This is a sequel to Putting Holes in Happiness and will make much more sense if you read that first (you can find it from my profile).

This is basically going to be a collection of interrelated one-shots, so I'll update as something else comes to mind.

Warning: this will mostly be dark, angsty and violent in some parts. So if that bothers you, don't read.

Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto or the characters (I'm only saying it once).

Comments are always appreciated!

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When he left after the Chuunin exam, she thought she would never see him again. She was surprised to find him back in Konoha so soon. Perhaps it was seeing him again that made her start training as a medic. Watching Sasuke leave and being unable to do anything about it showed her she was still as weak as ever. But knowing that he had to help when she could not pushed her over the edge. When she saw him walk into the hospital along with the Konoha genin, the look in his eyes as he glanced at her showed that he was thinking the same thing. Nothing had changed.

Still weak. Still alone.

Well at least she could change one thing.

They never spoke to each other the few times they met. They never even looked at each other more than strictly necessary. Neither of them knew where they stood anymore. Everything had changed so much since their last encounter, it was hard to figure out how they should act. And neither of them wanted to be the first to break down and attempt something that should’ve never been possible. Neither wanted to be rejected. And so they just stood back, her stealing anxious glances at him while he looked completely vacant.

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She was not entirely surprised when he came to her room on the last night of his stay in Konoha. He caught her just as she was changing, standing in front of her dresser in nothing but her bra and panties. She suspected that he waited for this moment, wanted to embarrass her, to put her in the position to reject him, to tell him to go away. But she just looked at him calmly, the fear subsiding into an odd sense of familiarity, knowing that he could still kill her but finding that strangely unimportant.

She could not suppress a gasp as he moved towards her, pinning her against the wall before she could react properly, his slender fingers wrapped skillfully around her neck.

“Gaara…” she whispered as she looked at him, a question lingering behind her eyes that she did not dare to voice.

He leaned towards her, his look predatory, dangerous, the tight line of his lips curved into a frown as his eyes drifted over her form seemingly with anger.

“I told you,” he hissed, his breath warm against her face. “You’re mine.”

As his lips locked onto hers, piercing the skin easily and drawing blood into his mouth, she knew that he hadn’t changed. He would never really change. Some things about him might be different. He might try to act human, making an effort to control his rage. He might even find some semblance of compassion for others. But inside he was still the same. A tortured shell of something that was human only in anatomy. With her, he didn’t pretend. He was vicious as always. Cold as always. Cruel and careless as always.

He broke the kiss, his mouth moving to her neck, eliciting a soft moan from her parted lips as his tongue trailed along her smooth skin.

“You should’ve ran,” he breathed against her ear as his hand reached into the holster still tied to her leg, pulling out a kunai, slowly dragging the blade up along the length of her body, leaving behind a long bloody trail.

She could do nothing to stop him, settling for biting into her lip as hard as she could to prevent the scream from escaping her mouth. He pulled back to watch her as he cut through the flimsy garments still covering her body, allowing the ruined fabric to fall to the floor. Instinctively her arms wrapped around him, pressing his stiff body against hers. She saw the corners of his lips quirk upwards slightly in an expression that could’ve almost passed for a faint smile if not for the utterly malicious look in his eyes.

“I meant what I said, Gaara,” she mumbled, her eyes sliding shut as his lips brushed over her shoulder, covering the wound made by the kunai.

“I don’t care,” he answered indifferently, never looking up at her. “You’re mine.”

That was all the reason he needed. He might want love and acknowledgement, but all he could really accept was violence and fear. Love was something he didn’t understand, something that wasn’t real. But when he saw her blood staining his fingers, when he heard her try to suppress her frantic cries, when he felt her arms tighten around him, pressing him closer despite the obvious pain in her eyes… that was real and tangible. It meant something.

He didn’t bother taking her to the bed, keeping her pinned against the wall by the weight of his body, her legs eventually wrapping around him as she surrendered to her inevitable fate. He didn’t even bother undressing, not caring as her blood stained his clothes. He didn’t care that her moans echoed loudly in the small room, his sand blocking the door to ensure they would not be interrupted. When his name fell off her lips with an emotion that he could only describe as being something completely different from hate or fear, it almost made him question what he was doing. He retaliated by opening deeper gashes in her flesh, by being more rough and forceful, making her bleed in ways she never thought possible. He reacted with only a smirk when she finally broke down, begging him to stop, the pain becoming too much to handle.

“I can kill you,” he offered, hissing against her lips, reminding her that she had sealed her fate when she crossed his path that night. “You always had a choice.”

She shook her head, realizing that all she could do now was endure his torture or try to fight him and die. She surrendered, trying to find some comfort in the feel of his arms around her, in the warmth of his breath against her neck, in knowing that she was the only one who could get so close to him, even if it cost her more than he realized.

I would’ve loved you.

I do love you.

Maybe that’s why she never stopped him. She could always cover up the wounds. She wondered only vaguely if he was consciously restricting himself to make sure he didn’t kill her, if he knew when to stop before he went too far, if he cared. She wanted nothing more than to ask him what he really felt, but she could not make her lips form the words. She didn’t want to be the one to be rejected. She could not bring herself to express her fears even as he pulled away from her. Could not find her voice as he walked away from her. Could do nothing but watch as he left her room without even a backwards glance at her, leaving her torn and bleeding against the wall, knowing that he would be gone tomorrow and there was nothing she could do about it.