tampered | log; ongoing;

log; ongoing;

When; last night!
Rating; PG-13...?
Characters; Esther Blanchett [

sandmullet]
Summary; It's been a while since Gaara's had to deal with the ticking, and Esther still hasn't gotten her beauty sleep.
Log;

The soft tapping of paws on the hardwood floor kept the ticking at bay as Esther dropped a few slices of onion in her pan, enjoying the soft sizzle as she wiped the tears from her eyes, smiling at the puppy eagerly waiting by her ankles. Liver and onions weren't typically a favorite of many people Esther knew, but dogs like Tres weren't very picky, and she couldn't imagine that Gaara would be that choosy either-- provided that a dish had meat, she couldn't imagine him refusing. These were the little things that Esther had more time for, in the City-- learning the likes and dislikes of all her friends, even with respect to something as minor as food, and actually being able to experiment in the kitchen until she got something done right.

Of course, many of the people she'd been cooking for prior to this point had already left the City. Nero, Astaroth, Mirka, even Lady for a brief period of time, and now... Dietrich. While Esther wasn't exactly a believer in superstition, knowing that there were sentient beings who overlooked the workings of the City made her suspicious about who was to be taken next. And who might just be returned to her.

None of the logic that she had built over her many years of hard work at the convent even remotely applied, here. Willpower just wasn't enough, time was even more fickle than it was normally, and all of it had Esther worrying up a storm, dark rings developing under her eyes that she had to cover up with foundation-- the only time she'd ever bothered toying with makeup since arriving in the City.

Unless you counted that one curse, of course, where Abel had covered her lips in some time of red gloss. Esther didn't imagine that the incident would repeat itself anytime soon, though. If Abel was ever planning on emerging properly from his room again, anyway. Understanding the hows and whys didn't make watching his behavior any easier, either.

A small pop drew Esther's attention back to the pan--the dish was done, it seemed--and after slipping a small piece to Tres, Esther grabbed a plastic container from the cabinet and poured the contents of the pan in, before soaking it in water in the sink.

"I'll be right back, Tres," she whispered, holding a finger to her lips.

A few minutes later, Esther finally made her way to the rooftop of Building 2, as instructed, a little taken aback at how clearly she could see the stars from so high a distance. A little dizzy too, once she looked at them for too long.

"Mister Gaara?" she called out, rubbing at her eyes. There was no way that she could have arrived first.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Not a chance - that helped, of course, by the singular fact of his current lodgings having direct access to the very place. And Gaara perched upon the highest bit of roof, that which arced over the door frame of the stairwell, his attention for the moment, directed to the sky.

The stars looked erratic, changing; at times he could identify some familiar pattern, at others, they were something else completely, or some thick conglomeration of too many, and it should have been blindingly bright, eradication all need for artificial lighting. Was the sky manufactured? But the moon, some two days from full, stirred his blood into a near boil.

When the ticking abated, it had become already so commonplace that it took him a deplorable moment to realize it. But he had recognized Esther's approach far before it quieted - and it wasn't merely that he was a ninja.

Gaara had seen her far below, walking toward the building.

"Yeah," he replied. His arm shifted from its place on his bent leg, head turning to look down in her direction. His first thought couldn't help but be a query as to what food she had brought.

"... You made good time."

At the sound of his voice, Esther blinked, looking around for the source of his voice before finally finding Gaara perched high on the roof, gaze already penetrating. That was one of the things she had to grow accustomed to, when they had first become friends, the constant feel of him watching over her, and the inability of Esther at any point to manage to catch him off guard. More than once she had jumped, seeing those dark pupils pointed in her direction, but now she liked to think of it more as a sense of comfort, perhaps. Gaara wasn't the only person watching over her at all times, but he was, perhaps, the closest.

Her own eyes, a light shade of lapis lazuli, glittered in a night like this, matching the sky. It was a good thing that she hadn't glanced in the mirror prior to coming--Dietrich often praised those very eyes.

"Did I?" she asked, feeling a bit of pride swell in her chest. "I guess I was a little eager to come. Mmm... I brought food!"

Fumbling with her belongings, Esther finally managed to unearth the cloth-covered box, two pairs of chopsticks and a fork--just in case--held by the knot on top.

"It's nothing much, just your typical liver and onions, but I did bring chopsticks and I've been practicing with them. They're surprisingly convenient when cooking, although I don't think I've quite managed to get a handle on them in terms of picking up the food I want to eat."

She was probably rambling.

"Join me? Unless I'm supposed to... climb up there."

Though she rambled, the sound of her voice filled the silence; and while it might have, normally, irritated Gaara, her eager chatter was vastly preferrable to what the silence held: ceaseless ticking, the stirring of Shuukaku, in possible response to the noise, or to the moon so close to full.

So he looked at her, and he let her ramble, considering what she claimed to offer. At her request, his head tilted, as if in thought, but even as his hair slanted his hands lifted, fingers twisting into a seal. Sand whirled around him, and where he had once perched sighed empty air, and into the vacant space in front of her, he stood, upright, fingers held in that same seal.

"Let's eat," he said, eyes already fixated on the box. Then, after a pause: "...They aren't that hard. Chopsticks."

She had watched Gaara use his powers before, the sand which moved almost as though it had a life of its own. But it had been a while since she watched it so closely, so Esther had to focus to quell the slight shiver in her spine as she heard the soft sound of grains against grains. After all, the only close encounters she'd had with the sand weren't exactly pleasant. Blocking a hug. Knocking her unconscious. But she was sure that he meant no harm. There was no benefit to harming her, at this point.

So she simply held out the box for Gaara, after slipping out a fork and pair of chopsticks for herself.

"You say that because you've used them for so long!" she exclaimed, pouting slightly. "To me, they're just... short sticks. Not even really utensils. It'd be like if I suddenly decided to use two flimsy little branches from a tree to pick up my food-- it's just strange. But I'm managing! A bit."

Her mouth just ... kept moving. Gaara stared at it, and her, as she babbled through her excuse for this small inadequacy. When she finished, he inched forward to take the box, but rather than shift back, focused on the hand gripping those so-called "short sticks".

Reaching, he flicked the fork from her hand, and hesitated. His fingers jerked back, curling into his palm, shying from the prospect of touching another person's flesh as one might pull back from a flame, from a trap.

Almost imperceptibly, his eyes narrowed, something determined flashing, pressing between his teeth, swallowing revulsion, nausea: and he slid his fingers over hers. "You need to hold them right," Gaara explained, adjusting the position of knuckle and nail, "And strengthen the muscles."

Esther was decidedly more comfortable with conversation, even if she didn't have anything particularly intelligent to say-- perhaps part of the reason was because Gaara's silence was just so complete, not only in terms of words but in expression as well. She couldn't read him like she could Abel, whose eyebrows and mouth alone spoke more than Gaara usually would in an entire week, and that frustrated Esther, curiosity ever piqued. Although he gave no initial response to her words, Esther couldn't imagine that he wouldn't file away some of the information--he was almost as bad as Tres, in this sense. The question simply remained of what he thought of her. Airheaded? Overly talkative? Probably.

Flaws that the City had exacerbated, everything so much more lenient than it'd been with the Vatican. A life that almost required having social skills-- who would've thought?

Esther was more suited for tactical measures. Events with plans.

Which Gaara holding her hand was decidedly not. Esther hadn't even been aware that it was possible for him, not after she had tried to embrace him all those months ago, only to be met with sand scraping at her skin. She'd never taken a moment to consider, previously, what his hand might have felt like, but it was... warm. Soft. Triggered ridiculous little thoughts in her mind, things which held no consequence, like the fact that he probably never got callouses, with the sand making all contact for him. Or wondering over whether this was just a one-time thing for the sole purpose of learning how to use chopsticks.

Her cheeks flushed.

"Wh-which muscles? My fingers? O-or," Esther stammered, pausing for a moment, cringing inwardly. "My fingers, or my palm? If I strengthen too much, I don't think I'll be able to move the chopsticks..."

It was hard. (Hard, and hard, because in two nights the moon would be full, and he was already hungry, like worms were slithering beneath his skin wanting, only wanting, to split her skin, only she was weak, her blood would be foul, only a lump of meat, but wanting the red beneath her cheeks to blossom over split skin, over jutting bone, to seep into sand, and)

(Gaara had been suppressing it for years) he inhaled (red cheeks? heat gathering in her face but) the cool night air. (Why?) In this, at least, he had controlled the dissolution of his space. And once the air began its escape through his nose, once he managed to release an iota of the tension thick in his shoulders, down his arms, his back, neck, everywhere, it was ... he could think it ... nice.

(And almost ruined it; Yashamaru).

"Strengthen through practice," he corrected, tone sharper, shorter, than necessarily reflected his attitude. "Don't think about strengthening them now. Relax. ... Like this."

His fingers guided hers; the chopsticks moved, though limited, and he broke contact to gesture for her to continue trying. Having done as much, he opened his box, inhaling then the sudden, welcome scent of meat, of onions.

Practice was an encouragement of sorts, Esther thought. The suggestion that she had something to practice for, perhaps the promise that they would have more meals together--nothing really barred it from happening, and as of late Esther had grown tired of eating on her own. Abel was nothing but a hollow shell of sorts, steeped in paranoia, distracted, and Killua was such a new addition to the apartment yet. More than that, any type of challenge, coming from Gaara, was one taken very seriously by Esther, because he never played around the idea of potential. Simply stated how he felt.

It gave Esther hope yet.

The nun nodded drowsily when the contact finally broke, simply mimicking the movements she had been guided through, feeling her muscles tense up in protest--they were more comfortable holding a gun by now, it seemed. The flush in her cheeks slowly faded away as she focused her concentration on her hand, then slowly sank to the floor to sit down and practice more. Standing was too much of a chore when her mind was so divided, and she hadn't gotten sleep in quite some time either.

"Mmm... maybe I'll practice more after you eat?" Esther finally said, stifling a yawn before holding the chopsticks out for him, smiling at the way he glanced in the box. "While you can tell me what you were up to while out of the City."

She sat, and his eyes were attentive and not unaware of the way in which her body moved, the shift of muscle in her face that suppressed the yawn. This, all that, it was familiar, it was old, it was beginning, symptoms older than the sand compressed in his gourd.

Gaara saw little reason to keep standing, and lowered himself to the roof; not beside her, but across from her, hand now reaching to accept his chopsticks. And, as ever, he let silence answer for him, if only in part. That Esther had not brought food for herself he had realized, and did not mention; he had requested food, and she had provided, it was as it should be.

With the ease of years of experience, Gaara handled the chopsticks, began to eat. After chewing and swallowing the first bit of meat and onion, he did not shrug, but the movement of his head as his eyes shifted to the swollen moon might have suggested it.

"My duties as Kazekage."

Twirling the fork in her fingers was a nice little way to keep herself aware, focusing on the weight of the metal and on making sure it balanced. It was nothing impressive, to be sure--had Esther really wanted to impress anyone, it would have been using Molotov cocktails, which weren't really called for at the moment. Her eyes peered at Gaara as he sat down, and as he began eating--no particular response, which was fine and normal, even if it did make Esther's shoulders sag slightly. No bad news, which was a relief, and no good news, which... may have been a disappointment.

She perked, however, when he mentioned duties. Perhaps something interesting for Esther to listen about, after so many instances in which information had been cut off from her. By her friends and adversaries alike.

"Kaze...kage?" she asked, tilting her head. "What kind of duties would that entail?"

For a long minute, undoubtedly longer, Gaara made no indication of having heard the question. He raised another cut of meat to his mouth, chewed until it was so much pulp, and swallowed.

The simple, succinct answer: the duties of the Kazekage were not the concerns of a civilian. Esther Blanchett was a civilian, and so it would be the answer to give her.

Yet, (another sliver of meat, entwined with an onion, chewing), the City allowed for a deviation from the rules, one so small it could pose absolutely no threat to the system the rules necessarily supported. Esther Blanchett, without dangerous underestimation, could not forseeably do anything with the information, have it used contrarily.

... And she had this habit of calling him a friend to other people. Whatever they were, whatever his stance, he knew that information sharing was standard.

"I'm a ninja," he stated, the obvious. A proper explanation would be long, and he resigned himself to it - the irritation of not having someone else available to do it for him. Temari or Kankurou were good at exposition. "In my world, there are five major hidden ninja villages, belonging to five countries. They are the military force, though ninja receive payment for any task, missions. From painting to child care to assassination."

Chopsticks plunging into the box, his voice monotonous. "The leader of each village is a 'Kage. Hokage for Leaf Village. Kazekage for Sand."

Edited 2008-08-25 05:38 (UTC)

The mention of ninjas was relatively unfamiliar to Esther, not being from a time when tales of ninjas were prevalent, although she vaguely recalled Abel mentioning something about a ninja attack when they'd just met--probably unrelated. The fact that she was friends with Naruto also gave her a vague sense--a way of life, ultimately, although perhaps one that left the average citizen more aware of the dangers in store for them.

And Gaara was a leader. Not terribly surprising, given what Esther knew of his personality--it would be fitting for someone so responsible to rule, although... with his age, ruling an entire village?

What kind of circumstances could have passed in any village, for that to be the case?

"You're... the leader?" she asked, not in disbelief, but rather with some degree of awe. "Of an entire village?"

She said nothing of the assassinations. They weren't anything Esther was unfamiliar with--politics, after all--but it wasn't a topic she was exactly eager to tackle, either.

"Yeah," Gaara replied, as if agreeing that the moon was bright, the sky black around the stars, the breeze cool. In short, as if it wasn't as incredible as it no doubt appeared. As if it hadn't been one of the hardest things in his life, in a life of difficulty, and only fifteen.

More meat, more onions, more chewing.

"The Kage must be the strongest in the village," he stated, and it wasn't boasting. "He or she must be prepared to protect it, to lead it into a path befitting that of a ninja village."

And the monster could be needed, not hated.

"Then it's a strange concept," Esther remarked, laying down on the roof and staring up at the stars, resting a hand against her forehead. "So completely and utterly different than my people, who require so much communication and cooperation between each other in order to watch over the general populace."

And she thought of Caterina, and of the Empress-- granted, both of them were leaders, whether in name or otherwise. Perhaps two of the strongest people she had ever met, as well. Yet both of them acted as puppeteers, skillfully bringing the appropriate people together. It was a dangerous task, in which enemies were easily made, the spotlight ever searching and shining down on them.

To concentrate that into a single person. Or, maybe Gaara wasn't explaining anything. Maybe he had a network too.

"Guess I can't really understand, huh?" she asked, smiling faintly. "I'm only a nun."

Aware of her shifting position, Gaara maintained watch over her out of the corners of his eyes, his attention apparently on finishing the meal she had prepared. It was good; he chewed out of sync with her rambling, silent as she thought out her reaction to his limited offer of information.

Gaara finished, set down the dish and sticks beside him, and turned his face fully toward her. "Thanks. ...I wasn't aware nuns were stupid."

"There is a council of elders, and my siblings also advise. All ninja will fight and die for their village. As the strongest, as the Kazekage ... no matter the circumstance, it will be protected."

And that was that. Now, onto matters more immediately relevant:

"Why aren't you sleeping?"

Esther blinked. "H-hey, I never said nuns were stupid! Just that we're... all in all, not that high on the hierarchy. Politically, anyway. I've learned more in the past few years, but it's nothing compared to what you know about the minutia of politics, and that's all I meant."

Pouting slightly, Esther pulled the empty container towards her, wrapping everything back in the cloth she'd used to bring them over, before setting them to the side. By the way he kept talking, it became clear that Gaara wasn't only interested in the food, and perhaps was willing to entertain a longer period of conversation. Something small, coming from most people, and yet in this instance it pleased Esther immensely.

Before she could respond to the elaboration about his village, however, Gaara slipped in a question of his own. Esther wondered if the question was pointed--spontaneity didn't seem to be one of Gaara's greatest strengths.

"I've had a lot of things to do, lately. So I've been staying up later to get them done," she explained. Half-truths. "That's all." And a lie.

Nuns weren't a proper class in his world, but he knew at least that she was a low level civilian, and hadn't expected anything much more of her. He said nothing to her explanation, because all of it he knew, his comment having more referred to her own intimation that her status was an excuse to forsake common sense.

Given that his motivation in demanding her presence went beyond feeling a litle peckish, he waited with a surprising amount of patience for her reply. And Gaara would have waited longer - despite his disapproval of her being awake at this time, despite how awkward it was to recognize and impossible it was to phrase, what he wanted most was company. In partiicular, company that differed from the gnawing in the back of his mind, begging him to succumb to exhaustion.

Gaara looked at her, ever stolid, entirely unimpressed with that explanation. His reply: "Oh."

He allowed the following silence to speak for itself.

Ah, so she didn't fool him. Not that she was really expecting to, particularly when she was spending so much of her time yawning, physically exhausted. But her mind wouldn't stop, and to fall asleep when her mind was so preoccupied was dangerous. She'd always been prone to nightmares, and they, unfortunately, didn't exactly become easier to deal with, even with time. But there was nothing really that Gaara could do, right? Unless he was planning on concussing her again.

"...a lot of people have left, that's all," she murmured softly, "and it's kept me from sleeping peacefully. The departures have been so numerous that I'm just wondering who's going to go next, that's all. And being awake... just helps me feel as though they can't simply disappear when I'm sleeping, like most of them do."

She smiled faintly at Gaara. "It's silly, right? But I'm a little afraid of being left alone here. I don't want to feel like I'm alone, again. It's... draining."

To understand completely, Gaara would have had to experience the loss of many people - instead, the concerns he did not permit himself to focus on, that he did not let disturb his sleeping because he did not sleep for something else entirely, they were that people would come, and in some continuum time would pass in Sand Village without more ninja. They were of what waited for him when he returned.

"It's stupid," he agreed, as blunt as ever, "You know nothing you do will stop it. Worrying about it won't stop it."

(But that was ... what it was to be human? How tiring. And that, that he could understand.)

In the end, it came down to loneliness. Gaara closed his eyes, long since bruised black by blood vessels struggling with his abnormality.

"Yeah," he agreed, his voice for once soft, trailing, musing on the words to come rather than concrete and predetermined. "... it's stupid, but... to be alone is the worst. So you can't help but worry about it."

Sympathy wasn't something Esther had expected from Gaara. It wasn't that he was mean-- to the contrary, although he was blunt to the point that it stung at times, the brand of honesty that Gaara practiced was nothing but kind. The differences between them, however, had always seemed so vast, that he was surprising that they would identify with one another on basis of something like this. Esther had almost thought that Gaara was the type of preferred to be alone.

Then again, she reprimanded herself, it was often those that chose to be alone who suffered the most. Her gaze moved to his hand, and she moved her own a little closer. She was sure that he would notice, and perhaps it'd be unwelcome--she wasn't very keen on having to feel the sand scrape against her skin again. But, it was there, at least. Should he want it.

"I shouldn't worry too much about it though, right? I have you here," she smiled, brightly, sincerely, despite her own eyes developing faint rings. Nowhere as dark as Gaara's, of course. "And you've got a stupid nun on your hands too, which I would hope, is better than nothing."

And, almost as though she'd never noticed before, Esther stared at the color of his hair, and then at her own locks, resting on the white fabric of her habit.

Maybe they had more things in common than she'd originally thought, after all.

In that moment, Gaara was hyperaware of the position of her hand. He tensed, the muscles from his shoulder down his arm, along his palm, each finger, tight in his back bent beneath the gourd. The sand would react without Gaara aware of it - he did not control the automatic shield, its response to unwelcome proximity. And he did not control it now when it failed to surround him.

Was it a sign? The type of musing to which Gaara was inclined did not welcome such superstitious hypotheses. Though he could read the offer, the thought of touching her hand, of holding it, made him feel sick, twisted and dizzy in his stomach, uncomfortable in an unfamiliar and thus all the more jarring way.

So he did not take it, not yet, did not even look directly at it, recognize it. Her. But then she spoke, and where before his voice had betrayed him, now it was all of him, in the way his face turned and his eyes widened, I have you here, I shouldn't worry, and she looked as if she meant it even though he wasn't, couldn't be as vital as the people precious in her world.

His recovery was slow; his chin bowing toward his chest, eyelids falling again over his eyes. But he moved his hand; not to hold, but to let his fingers touch hers, grazing, edge by edge, side by side.

"It's better than nothing," he agreed.

She inhaled slowly, holding her breath when she felt his hand, still warm, brushing over her fingers, heat rising to her cheeks over so small a gesture. Then again, even Abel had realized, in his time, how much the little things mattered to Esther, being able to feel the presence of another person nearby. Something so rare in her world, when words and actions alone should have been enough, especially considering her upbringing.

If it was voluntary on his part, it couldn't have bothered him too much, right? The last thing Esther wanted was for someone like Gaara to be humoring her. Either way, her stomach felt unsettled, almost as though there was movement inside. Keeping her alert, aware.

"Then I'm glad," Esther smiled, brightly, tilting her head back and marveling at how closely dizziness could align with exhilaration. "Because I enjoy having you here, even if it's selfish--who was I to cook for, during the two months you were gone? So if you can at least tolerate my company, that makes it a little easier on the mind."

Stifling a yawn, Esther slowly turned her hand so that the palm faced upward. It felt like a more level playing field, somehow.

It wasn't so bad. It wasn't -- when she turned her hand, he moved his for the last time, a minute amount, allowing the ends of his pinky and ring finger to lie over hers.

The only people who willingly touched him had been Temari and Kankurou - and before Naruto, it had been because of Shukaku, when they had no choice but to support the distorted tool. The only people who didn't fear him hadn't always included them, and sometimes, sometimes, it was all he could do not to look at them and search for it still. Lumps of meat with his blood in their veins. Logically, Gaara knew that in this City, the people had no reason to fear him. It was lucky, then, that his willpower was generally so strong as to allow him to focus only on that.

With a glance, he seemed to fail to get it. "You could have found someone else. A lot of people probably need the help."

And with her in his sight, Gaara was especially attuned to the suppression of her yawn. Not the jutsu to induce sleep in himself, but there were of course those to use on other people. The basic, as well as the genjutsu based, as had been employed during the third exam attack on Leaf.

"I can put you to sleep."

Edited 2008-09-09 01:08 (UTC)

Suddenly, the fact that they were essentially holding hands sunk in--something Esther had never really done with anyone, not even Dietrich, who she had so admired back in the day. Hopefully he wasn't reading too much into the action. No, hopefully she herself wasn't reading too much into it, although she could already feel her pulse racing a little. Worrisome.

His expression was still stoic, unrecognizable, and there were so many questions she wanted to ask, but with Gaara it was always a matter of whether she had the right. Whether it would be a bother. He certainly said enough about her stupidity, which was somewhat of a deterrent in itself.

Or, of course, it was also possible that he was just clueless. From a world, and a position, which didn't allow for the everyday social interactions that Esther had the pleasure of experiencing. His words certainly seemed to suggest something along those lines.

"Well, that's not really..." Esther hesitated. "It's not something where you can just replace one person with another, Mister Gaara. I enjoy your company. A lot, actually. Although you have the tendency of making me feel overly talkative."

When he offered to put her to sleep, Esther blinked.

"And I'm not sure if putting me to sleep is a great idea-- I mean, I'd rather not have to go through another concussion, and ah... I've been getting nightmares lately that I'd rather not have to experience again."

Whoops. That was a detail she hadn't exactly planned on telling Gaara.

To her accusation, Gaara said nothing - not to prove her point, though his silence certainly did. His silence now enveloped reflection, the knowledge that it was true: as Esther could not replace Temari or Kankurou.

Though he should have at least said "me, too", that he also enjoyed her company, he did not - not out of discomfort or social hesitation, as he lacked the years of proper interaction to have developed such anxiety. But it was obvious, or self-explanatory. He tolerated (enjoyed) her company, needed her company; or he wouldn't be there, his fingers on hers.

"It won't be a physical blow," Gaara corrected, and paused, unable to empathize with what she meant to avoid.

"Nightmares," he said, and trailed, and tried, "... I don't know."

There was a pang which passed through Esther at Gaara's words as she mentally berated herself for overlooking the fact that Gaara couldn't sleep, something that he'd told her so many weeks ago. The reason for those dark rings around his eyes, and perhaps for the slight edge of anxiety which she sometimes sensed--or perhaps she imagined it--in him. Of course he wouldn't know what nightmares were, and it was bad enough that she'd brought it up and now he had to try. For that much, Esther felt guilty. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't sleep, couldn't have the rest that sleep afforded, and here she was afraid of a little nightmare or two.

"I'm... sorry, I know that you don't," she murmured, free hand tucking her hair behind her ear. "It's hard to explain, and... hard to imagine, I guess. Let's say that you're remembering one of the most terrifying moments of your life... but you can't seem to stop. You feel like you're reliving it, even if what you see makes no sense, isn't even possible.

"That's what a nightmare is. It doesn't even have to be something you've experienced. Essentially, nightmares center around fear. I'm fairly prone to them, I guess. I had a friend who betrayed me, once." Esther's smile faded, slowly. "I thought he was my friend, anyway. He was in the City, too, before you came back. He made me hurt another close friend of mine-- controlled me with strings, like I was his puppet. And the friend I injured--Father Abel, you might remember him--has given me nightmares too. There are things inside him that drive him to make choices he regrets. Things inside him that compel him to hurt and to turn to violence. I used to be afraid of that, called him a monster, thought he was a monster. Until I realized that he was just as afraid of it. Wanted nothing to do with it."

Esther leaned back, lips tugging up again. "Funny, the things you learn about the people close to you. It's easier to be ignorant, but in the end, I think I'd rather know."

It wasn't as if Gaara had never asked before, at least about dreaming. He had read about what occurred in sleep, had asked what it was like to dream, but had never inquired as to nightmares. (He had suspected he knew it well already, and her words now confirmed it).

That she had been betrayed, that she had been forced to behave against her will, that her friend was in his fashion a monster; Gaara had not known these things, and to hear it was strange, surprising, difficult to wrap his mind around. Like Naruto, his chin scraping in the dirt, his tears cleaning paths through the muck and blood on his face, telling him he understood. (Gaara could remember his fear then, the blinding, maddened panic, I don't want to die). That there could be other people who understood, that he wasn't alone in many things ...

"That's part of ... knowing people," Gaara said, carefully, "of needing people."

His eyes moved to the moon, two days from full, when his blood would stir most with Shukaku's lust. There were no faces in the moon; he did not wax poetic and artistic, but he looked. Stolid, matter-of-fact release of information: "If that's what you dream about, then I'd have nightmares. Probably."

It didn't have to be a dream, with most of Esther's memories. Even now, she could easily recall the tug of the thin threads and the recoil of the pistol, red spilling onto white. Things that she should have forgotten over long ago, and things she'd learned to forget until Dietrich had showed up in the City, all smiles and sweet words. Showering her with love and affection, so cold.

How much of a contrast Gaara was.

The words didn't come easily to him in the same way that they did for Dietrich, practiced and slick, meant to nestle against her skin in one way or another. Gaara simply offered the truth-- hesitated when that very truth was harder to read.

"Why would you have nightmares?" Esther asked, softly. Prying just a little, because now that he brought the topic up, maybe it was enough grounds for her to ask. "What happened?"

At first, his answer was silence. He did not brood over it, his expression had not darkened with the weight of what he considered: what he mentally reviewed had been so much the norm that he could look at it with objectivity. What Gaara remembered hurt, hurt to recall even vaguely, had hurt then so much that it transcended pain, only behind the pain there was pain.

But if Gaara could do anything, it was detach, it was suppress, and so there was nothing tremulous and anguished about this. This, what he knew.

"Maybe not," he answered, finally, his returning monotone only just pensive. "If nightmares represent fear, if nightmares ... are connected like that to life, I wouldn't have needed them."

His life had, in its way, been a nightmare.

Gaara glanced down from the moon, first to his lone hand, flat against the roof, then to where he almost held hers. "The moon is full in two days," he noted, not in actuality a complete change of time, "... don't look for me then."

Incomplete. He wasn't telling her the full story, probably because he didn't think of it as necessary, but when left with several puzzle pieces strewn, Esther couldn't help but wonder. He wouldn't have needed them, nightmares, wouldn't have gained anything from having them because... he was living in one. Caused by the City?

No, the City didn't faze him. He had yet to experience a curse which he found interesting, which he found to be a challenge. He was made out of stronger stuff than Esther was, tempered steel that must have withstood pressure, heat, weather.

Back home. What had it taken him to earn the title of kazekage?

And then, randomly, a note about the moon.

"What happens on the full moon?" Esther asked, refusing to break eye contact now, because if he decided to hide, there was very little in her power when it came to finding him.

"He gets bloodthirsty."

It was harder then. Gaara knew, absolutely, that he would not allow it, that he had closed the door on it, on him; knew that though he felt him stronger then, that he became shorter, that the other Gaara began, he would remain firm, unchanging. But if a curse occurred during the full moon, what then? Better to take precautions. Better for her to know.

Having once held a certain irreverence for the secrecy of this information (after all, he was the monster, he was the tool, to see him was to know, only no, Gaara the monster and Shukaku the demon, one and the same but different, different, or why not sleep and let it be done?), and now viewing it as so much of a past, so much of what he would never need, Gaara had little problem telling.

"Shukaku," he elaborated, his unceasing stare as blunt as his words, "the one-tailed demon priest. Possession was my birth."

His words built on the foundation of what Esther had already known, that there was something about Gaara that compelled him to act strangely at times, a feeling that she couldn't quite place her finger on, until now. It wasn't the first time that she'd been introduced to the concept of demons either-- Nero was one, but it was different in the sense that his personality was so easy to identify with. He never acted like a demon, never gave Esther a reason to be uneasy in the way that Gaara had, in the beginning.

But clearly, it was different. In that Nero knew how to control whatever it was that ran through his veins, never felt any need to hesitate before inviting Esther over, or having Esther spend the night. Nothing past the occasional--very slight, at that--unease with which he pulled down at his sleeve, in case someone was staring too closely at his arm.

Gaara, on the other hand, still needed to ask Esther not to search for him. Bloodthirst that he couldn't control.

"All the more reason for me to stay nearby, Mister Gaara," Esther argued, brows furrowed. "You can't expect me to leave you on your own if you think that this... Shukaku is something you may not be able to handle, on the full moon. Someone needs to help you keep yourself in check."

He could have laughed, and it was dangerous, would have been that laugh; Gaara knew as surely as he felt it sudden and fierce in his head, the manic disdain, excessive and leering and who does she think she is? felt like his thought and her thought and its thought and --

When his hand lifted from hers, it rose to press palm to his forehead; it did not shake, but he was smiling, smiling, smiling unkindly. His other hand was a fist against the ground.

"Why do you ..." Gaara shook his head. "When I tell you something, do you ever consider listening? I'm the only one who can control Shukaku."

To that effect, he gestured at his eyes.

Esther pulled her knees to her chest, tightly, not because that she was afraid of the change in his behavior, but instead to shield herself from the cold. She had a healthy respect for Gaara's abilities, and she certainly wasn't suicidal by anyone's standards, but she saw no reason to run. No reason to apologize. Running away would only prove his point.

"Depends on wha at you mean by listening," Esther replied, calm, shivering slightly in the night chill. "Do I understand what you're telling me? Yes. Will I necessarily follow your instructions? No.

"Even if you're the only person who can control Shukaku, being alone with Shukaku on the night when he's the strongest... wouldn't that be difficult?"

Her gaze followed when he gestured at the dark rings around his eyes, and Esther raised a hand, perhaps out of curiosity. Thought better of it, however, and laid the hand on top of her knee instead.

Wary, ever wary. Gaara was acutely aware of the tremor that took her, and immediately he associated it with fear. But the tone of her voice, the meaning of her words: all incongruous with fright, and after a spot of bewilderment (like Naruto, but not - Naruto had the monster, she was simply ...?), he could match it to the air.

How troublesome. Not only did Esther persist in getting insufficient sleep, now she exposed herself to the cold. If she became sick because of his demand for company, it would be his ... and the thought made it hurt more, the ache in is head, the sharp jeering behind it. Conflict.

Would it be difficult? Yes. But not as trying as the stronger temptation, as being with her and wanting her blood, even if it was weak.

"This isn't a debate," he said, finally, a blood vessel making its crooked way across his eye, to the iris. "Did you bring a jacket?"

Edited 2008-09-11 05:03 (UTC)

Once again, presented with the dilemma of whether it would be more prudent to be the protector, or the protected. And Esther was beginning to resign herself, if not in spirit, then thanks to the sheer probability that Gaara would relent--which was to say, next to none.

The red snaking through the white of his eyes was a warning sign. Even if Esther felt that Gaara was underestimating her in one manner or another, it wouldn't do just to press and press and make him angry.

She wondered, vaguely, if he'd actually notice if Esther trailed after him on the full moon.

But that would be violating his trust.

"No, I didn't bring a jacket," Esther admitted. "I wasn't exactly sure how long we'd be out..."

Not only would he notice, it would doubtless put him in a sour, especially unforgiving mood. But Gaara had already moved onto the more immediate issue.

His options at this point, then, were these: dismiss Esther, or move inside. Having invited her out in order to abate the ticking, Gaara had no intention of commanding her to leave. He preferred to be on the roof, but her physique was no doubt weakened by her bout of insomnia, and to expose her further to the cold, to invite a sickness for which he would be to blame, was intolerable.

There was only one option, however imperfect. His finger moved through the chilled air, working on the straps on his thick leather vest. It would not cover her arms, but it would insulate the chest, allowing the body to perceive a greater warmth, to not then pull the blood from her limbs.

Once having pulled the straps free, Gaara removed the vest, and held it out to her.

"Put it on."

Esther blinked as Gaara undid the straps on his vest, tilting her head and wondering just what it was he was planning on doing-- the night was chilly, and even if Gaara looked like he could survive a tundra without blinking, there was no practical reason to remove the vest. She was also pretty sure that on some level, he must have been susceptible to illness, right? Perhaps.

When he held it out, it took a few moments for the words to register, after which Esther's cheeks immediately began to color. Well, if she was feeling cold before, the opposite was the case now, and she shook her head-- no, shook her arms, even.

"Oh no, I couldn't! That's your vest, Mister Gaara, I can't just-- no, no, you keep it, it's chilly and you're not wearing that much as is," Esther exclaimed.

Vaguely, in the back of her mind, she reminded the last time someone offered her their clothing.

But, well, Abel was different in that he was a chore, and he probably owed her his coat anyway. Gaara didn't.

Baffling. All he had done was offer the article, and she had begun to flail about. Given the impracticality of her reaction, he simply looked at her, at first deadpan, but his brow furrowing slightly with irritation as she went on.

"My sleeves are satisfactory," he answered, when convinced she had shut up, "and I didn't tell you to keep it. Put it on."

Or, his tone certainly seemed to say, he would make her. It was unlikely Gaara would go that far, of course - having to strap her into his vest would be troublesome, even for her.

Shaking his hand, so to shake the garment, he waited, his expression, entire stature (even seated!) entirely uncompromising. (And it could be said that he did owe her, given the many times she had cooked for him, given her presence now - but Gaara did not think in such equalizing terms).

If there was one area in which Esther knew that she couldn't win against Gaara, it was that of persistence, endurance. Staring contests, essentially. And after several seconds of hesitating, biting her lip, wondering if the vest was heavy and if his arm felt at all tired, holding it so still, Esther relented, bowing her head in gratitude and slipping the vest on.

"S--" Wait, no, Gaara wouldn't have her apologizing for something like this. Particularly when it was a choice he'd made on his own. "Thank you," she murmured instead, cheeks still rosy as she pulled the vest tight against her. She'd given in before the night air had taken all of its warmth, and that only made her more embarrassed somehow, pulling her knees still to her chest and burying her nose in the fabric.

"But aren't you cold?" she asked, voice muffled.

"No," he answered, disregarding her thanks. Or, not ignoring it, but as unaccustomed with receiving it as he was with giving it, and as such, the words you're welcome were not reflexive on his tongue. Having already answered that question, in a form, by noting that his sleeves were enough, he declined from addressing it further.

In the following silence, he unintentionally mirrored her movements. It was comfortable to draw his knees in, though he folded his arms over them, giving his chin the support.

Returning to an earlier topic, he repeated himself, "It wouldn't be a physical blow. ... To make you sleep. You wouldn't feel it."

Edited 2008-09-21 05:29 (UTC)

She could make the same argument again, that she'd rather keep him company, and she'd rather avoid the nightmares, but there was a limit even to how stubborn Esther was, and maybe this technique of his would avoid the pitfalls of the dreams, somehow. Esther further pulled the vest around her, pondering. Pondering. Peeking at him from the corner of her eyes.

If he'd prefer company, she could offer that. Briefly, Esther wondered-- if your company was asleep, did the ticking return?

"I don't really need it," Esther began, hesitantly, trying to word it smartly. "But if you... think it wise. I'll leave the judgment to you."

A moment passed in which he only looked at her. A not surprising or at all uncommon thing for them. Who, precisely, did she think she was fooling by claiming she did not need it?

After, he turned his face, eyes sliding to the moon, drawn as if subconsciously up to an easy focus. "It's your decision," he said evenly, in this area at least not forcing it. He wouldn't use a jutsu without her permission, though Gaara would prefer to simply do it, it was in her best interest.

"You need it," he added, stating the obvious, because of her Leaf-like need to skirt it completely.

It was clear enough, what he was hinting, so Esther took that as direction enough and nodded, grip loosening slightly on the vest. She wasn't sure what to do from there, but surely Gaara would tell her.

"Then put me to sleep?" she requested, giving him permission, more than a little surprised that it mattered to him, even if only on a surface level. Esther glanced at the moon--that was what he was looking at, right?--before turning to Gaara, eyes sliding shut.

She trusted him completely.

That struck him then, with the breeze making brief work in his hair and more in hers, with his vest strange and grey in the moonlight, over her. Her eyelids could have been translucent, made so pale. Gaara had no ability in poetics, but without thinking these things, he saw them, knew them less with words and more with confused instinct. And she trusted him, enough to close her eyes and wait for whatever he might do, and that was not instinct.

And for once, the first word that came to mind was not stupid, but it wasn't a word he knew, not a word at all.

Rather than focus on it, he began to move his hands and mouth in ways he understood: the seals, the words of the jutsu. It was a simple technique. Gaara beckoned the sand to cushion should she slump over.

This darkness was different from the others, in that there was no energy rising at the edges as night melded into a nightmare unfolding. Just sluggishness and she exhaled, tension seizing for a moment before it melted away--a useful skill, she couldn't help thinking, right before she passed into unconsciousness, body sliding to a stop against the sand. Breath shallow and even.

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