Black Phase

By: WickerWood

Note: Takes place after the return from Konoha

Ataraxy

Kankuro had been gone only two weeks, and Temari was already starting to feel a sense of unease creeping up on her.

He was the first-born son, and so was summoned to meetings far from home, staying abroad for sometimes two months at a time. This left Temari alone, alone with their recently rehabilitating brother, Gaara.

Temari barely saw Gaara over the two weeks that Kankuro had gone. Upon the rare occasion when he did emerge from his room, Temari would find herself unable to look up at his face, and her lips would remain partially open, her voice refusing to emerge.

There was something repressing about the way he cast his ice-blue eyes on her when she spoke, his gaze painfully intense. She doubted he knew he had that effect on her, still.

Four more weeks like this would kill her.

Temari looked towards the stairs from where she sat, well aware that Gaara resided upstairs in his room. A year before, she may have refused to remain alone in the house with him. Now, there was just a constant discomfort she couldn’t place.

There was one minor improvement about Gaara, though, which became evident after he had been defeated by the Kyuubi kid.

He could sleep now…but only for an hour each day. Shukaku couldn’t be suppressed longer than that.

Sighing, Temari got up from where she was sitting, and walked towards the stairs, hoping there was something in her room that would distract her from her unease.

She ascended quietly, the warm, hazy light of the sunset bathing the hall in shards. Each step she took seemed to echo throughout the house, and a quick glance down the hall revealed the door to Gaara’s room, standing ajar.

She held her breath without realizing it, and quickly crossed the hall, striding past the open door and towards her room. As soon as she entered it, she released the breath she had been holding, discomforted by the way her heart pounded in her temples.

“Shit…” she whispered aloud, noticing the small pile of plates that had accumulated by her bedside. Dinner was a solitary affair for all three of them, and Temari sighed again as she went over to her bedside table to collect the dishes.

Mould was one thing Temari could handle, but the presence of roaches she could not. Her room was practically a breeding ground for the disgusting little bastards with all the plates and crumbs lying around.

Holding the teetering pile under her chin with both arms, she carefully stepped over a stray sock before emerging into the hallway again. A step forward and her foot got caught in the uprooted carpet.

Stumbling forward, one hand released the bottom of a plate to brace her body against the wall, and she squeezed her eyes shut when the plates hit the floor, the violent shattering jarring her eardrums.

For a moment, she stood there frozen, her wide eyes staring at the destroyed remnants of the dishes strewn right outside of Gaara’s room.

The erratic pounding of her heart was the only sound in the house, and after thirty seconds of remaining in the frozen, slumped position against the wall, she finally moved. She doubled back to the washroom, emerging with the dustpan.

Trembling slightly, she came to her knees and started sweeping, feeling painfully weak. It took three trips to get rid of all the shards, and still there was no response from her brother’s room.

Standing before his doorway, Temari slowly came to the conclusion that he wasn’t even there. Against her own will, her feet moved forward, and she looked inside. The bare walls and desk met her gaze first, and then she lowered her eyes to the bed at the far end of the room.

Her breath caught in her throat.

A shadowed body lay on the mattress, unmoving and silent.

He’s…sleeping…Temari realized in wonderment, amazed that he hadn’t woken after the plates smashed right outside his door. She watched from the doorway for a few seconds longer, slowly noticing how still his form was.

Again against her will, she found herself crossing the threshold, stepping into his room. She paused, waiting for a reaction, but she received none. Nimbly, she took silent steps forward until she stood at his bedside, looking down at his body.

Still fully clothed, he lay there, face-up, sleeping without a blanket. Temari realized how absurd this was, gawking at him because he slept without a blanket.

A closed expression overcame her features when she noticed his chest rising and falling slightly with each breath, and she turned to leave.

Unfortunately, God really hated her today.

Her foot got caught in a cord extending from his bedside lamp. She stumbled, catching herself before she could fall, and felt the world fall away beneath her when the lamp hit the floor. It didn’t shatter, but the deafening bang made up for that.

She didn’t pause to wait, but instead whipped around.

Her eyes widened.

He was…still asleep…

Taking a few cautious steps forward, Temari grabbed the lamp off the floor and set it back on the table with a loud thunk.

Still no response.

What the hell…? Temari glanced at him again to make sure he was indeed alive and breathing, and not dead. After a few seconds, she remembered that this was Gaara, and had only recently gained the ability to sleep for one hour each day.

Something inside her stomach clenched when she realized with wide eyes, that although he slept like the dead, she had no way of knowing when he would wake. Turning on her heel, she quickly strode out of the room and towards her own.

Shutting her door quietly, she walked over to her bed and sat down with a sigh of relief.

Not even a minute later, the sound of footsteps emerged into the hallway, and Temari didn’t dare breathe until they had descended the stairs and she heard the front door click shut.

Hit with a sudden wave of exhaustion, she fell back against the mattress, her brow furrowing as she closed her eyes. She felt sick…not because she could have been caught if she hadn’t left at that moment…but because, the whole time she’d been there, she still hadn’t had the courage to look upon his face.

She had seen the way his fingers remained slightly furled at his sides, had noticed the subtle way his chest rose and fell with each breath, but she hadn’t dared to look at his face.

“He won’t hurt me…” she found herself whispering, her voice surprisingly weak. “He wouldn’t hurt me…not intentionally…not anymore…

She turned her body and pulled her quilt protectively over her frame. “So why…”

“Why am I still afraid…?”

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