She held out the small mirror to him. "Here," she offered. "Tell me what you think."

He curiously look at his reflection, and Aiya couldn't tell by his closed expression if he was pleased with her work. The marks were thinner than usual, of a different pattern. Then, Aiya suddenly realized that she shouldn't care about his opinion that much. She'd simply done him a small favor.

He put down the mirror. "You're talented, pixie. Maybe from now on, I'll ask you to do them for me every day."

Some of the light had come back to his eyes. Like she'd make him whole again by applying a simple layer of purple on his face. "It was a one-time thing, clown face. Don't get used to it."

He smiled sincerely. "Thank you, Aiya."

Her heart dropped in her stomach. The last time he'd pronounced her actual name crawled back at the surface of her mind, the memory burned to her retinas. Her brain liked to play a game where it'd fail to remember the music playing at Temari's wedding that night, but vividly recall the way Kankuro's hands felt against her body as he'd forcefully dragged her to the dancefloor. Traitor.

As she was about to exit the room, Kankuro's voice reached her ears. "How was yours, pixie?"

She stiffened. "What do you mean?"

"Your childhood," he specified.

The blond threw a glance over her shoulder. His gaze was curiously trailing over her face's expression in a way that'd make the fuzzy hair on her arms spikes up, wary. As if he could read through her with those dark, intrigued eyes. She released the tension that'd been stiffening up her whole body.

"My childhood? It was perfectly… normal," she retorted. "There's nothing much to say about it."

"I bet it involved a lot of pink stuff," Kankuro said, a teasing smirk on his lips. "Let me guess. A lot of dolls, fairy tales and dresses?"

Old memories crawled up from the darkest part of her mind. She couldn't bear another question. She felt suffocated by the memories of a past she was trying to repress at all costs. To forget. Her lips awkwardly curled up into a tight smile. "You'd be surprised," she simply muttered. And without adding another word, she swiftly stepped outside of the room.

...

She spent the rest of the afternoon in the hospital's pit, treating incoming traumas and dehydrated children that carelessly played under the sun for too long. She'd sometimes slow down to weirdly stare at the paint marks staining her left forearm. Her mind couldn't stop thinking about how she'd felt oddly calm in Kankuro's presence. She hadn't minded their closeness or the ways their knees intimately touched. She'd grown to see him in a different light. His arrogance had turned out to be a part of his carefully carved mask to hide behind.

Coming out of the intercom, a code blue snapped her out of her thoughts. She shook her head. She didn't have time to daydream. Her mother's voice chuckled in her mind. A ghostly echo of the past. There's nothing normal about our family, my little bird. One day, you'll understand.