#and bite the therapy bullet in the next few months. BET

[lilowoof]

Healing is so weird. One day I'm totally content with things, living my life and having fun. And the next day, I remember how things were. I become aware of the reality and how much of myself I lost. And then I can't stop the tears from coming out. None of this is fair, ya know?

But progress is recognizing that these feelings are fleeting and irrational. That sick brain is sad but my actual person is ok and proud. It really hurts but I'll be the better person for my own sake.

Gotta try my best each day and make the most of it, even if I sometimes end up just crying in bed.

[halorocks1214]

roa: side stories - the good, the bad, and the hydrofoil

AO3 Link

Word Count: 5423

Summary: Gordon just wanted to spend time with his dad, even if it meant fake smiles and boring conference parties. He didn’t want to think about his traumatizing past, especially not during a hostage negotiation.

AO3 Series Link

oh my god i really just vomited this out. holy crap. i originally was planning to write, like, all of the character parts before i started this no lie. ‘side stories’ was really supposed to be a tiny bow on top of a nicely wrapped gift, buuuut then shit started happening and i felt crappy and just needed to do what i do best and beat the fuck out of fictional characters. hope you enjoy this one! i sure as hell did lmao

Warnings for mentions of minor suicidal idealization

Gordon hated tuxedos.

They were stingy, uptight and physcially tight things that made him look like he was some asshole snob that complained when the champagne wasn’t the right temperature. He would rather wear his awesome shirts or cool tennis shoes any day of the week, also, did he mention these things were tight? Holy cow did his threaten to choke him more than once tonight, and if you made a drinking game based on how many times he readjusted his collar you would need to go to the fucking hospital.

He felt this was important to bring up because the damn thing was choking him, again, but he couldn’t adjust it like he wanted to because he didn’t want to look like a dumbass to all the eyes that were on him suddenly. He wanted to hang out with his father and they both promised to be on their best behavior. Gordon can’t help but wonder if he messed up somehow if his dad’s horrified face was anything to go by.

Gordon hated tuxedos because they had to be the reason he was choking right now. Not the man holding an AK at his face, or the men doing something similar to the other guests. The guests and his father were watching him with beady eyes because he was sweating like a dumbass monkey in a rental bowtie, not because the leader was simultaneously glaring at him while eyeing him down like a piece of meat.

Seriously, suits suck.

Hahaha.

Fuck.

Gordon shoved his hand further out in front of him, “Guuuuuuys, please. I’m sure we can talk about this like reasonable adults--”

The man jutted his gun further out like Gordon did his hand, not budging in the slightest, “Yes, Mr. Adult, I want to speak with you specifically. My boys and I here weren’t expecting there to be a huge party at this establishment right as we robbed it, must have been a last-minute planned one, so we need some extra help getting out of here. You, boy, seem to be our best bet.”

Jeff, in all of his fatherly grace, tried jumping past the two men keeping all the guests at bay, “Leave him out of this you animals!”

Gordon glanced over at his father with a look of indignation in a way that said Really?! You’re gonna do this now?! Rolling his eyes and hoping his dad got the message, Gordon gave the leader one of his best ‘IR Operative Smiles’, “Please, ignore my--”

“Augustine Holland Puckett.”

And there went that grin for the rest of the night.

Gordon found himself choking again, and he couldn’t even blame his outfit. He knew that name. Now he had a look of fear on his face, and he made sure to not look at his father right this moment. His trembles were small, but damn if they weren’t obvious. So not representing IR well right now, panicking in the middle of a job, heh.

Puckkie was his partner during WASP.

The only other partner in crime Gordon had outside of Alan.

Virgil had met him one time when visiting Gordon, made an offhanded comment about how Puckkie could have been his long lost twin.

Gordon scraped through his accident. It fucking sucked, but he eventually started living again.

Puckkie was dead on impact, never suffered, never was in pain. It was one of the few solaces Gordon had throughout all of his bullshit therapy.

The leader was oblivious to that turmoil, assuming it was just because Augustine was freaking out over his identity being known, “You thought you could escape us, huh? Got into WASP, thought the military could protect you, as well as some facial surgery along with it. Thought you could leave your past behind, right? We might have dropped tabs on you when you got accepted, but we always knew where you were.”

How in the fucking coincidence-- Gordon was suddenly aware of some horrifying truths. Puckkie, you little shit, is that why you knew how to lockpick? The fuck? If they never thought to look Puckkie up after they knew he joined it at least explained why they didn’t know the man was fucking dead--

The man suddenly barked, and Gordon felt ten times smaller than before, “Answer me!”

“Yes!” Gordon snapped before he could help himself. He wasn’t sure what he was doing. He could easily tell them they were wrong, that he was Gordon Cooper Tracy, his father right over there could prove it, but he was playing along. At the same time his mind was telling him he was an absolute fucking dumbass, the other was telling him that he could save these people. He might not be the person they were expecting, but he was in WASP. He knew how to do what they probably wanted.

Jeff, however, didn’t know what he knew, which didn’t help at all, “What? No, Gor--”

Right before his real name could be spoken out, one of the henchmen got tired of this man being rowdy. Before Gordon could blink or send another nonverbal shut the fuck up to his dad, Henchman #1 raised the butt of his gun and brought it down, knocking Jeff out cold.

“HEY!” Rage filled Gordon’s veins before he could help it. Not only did he just watch his father get beaten, who knew what that one hit could cause. He’s been back for a few months, but they could never be too careful. Could never avoid a repeat of the Zero-X enough.

The leader didn’t like how Augustine was fighting back, “Excuse me? Why do you give a shit about that man?”

Gordon’s stomach was turning inside out and doing somersaults in his gut. His hands were back down to his sides, fists clenched as his shaking was from a mixture of barely controlled anger and terror, “Don’t beat up the civilians, sir. They haven’t done anything.” Don’t let your true relations show too much. They will abuse that weakness until it doesn’t exist anymore.

The leader simply smirked at the display, “Ah, trying to play protector, are we? Fine, here’s a deal: you come with us quietly and help us escape, and we’ll leave these poor hapless civilians alone. Sound good?”

Gordon felt like he swallowed a giant rock. With sweat dripping down his face at the speed of bullets, he rapidly nodded.

With that response, the leader was suddenly in Gordon’s bubble and gripping his upper arm, shoving the gun under his chin, “Now then, we’re right next to the bay, as well as right next to a hydrofoil dock. That’s our exit.”

The man tried yanking Gordon alongside him, and, for the most part, was successful. He just probably wasn’t expecting to drag such a deadweight. As soon as the word ‘hydrofoil’ was said, Gordon blanked and his ears were ringing. He was subconsciously aware that was what they wanted him to do, but to actually hear it… God, the last time he even thought about touching one was when he and Puckkie were asked to test them. Then he ended up in the hospital for a couple of months, followed by the chair of utter helplessness.

Hell, Gordon was so out of it he wasn’t aware of when the salty air started blowing his hair in every direction, nor the actual vehicle getting closer and closer. The leader gave him a shove, which was enough to give the strawberry blonde clarity to hear his next order, “You get in first, don’t think about running off.”

Gulping, Gordon shakily made his way into the vessel. He looked over at the cockpit and felt a jolt of electricity rush through him. Before he could think about what this all meant, the gun was jutted into his back roughly, “Get moving, August. If we get out of this alive we might consider letting you back in.”

The men’s evil chuckles did absolutely nothing to ease his frazzled mind. He wasn’t even sure how he heard them to begin with. The blood rushing to his ears was as loud as the sea outside, and the ringing his mind was making only minorly quieted since it started.

Another jut of the gun, “Move.”

Juggling the empty air in his hands out of panic, he was suddenly in the seat with the steering wheel, the leader’s AK-47 poking the back of his neck just a little bit more than he would’ve liked. He aggressively took off the jacket part of his suit and ripped off his bowtie for maximum flexibility, leaving only his suspenders over his dress shirt.

He wasn’t sure how he remembered as much as he did, but he wasn’t even thinking as he flipped the switches and turned all the knobs to get this baby roaring. Muscle memory, what a finicky beast. The boat was suddenly purring, and it brought a strange mixture of relief and horror to Gordon’s ears.

Brushing his hands over the top of the steering wheel, he shakily gripped the circle of rubber and exhaled. He was here now and there was no going back. They all sat with bated breath, but before Gordon took off, he managed a cheeky smile as he turned around ever so slightly, “So, about that weather?”

The tip of the gun brushed his nose, “You think this is funny?”

Gordon flinched in on himself and refocused on the world outside, “O-Okay, geez. Tough crowd...”

And with that, they were moving. It was slow going at first, Gordon had to get re-used to the sensitivity of such a craft, but the leader wasn’t happy with it, “Hey, are you stalling?”

Gordon barely heard the question, “W-What? No, I just--”

The leader was as up in his face as much he could be without obstructing his vision to the outside, “Then why the hell are you driving like my mother is the one behind the wheel?”

Where the hell was Gordon getting his bite from? And why was it only coming now? “Dude, I promise to get you out of here, but if I start pushing it now we could break something. Hell, we’re still in the harb--”

Damn, don’t poke his eye out with that gun if you want him to see to drive, asshole, “I don’t care. At this rate, we’re practically sitting ducks. Start moving it or we can dump your body with one bullet hole in it for them to find instead.”

Gordon was left no choice but to listen. The hydrofoil was gunning it as they exited the docks, the already huge and vast sea getting bigger and bigger.

Henchman #1 was whooping in excitement, “Woah, look at this baby go!”

Henchman #2 was utterly seasick, “God, why did you want to join this branch…”

The leader groaned. He must be used to working with idiots, “Both of you shut your asses up and let little August here do his job.”

Gordon was going to retort with something to lighten the dark cloud in his mind, to make these guys regret forcing him to help them by being an annoying little shit, but instead, he took one teensy moment to blink, and with it, a GDF ship was in their way, them careening right towards it.

The three robbers were screaming behind him. Gordon autopiloted to try and dodge, but it wasn’t enough. They crashed right into the side, stopping them in their tracks.

What really happened was that Gordon’s attempt to dodge was enough to make the vehicle only scrape the side of the boat for a few seconds, the friction slowing it down. The hydrofoil and the gigantic ship were parallel-ly touching one another, both sitting as still as they could in the crazy waves of the ocean.

But Gordon didn’t know that. All he knew was that he crashed.

Was this it?

Would he be able to walk? Would there be more therapy?

Or were his hopes dashed? You could only have one miracle a lifetime after all.

“--et him go! Put down your wea--”

“--re not suicidal! Let us leave and may--”

Oh God, everything hurt.

His spine, his chest, his arms that gripped the parallel bars.

All the poking and prodding and scraping and surgery-- he can’t do it again. He can’t.

“--ot breathing! Jesus, let him g--”

“--ts his problem, not ou--”

The only thing he couldn’t feel were his damn legs, the most important limbs he had.

God, he was useless. No more swimming. No more running away after a prank.

It would’ve been better if he was the one that died.

“--t an oxygen mask! Quickly! Gor--”

“--ght away, sir! You heard the ma--”

Dammit, he wanted his dad.

His dumb, stubborn father who was dead like Gordon should be.

His father could fix anything, even this mess, yet he was gone, out of this world, never to return again--

“--sus, Squirt. Gordon, hey--”

Hands and arms were suddenly gripping him, laying him down on gravely ground, except these arms were familiar. Safe and warm. Gordon gained enough clarity to at least see who was holding him. The sight made him choke even more.

Dad.

He wasn’t dead, he was right here. Regardless if he could make it better, Gordon just wanted to see him again. Hallucination or not, he was going to abuse this moment till the end. Springing up from his back, he wrapped his arms around his father and held on tight. His fingernails were sharp, he forgot to clip them last week (couldn’t worry about clipping them when he needed to focus on walking again), so he was probably causing an ungodly amount of discomfort in his father’s back, but he just couldn’t help but feel everything in front of him.

Meanwhile, Jeff just simply returned the favor, keeping his arms around Gordon in an attempt to ground his son. He wasn’t sure what he was wincing over, his son ripping the skin off his back through his shirt or the way he just wouldn’t stop sobbing. Gordon was practically screaming in his arms and there was nothing he could do except try and squeeze him back to reality.

Eventually, the squad of GDF soldiers was back with an oxygen mask and a hypodermic needle. The highest-ranking one gestured toward the needle, “It’s your decision, sir.”

Jeff could barely think over the way his son was losing it in his arms. He was going to snap himself if he had to listen to the heartbreaking noise any longer. He placed his chin on Gordon’s head, jaw clenching in emotional pain, “Do it.”

It was a blur what happened next. All Jeff was sure about was that the squad got to work as he told them to. It hurt as Gordon was taken from his arms, his sobs getting worse at the loss of contact. Still holding his hand, Jeff grimaced at the way Gordon tried finding him again, “D-Dad, no--” he cried out, and he only got more hysterical at the sight of the needle coming toward his arm.

God, he was a terrible father.

Holding Gordon down, they were finally able to give his son the sedative and slip the oxygen mask over his face. Tear tracks were dripping down his face, the snot tracks not much better, but at least his eyes were closed, and the constant murkiness of the oxygen mask reminded Jeff that Gordon was still breathing, albeit very heavily.

The next few hours were an even worse blur. At some point, paramedics came and put his son on a stretcher. He doesn’t really need a hospital, but we’re being safe. Unless you object? Jeff remembered blearily shaking his head no, not letting go of Gordon’s hand at all, not even as they situated him in a private hospital room.

Now Jeff wasn’t holding his hand. The hospital had insisted on checking out the father’s head, which he begrudgingly let them do, but as soon as they were done, he was right back in his son’s room waiting for him to wake up, This time, however, he was afraid to regrip his son’s hand. As if Gordon were fragile, made of glass.

The thought made Jeff chuckle. Gordon? Fragile? No way in hell.

The chuckles ever so slowly turned into sobs before Jeff could help himself.

He’s cried a lot since being back on Earth when learning what his sons have been up to. Crushing hugs given to his no-longer kids in the spur of the moment, but as selfish as it was, he never remembered outright sobbing at any of the admissions of horrors.

At least, not until right now.

---

Each brother had a turn to watch over Gordon, even Alan, who had the excuse of still being able to do homework in a hospital room, but now it was Scott’s round to brave the uncomfortableness of these damn chairs.

He was reading one of those awful gossip magazines to get a good laugh. What could he say, some of the shit they came up with was priceless. The laughter distracted him from everything that threatened to take over his mind. His despair at Gordon’s physical state, his rage at The Chaos Crew for causing this: he read something about the latest Bachelor of the Year’s secret weight loss trick and forgot all about it.

It was as peaceful as the situation could be, that is until Scott heard moaning from the bed.

Subconsciously gripping the magazine a little tighter, probably leaving permanent creases, Scott slowly looked up with wide eyes, and he meant slowly. Some bleak part of his mind hoped that if he took long enough what he was expecting to see wasn’t actually happening. Too bad, it was.

Gordon was laying in his hospital bed (as if he could go anywhere else), bandages and casts adorning just about 90% of his body. What made this sight different was the glassy, whited-out eyes to go with his white medical garments. Scott was pretty sure Gordon would be shaking his head even more if there wasn’t a neck brace in the way, “No… can’t… stop… no feeling… anything…”

Dammit dammit dammit-- worst older brother ever.

Shooting out of his chair but carefully meandering to his little brother’s bedside, trying not to scare him any more than he was, Scott gulped as he tried bringing his brother back to planet Earth, “Hey, buddy… it’s going to be okay. You’re not…” That word shouldn’t be dirty, why was it dirty? “Paralyzed... You’re in a lot of pain, and you’re gonna need a lot of rest, but you won’t need therapy.” Not this time, thank God.

For a second, Scott thought he did it. Gordon’s eyes were still glassy, but his eyebrows were more creased in a way that said he was thinking about something, not in that way that said he was in pain. Scott inhaled, but then choked on that breath as he watched Gordon’s crease immediately go back to the latter kind, “No, I can’t… not here… please… no more…”

Gordon hated hospitals ever since WASP and Scott was an absolute fool for not thinking that it would come down to this.

Taking a deep breath and leaning back away from his brother, Scott panickedly pulled out his watch and conceded, “John, fuck, help me out.”

The ginger shook his head and blinked. He was about to try and joke, after all, Scott called him rather abruptly, but then he saw the way Scott was practically disheveled and got serious, “Okay, what’s the situation?”

Scott ran a hand through his hair, “Shit, it’s Gordon. He’s stuck in a pretty bad flashback of some sorts and it seems like I’m not making it very far, or maybe I’m not trying hard enough. God, fuck, I’m awful, I just can’t--”

“Woah, okay, back that right up, Scott,” John held his hands in a surrender position. The last thing anybody needed was two brothers deep in a panic attack, “First of all, you’re not awful, pretty sure seeing Gordon in that state would freak anybody else out, you just have the added benefit of knowing that it feels like absolute shit, and second of all, back to the important thing you literally called me for: is he struggling in a way that is hurting himself or destroying his surroundings?”

Scott swallowed the metaphorical rock in his throat. He knew John was probably reciting stuff he and Virgil did for the eldest when he had an attack and he hated it, but John didn’t need to know that, “N-No, he’s just glassy-eyed and can’t hear a damn thing I’m saying.”

John sighed. Or maybe hissed. Scott wasn’t sure and he didn’t want to really find out. The astronaut explained, “Alright, this is going to suck a lot, but the only thing you can do is watch Gordon and make sure he doesn’t break himself or anything around him. If you’re feeling lucky, you can maybe touch him if you don’t think it’ll make it worse, but otherwise, murmur quiet reassurances and don’t leave him until you are one hundred percent sure he’s back in reality, okay?”

Scott could feel the sweat dripping down his back as he nodded, “Okay. Thanks, John.”

The ginger simply nodded before flinching at the alarms that blared in the background, “Dammit, got to go, Scott, duty calls. Virgil, Alan, and Kayo are doing just fine, just so you know and before you panic over anything else like you probably want to, got it? See you soon.” With that, John saluted and cut the call.

It took Scott a few seconds to bring his wrist down to his lap. Staring at said lap, he was reminded of the task at hand when Gordon mumbled more pleas. The only one Scott was able to make out absolutely ripped his chest in half, “Pls… jus’ wan’ Dad…”

Barely stopping the tears from falling, Scott shakily reached one of his hands out and gripped the wrist that wasn’t in a cast, gently squeezing his younger bro’s arm and immensely relaxing at how it genuinely calmed the swimmer down, “Just hang on buddy, you’re gonna be fine.”

He had to be. Scott couldn’t handle a repeat of the hydrofoil.

Nobody could, least of all Gordon.

“Just hang on…”

Scott hoped his thunderous steps didn’t scare anyone, whether it was the private landing strip employees or the hospital ones, he didn’t know. The Colonel called them about an interesting situation she had landed herself in. Notice: replace interesting with horrifying and you’ll get the gist of how Scott was feeling.

She professionally listed off all the facts: serial-robbers that were too sneaky for their own good robbed the place the business party that Gordon and Jeff were at was being held without knowing a dang party was happening. Scott’s father mentioned it was spur of the moment, so maybe that’s why they never considered it. Regardless, as they tried leaving, security saw them and that left them to panic and take control over the place.

They saw Gordon and mistook him for a different WASP officer (Scott desperately tried holding back a snort at that statement) and promised to leave everyone unharmed if he helped them escape in a goddamn hydrofoil. Those bastards were lucky they got locked up. Scott had such wonderful ideas for releasing stress if he ever met them in person.

It didn’t help that the Colonel said his father was injured in the process. Total killer stress relievers those men would have been.

Shaking his head, Scott asked the receptionist where Gordon Tracy’s room was and took no time getting over there. The door was shut, which Scott was grateful for. Taking a deep breath, Scott slowly entered the dark room and prepared himself for whatever he was about to see.

To be honest, it wasn’t as bad as he was expecting it to be. It was still a little rough, but he did have an entire plane ride to think of the worst to come, so if there was anything to be wrong about tonight…

Shaking his head once more, Scott tiptoed into the room and fully grasped the situation. Gordon was physically okay for the most part. He looked like he was thrown through a Kentucky Twister and back, and the oxygen mask only highlighted his paler-than-normal skin tone, but for the most part, he just needed some sleep and familial care.

Jeff was also okay. He was going to have an awful crick in his neck with how he was sleeping in that chair, but the square bandage that adorned his forehead was all that Scott could see was wrong. Realizing the world wasn’t ending, Scott exhaled a relaxing breath and walked over to sit next to his father.

Right as he did, Jeff stirred, and Scott simply waited for the older man to fully wake up. Once he did, he practically jumped at seeing Scott but also sagged his shoulders in the same movement. Scott could always help him form proper thoughts, “Scotty, thank God… it was--”

“Awful? Terrible?” Scott finished for him, and he was only partially right. The eldest continued for a little bit more, “Aunt Casey explained some things. Geez, one of your first business excursions back on the planet and it ends with you getting beaten over the head, heh, I… Father?”

Scott stopped at Jeff’s shaking head. The father looked at Gordon for a little bit before turning back to look at Scott with wide eyes, “Jesus, Scott, I-- he-- Gordon was practically screaming when we got him back from those robbers. Terrible is barely scratching the surface.”

Scott full bodily flinched at Jeff’s confession. God, he kept being bad at this. Of course, Gordon would have a major freakout over being forced in a hydrofoil again. Totally not like one didn’t nearly wipe him off the face of the Earth or anything, “Yeah… Listen, I know this gives off the wrong vibe, but sorry you had to see that. Man, you’re just having a bad time finding out about what we’ve been through while you were gone, huh?” Scott leaned back into his chair and formed a loose grin on his face.

Jeff somewhat relaxed at his son’s words. He was reminded that this could be a lot worse, and since it wasn’t, he felt that it was easier to truly let go, “Don’t worry, I get what you mean.”

Scott shrugged before sitting up again, just so he could make his words more professional, “This is Gordon’s story, but I will give the general details to ease your mind, as well as that concussion. Right after he got his gold medal and after his first few months into college, he decided to apply for WASP. Needless to say, he got accepted and it, uh, didn’t end well.”

Now it was Jeff’s turn to full bodily flinch. Trailing away from his eldest child, he absentmindedly examined Gordon once more. It felt odd seeing him so peaceful after what had to have been the worst panic attack of his life. Swallowing his spit, Jeff wasn’t looking at Scott as he spoke, “Thank you, Scotty. For watching over them. I know you probably think you didn’t protect them as much as you could, but from my eyes, you did more than enough, and I will never display enough gratitude for everything you must have done in my absence.”

Nodding, Scott wasn’t sure how much he believed those words, but they did feel nice to hear, especially from his father, “Thanks, Dad, that means a lot.”

The two men glanced at one another with toothy grins, telling one another that panic time was over and that everything was alright. Like a mirror image, the two leaned back into their chairs at the same time, both watching the bed in front of them the whole way.

Now it was time to wait.

---

Oi, hangovers were the worst thing on the planet.

Groggily sitting up, Gordon shook his head as he tried remembering what the hell happened and why he felt like he got squashed by Virgil in ‘Two. Right before asking himself how much he had to drink at that party, he was suddenly aware of the oxygen mask over his face.

Oh fuck.

That’s right. That happened.

…

What else was he supposed to say? Other than wanting to sag back into the pillows behind him, which he did, he was truly lost. He probably knocked off whatever few years his dad’s lifespan had left after his eight years in space, so that was great. Bringing his hand up, he rubbed his eye in annoyance.

Taking his hand away, he looked to his left to see two figures in his room with him: Scott and his dad. Heh, figures Scott would be here. Probably thought Gordon lost a leg or something. As for right now, the brunette was fast asleep and somewhat drooling on his chest, which brought momentary joy to the blonde. He shut his eyes and chuckled a few times.

Gordon abruptly opened them after realizing something. Looking back at his family, he blinked and finally noticed that his dad was, in fact, not asleep like Scott. He was awake, his wide eyes only rivaled by how hard he was gripping the chair’s arms.

Before Gordon could say one of his famous one-liners or potentially start screaming at the top of his lungs like a bad comedy, Jeff was over him and wrapping him in a giant hug. Oh. Not sure how to process the situation, Gordon simply hugged his father back, albeit much softer. He was still pretty exhausted from previous events.

It was a few minutes before Jeff’s voice rang out from his back. It was husky in a way that Gordon knew the man was barely holding back everything that wanted to spill out, “Before we go forward, before we decide what to do from here,” Jeff leaned out of the hug and kept his hands on Gordon’s shoulders. Gordon youthfully gasped at the sight of tears on his father’s cheeks, “I just want you to know how damn proud I am of you boys, how proud I am of you. You all became fine young men, and I couldn’t be any more excited to call you all my own.”

Gordon was glad the oxygen mask was still on. Tears were leaking down his face, and his waterworks tasted significantly salty, so that could at least be averted for now, “Thanks, Dad, I’m happy to call you my father too.”

Jeff could only grin and squeeze his shoulders. They stood there in that position for a while, neither wanting to move or look away from the face in front of them out of fear the peace would be shattered. Gordon was going to need to tell Jeff how the man nearly came back to one of his children in a wheelchair, and Jeff was, of course, going to cry his heart out just like he did over Scott’s mission or John’s isolation.

But for right now, everything was okay, which something all of the Tracys wondered if they would feel again.

The click of a camera could be heard. Jeff turned his head slowly while Gordon peered around his father’s side.

Scott was cheekily grinning and holding his phone horizontally, “Oops, did I accidentally take a picture? My bad.”

The other two men rolled their eyes, and before Jeff could tell his eldest off, Gordon shook his shoulders to loosen them and reached behind him, “Alright, fair enough, Scott, you got me on that one. But can you,” with the speed of a dolphin, Gordon yanked one of the pillows out from behind him and chucked it right at Scott, “Take this?!”

For one with such good reflexes, Scott didn’t do much in avoiding the soft projectile that nailed him right in the face, nearly making him drop his phone. Gordon started laughing his ass off as the fluffy object slowly slid off his brother’s face like badly made slime, and Jeff couldn’t help his laughter either.

Scott always did lower his defenses around his younger brothers.

Too bad those same younger brothers loved abusing that fact.

Jeff grinned to himself.

Nah, not abuse. Playfully take advantage of.

That was more Gordon’s style, and Jeff was just glad that didn’t change about him, no matter what he’d been through.

[darkcivet]

Of Unsound Mind

A GaaSaku Fanfic

Alternate Links: FF.net & AO3. Pairing: Sakura/Gaara. Summary: It's only when her life has crumbled down around her that Sakura finally finds some kind of peace. GaaSaku. Modern AU. Rated M just in case. Warning: Psychologically dark elements. (No blood or gore.) Sexual themes.

There were many words used to describe Sakura Haruno during her fall from grace.

Anti-social. Cynical. Violent. Bossy. Obnoxious. Friendless.

And those were the friendly examples.

There was also, whore, bitch, psycho, tight-arse, freak, and various interpretations of the hysterical woman stereotype.

It was depressing enough to be called these names, and more heart breaking to embody them. But the worst part was that they came from people she’d never have suspected. From people she loved and had trusted for years. Some hadn’t even waited until her anger had reached its crescendo before writing her off.

She’d lost her cushy office, her friends, her aghast family, and all hope of returning to her former life; Sakura was at least grateful that her OCD meant she had a decent amount of money saved up for this seemingly unending rainy day.

It was in moments like this, that she took pride in her tight-arse ways. It was a cold slap in the face in the wake of the reality of her responsibility to clean up her mess.

And somehow, sitting on a chair, next to others arranged in a dysfunctional, sparsely spaced circle and being lectured on the meaning of her anger issues did not strike her as particularly constructive. But Sakura had no intention of reacquainting herself with her inner demons, so she had to try to put it behind her.

For years, she’d built a damn in her mind to keep her inner, sanctimonious persona quiet, but it had all come crashing down several months ago when she’d been tossed aside for a more available girlfriend. A seemingly innocuous event that many others went through and came out the other end unbroken, but not Sakura Haruno. She snapped like a proverbially twig over a roaring fire. It was like letting a beast out of a cage that had been perfectly crafted to contain it. White hot rage; she had no control of herself, and for a short while, all Sakura knew was the burning, angry harpy that lay within her mind.

The need to make someone bleed for it.

Now, she had no-one. No friends. No family. No glimmer of a hopeful future. Her inner had driven them all away.

That was why she was here of all places. A group anger management session; the judge had been clear that evading these weekly torture sessions would land her back in Konoha Psychiatric Hospital. She couldn’t go back there. Everyone there was crazy. It would drive her insane.

“Let’s begin, shall we?”

Doctor Kato – possibly the hospital’s most likeable tight-arse. She was always friendly enough to Sakura, but the pinkette could never fully respect someone who played by the rules so religiously. Squashing herself inside a tin can and answering, “how high?” whenever her superiors said, “jump”. It boggled the mind.

She sighed, sitting up straight in an effort to not be called out. Again. Today was her first session in a group and this whole anger management thing was just another part of her community service – though the question of who she was supposed to be helping right now, was anyone’s guess.

She forced herself to listen as Shizune Kato started her morning sermon.

“Anger management is the process of learning to recognise your anger for what it is and control it. Anger is an emotion we use to mask feelings of fear, inadequacy, guilt, confusion, depression, hurt, or loneliness. It is not uncommon for us to fall into this trap when we feel too helpless to do anything else.”

Sakura rolled her eyes and regressed to slouching in her chair. Shizune tended to drone on about the definition of things. As both a Clinical Psychologist and a nationally recognised motivational speaker, she was the enemy of succinctness

Sakura smiled at that.

She’d been acquainted with the brunette for years, but never truly known her. Despite her pleasant yet oddball nature, Shizune wasn’t the most charming person Sakura had ever met, especially one-on-one. They’d both been mentored by the great Lady Tsunade Senju – an actually motivational person who didn’t like to get up on podiums and talk about it.

Sakura interned with Tsunade straight out of high school; she’d been interested in psychology for years, because of her inner, fascinated with the inner workings of the human mind. Keeping her inner quiet helped her pass as “normal”, but she always got the impression that Tsunade knew her favourite protégé had issues.

Their bi-weekly “let’s build a snowman” sessions were a dead giveaway.

“Sakura?”

The pinkette snapped out of her internal musings and rattled off a few facts about herself while keeping it impersonal. Shizune gave her an odd look and Sakura sat up straight again, suddenly self-conscious.

But she couldn’t help but lose focus again as the brunette pointed to each of her patients in turn, asking for introductions. Even though this was her first group session, she knew some of these people anyway, from her time in hospital. There was the girl who’d run over her boyfriend when she found out she was pregnant. The older man who beat up the teenage boy who was screwing his trophy wife. Another girl who blamed God for her voices and repeatedly stole from and trashed her family Church. Not to mention the guy who attacked a mime because he wouldn’t give him directions.

Some Sakura knew only by face, but it was a safe bet they were all violent in some way.

But there was this one guy that everyone seemed to be giving a wide berth. He had this dark aura around him, like a solid barrier made of hate and bloodlust. His blood red hair seemed to finish off the look of death and wrath nicely. Not to mention that he was the only person she’d ever seen with a kanji tattoo on their forehead of all places.

“Gaara?”

Sakura watched the others suddenly become uninterested; she imagined Shizune only called on him because those were the rules.

The redhead grunted out his name and something inaudible; she caught the words, “temper”, “family”, and “fucking”. Shizune didn’t press any further.

Sakura couldn’t take her eyes off Gaara as the introductions continued – some clearly more enthusiastic than others.

Based on appearance alone, she gathered he fit into the goth stereotype, but she’d never been much of a profiler. Her field of study was psychiatric rehabilitation and Sakura had just been promoted before her life went to shit. She was rising fast for someone her age. And enjoying the perks that came with a higher paying job.

‘I miss my office.’

She blinked heavily as Shizune started talking again.

Gaara swivelled in his chair suddenly and unintentionally caught Sakura’s eye. Though clearly startled by her attention on him, he didn’t look away. She felt her face warm under his stare. She’d heard that, during his first therapy session, he threw a chair out the window and broke the psychiatrist’s teeth when the man had tried said “hello”. They said the shrink needed counselling after that. Though plausible, she highly doubted that had happened – he wouldn’t have been considered for group sessions, if he was that easy to rile up, surely.

“Who wants to talk about why they’re here, first?”

Shizune’s voice snapped Sakura to reality and she tore her eyes away from Gaara to listen to the pregnant girl whine about men and how unfairly the “quacks” had been treating her, but she could still feel his eyes burning a hole in her.

His dark aura shifted, and he seemed a bit content then, to Sakura. She chanced a look at him; he didn’t look ready to kill her. His reputation had to be wrong, then. She had to remind herself how easily rumours could get out of hand.

Unlike her therapy companions, Sakura had a degree in psychology. She had a many great deal of things that were no longer important anymore. Like people in her life.

“Sakura?”

She mentally cursed herself for not paying attention and sat up straight, realising she’d slumped again. “Y-yeah.”

Shizune smiled at her. “Why don’t you share something more in depth with the group.”

She wasn’t here for her health, that’s for sure.

Sakura cleared her throat, avoiding Gaara’s gaze; it was getting unnerving. “Um. I’m doing these sessions as part of my community service.” At Shizune’s insistent look, she added, “I... uh, had a breakdown.”

“That blows.” One of the girls gave her a sympathetic look.

Sakura just stared back at her. The old her would’ve smiled back and maybe engaged her in conversation; the new and improving version didn’t have the energy for that shit.

“Moving on.”

Shizune rounded off the session and they started to file out. Sakura noticed that Gaara wasn’t asked to add anything more in depth. She sighed and stood, stretching out her muscles and keeping her attention settled solely on herself; a certain redhead was still staring.

“Same time next week!” Shizune called.

Sakura hurried out, unwilling to remain under such close scrutiny any longer.

This group therapy thing was going to be exhausting.

 .:.

 “Got a light?”

Two weeks later, Sakura decided to bite the proverbially bullet. He’d been staring at her on and off, and she had finally worked up the nerve to approach him. In between bouts of self-loathing and therapeutic jogs along the beach, she’d been keeping up-to-date in the world of mental health. Call her an optimist, but she figured it would help her get back into it once all this community service was over.

It beat picking up rubbish – that was on her morning schedule.

Gaara was Shizune’s problem case, but Sakura wanted to reach out to him. She wanted to see if anything she did or said could make a difference. This would go a long way to seeing if she still had what it takes to be a Psychologist. Obviously, it would be in a non-professional capacity, so she couldn’t be reprimanded for it.

In her planning stages, Sakura noticed he took the time to smoke both before and after the sessions, like he was bolstering himself for battle and then rewarding himself for not annihilating everyone. That was a start. So, she used their common ground to start a dialogue.

Without removing the cigarette from his mouth, he looked up at her question, stared at her for a second, and then nodded his head. She swore to herself up and down that she would quit these disgusting things one day. But that day was not today.

He tossed a red lighter at her and grunted out, “this is going to kill you. You should give it up.”

She fought the urge to roll her eyes until after he turned away. “I will if you do.”

He didn’t respond.

They’d just spent an hour in a gruelling session, so he clearly needed to unwind.

Sakura took a seat two feet from him, overlooking staff parking; they were far enough away from the front doors of the hospital to not be called out, but she somehow figured Gaara was less concerned with that rule and more concerned with solitude.

She stayed quiet, settling in and lighting up. He didn’t ask for the lighter back straight away and she waited until she was ready to leave before returning it. Gaara’s pale fingers stretched out to grasp it, and she made a note of how he deliberately avoided her touch, before standing to leave.

Slow and steady; she didn’t want to startle him. It was a good start. His moods during the sessions was always dark, but some days he was clearly holding on by a thread. For all the darkness and chaos that stormed inside Sakura’s head, she had a feeling what he kept bottled up inside was worse.

 .:.

 The following week, Sakura beat Gaara to his usual smoking spot, prior to their weekly torture session. She didn’t light up during the six days they had off and felt no urge to do so until she drove into the Konoha Hospital parking lot and remembered what she was about to do.

Yeah, the dark aura around Gaara still intimidated her. And the mindless prattling of her fellow therapy inmates made her want to slap their heads together and tell them to grow up. The redhead continued to stare at her during the sessions and then ignore her when they fell into silent, mutual cancer inducing stupors. She knew it was wrong, but she couldn’t help herself.

One month on from their first interaction, she decided to finally break their monotony of silence.

And then chickened out when his head snapped around and he stared at her, suddenly, like he knew it was coming. Jade orbs stared blankly at her and she summoned her courage, mentally berating herself. She’d come this far.

“I was thinking...” Sakura drifted off; his eyes widened, and lips twitched. The cigarette hanging lazily from his mouth jerked with the movement. “...of smoking something a little stronger next week.”

He blinked slowly, almost owlishly, and then looked away from her. She almost continued talking several times, waiting for him to respond.

“Don’t do that.”

“I just–”

“You’ll just get sent back to the loony bin.”

And that was the end of that.

Sakura felt herself flush with anger; she wanted to rant and rage at him, tell him he didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about. She closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing instead. It wasn’t her intention to fly off the handle at him. She just needed to focus. The object of her rush of anger sat quietly as she calmed herself.

And just like that, she was calm again. She sighed, put out her cigarette and turned to face him. He was looking back at her, those intense eyes curious; she almost forgot what he’d said to annoy her. “I didn’t know you cared.”

“I don’t.”

It took a few seconds to sink in, but before she could formulate a response, he stormed away from her and back toward the front doors. A full ten seconds later, Shizune’s voice drifted over to her and Sakura knew she’d lectured Gaara on the rules involving smoking near government buildings. There was no way, however, that Shizune was brave enough to confiscate them.

Sakura joined them and was both annoyed and confused when Gaara pointedly ignored her for the first time in weeks.

‘Men.’

 .:.

 Sakura arrived early the following Wednesday, and sat in her car, writing in her journal. She wanted to get down everything she was feeling before heading in there – last week, Shizune had suggested this when the pinkette let it slip that she’d almost lost her temper again. She hadn’t had a black out in almost two months. She was getting better.

But Gaara’s attitude was not conducive to her mental health.

The worried look on Shizune’s face bothered Sakura too – she’d figured out that two of her patients were smoking together, outside the hospital and wasn’t amused. That dark aura around Gaara was more powerful than Shizune’s disapproving glare, but the brunette’s made Sakura feel guilty. That was nothing, however, compared to how Sakura was feeling now.

Tsunade’s car was in the lot, today. She was here.

‘Did Shizune go running to shishou about my fascination with Gaara?’

Sakura was torn between annoyance and happiness; it wasn’t their business, but it had been too long since anyone cared if she got herself hurt. Was she supposed to feel angry or comforted? Maybe both? She was a red-faced child wrapped in a warm blanket brandishing a bloody knife with one hand and nursing a cup of hot cocoa with the other.

She wasn’t crazy. She knew she wasn’t. The dark voice inside of her was quiet and she hadn’t lost control in so long. Sakura felt like everything was falling into place. The only hiccup was where Gaara fit into everything. Anyone with eyes could see he was worse off than her – he may never get better – but she didn’t know his history. She didn’t know how bad off he was.

She had to find out, if she had any hope of putting her fascination with him in the proper context.

The tap on her car window startled her, but somehow, she wasn’t surprised to find Gaara’s questioning stare on her; rugged up against the cold, his red hair poking out from under a black beanie, and his breath fogging up her window. She took a moment to truly appreciate how good he looked before he indicated wordlessly behind him – toward their usual smoking spot – and she nodded in acquiescence.

Sakura smiled after he turned to lead the way. It seemed she wasn’t the only one that look forward to these morning rituals.

 .:.

 An hour later, Sakura was trying to sneak glances at Gaara while pretending she wasn’t interested in doing so. Tsunade had taken over the group today, with Shizune nearby taking notes, and the busty blonde was currently questioning Gaara – in a way that no-one else had the balls to do so.

Everyone else normally avoided looking at the emo boy who had a reputation for trying to kill people for looking at him wrong, but today they were staring unabashedly as he was questioned. Like he was an animal in a zoo. His simple, clipped responses delivered in angry undertones that promised pain and retribution didn’t deter Tsunade; his audience was hooked on every word.

When the blonde finally relented, everything went deadly quiet and Sakura found herself alone in watching him. Shizune and Tsunade conferred as the session came to an end and the pinkette forced herself to not get up and follow Gaara as he stormed out.

Murmuring broke out, but she ignored them, making her way over to Tsunade. The blonde hugged her.

“Sakura, it’s been too long.”

She smiled. Her first real smile directed at anyone but Gaara for a while. “Yes, shishou. I’m glad to see you.”

She wanted to question Tsunade – she undoubtedly had information on Gaara that she needed.

Shizune would be against it – that girl had never met a rule she didn’t worship – but Tsunade was the type to indulge her pupils, be they present or past. During her internship with the busty woman, Sakura had often had access to information she wasn’t supposed to know. She trusted her. She knew she wouldn’t repeat anything she read or heard. It was a level of trust Sakura had never had before and was sorely missed in her life.

That “I have no-one” voice in her head was sounding further and further away the longer she felt the warmth of her mentor’s smile on her.

‘How could I ever think shishou would turn on me?’

They both understood mental illness and didn’t judge it.

Tsunade spoke before Sakura had a chance to ask her; that mind reading thing of hers was still annoying, after all these years. “If this is about your sudden interest in a certain redhead, you know I can’t tell you anything.”

A bubble of annoyance swelled in Sakura’s chest, but as her mentor made a show of shuffling her papers, the pinkette forced herself to calm down. Shizune sat nearby, finishing off a few notes; when she was done and left to find something to eat, Tsunade indicated to Sakura to take a seat.

“I want to preface this with I understand,” Tsunade said. “Gaara’s a good-looking boy and you’ve always had a thing for the emotionally closed off type.”

“Shishou–”

“Let me finish.”

Sakura nodded her head, admonished.

The blonde pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’ve been through so much lately and your life has become a black sinkhole. You’re so cut off and confused; you know you are,” she added, when the pinkette huffed in annoyance. “It’s understandable to find comfort in a kindred soul. But Gaara’s different than you. You should be more careful with him.”

Sakura frowned. “Why?”

Tsunade lowered his head to whisper and the pinkette leaned in conspiratorially. “It’s in his file, but you didn’t hear this from me.”

Sakura nodded; her heart pounding in her chest. Doctor-patient confidentiality was still a thing between doctors, but Tsunade loosening her tongue was motivated purely on a personal level. She’d always thought of Sakura as the daughter she never had.

“What he has is a touch disorder; his anger manifests similar to an extreme case of Skin Hunger.”

Sakura nodded, understanding. Skin Hunger was a yearning to touch, basically; if Gaara’s anger was connected to this, she assumed it meant he lashed out when touched. All awhile craving that touch.

It was interesting.

“Don’t set yourself up for failure with him.”

Sakura frowned. “What do you mean?”

“All I’m saying is that whether your interest is professional or personal, don’t get your hopes up. So far, all observable outcomes from people trying to get close to him have resulted in some form of violence.”

“I already understood: you’re saying he always attacks people who touch him.”

“Or it manifests itself sexually.”

Her eyes widened. She didn’t need to know that part.

Sakura was already checking Gaara out every time he passed in her field of vision. She didn’t need to know that an accidental touch on her part could end with her flat on her back and screaming his name.

She was definitely going to make a point of not touching him.

“He is not a rapist, Sakura, I assure you.” Again, Tsunade was reading her mind. “I spent six months working with him after I was asked to profile him; he’s capable of a great many things, but he isn’t capable of that.”

‘No... he’s not going to force me.’

Sakura knew that, despite her initial concern. He was the type to make her want it. Badly.

‘He already has.’

She closed her eyes for a second, just absorbing everything Tsunade had told her. Her attraction to the redhead had started without her really noticing and escalating into full-blown, make-out session with herself.

It gave her goose bumps and made her never want to go to bed fully clothed again. And strangely, gave her a desperate craving for cheese and ice-cream.

It boggled the mind.

“Then why is he here, among people?” Sakura realised the answer the moment she’d finished asking but had to hear it.

“This is the only thing keeping him out of jail.”

Anger management for most people was a program with steps and slogans and learning about yourself.

And that annoying prayer circle thing.

For people like Gaara, it was avoiding the worst-case scenario of getting locked up and never seeing the light of day again. She felt sorry for him, though she was sure he wouldn’t appreciate it.

Sakura was torn between continuing her curiosity driven desire to crack him open and give him his space, so he could get through these sessions untouched. She really wanted to pick his brain.

(Must be the therapist in her.)

“Lady Tsunade!”

“That’s my cue.” Tsunade hugged her former apprentice. “Just be careful, Sakura.”

“I will. I promise.”

Sakura stayed in the chair for a few minutes before remembering she was technically standing Gaara up and rushed out to find him. He was leaning against the building, his hands in his pockets, eyes closed, and no cigarette to be found.

She hesitated to disturb him, but as her feet carried her over to the enigmatic redhead, he seemed to come to life and turned to face her. The look he gave her was new; she wasn’t sure if it was calculating or distrustful.

Had he heard her conversation with Tsunade? No... he’d have been too far away, and they were whispering. But her shishou had questioned him pretty intensely and Sakura stayed behind to talk with her afterward. Perhaps he just put two and two together. Her mind went back to what Tsunade had said about being his therapist for a while.

‘They already know each other.’

Maybe he wasn’t as bothered by the questioning as she’d thought.

“I’m not a good person,” he said gruffly. “But I won’t hurt you.”

‘Is there anyone around here that can’t see right through me?’

“Okay...”

He sighed.

They shared sessions once a week, and every time, Sakura followed him outside afterward to ask for either a cigarette or a light. He would grunt one-word answers to her questions and then take off on his Kawasaki without so much as a glance in her direction. But today had gotten under his skin, apparently.

He watched her, waiting to see if she would flee from him.

She gave him a small smile. “I was thinking...”

He scoffed. “You do too much of that.”

“...that maybe we can do an experiment.”

He didn’t ask for clarification, but the question weighed heavily in his eyes.

“I... think maybe we could do that thing Shizune suggested last week. Together, I mean.”

She was too cowardly to put it into words, worried he’d hear the hope in her voice. Basically, Shizune had suggested to all her patients to let their anger out on something constructive – kind of like kickboxing or tae kwon do – in a controlled environment, with a partner. Sakura tried to school her features so Gaara didn’t think she was excited by the idea of getting hot and heavy with him. His calculating stare pierced right through her and he raised a non-existent eyebrow.

“If I let my demon out, it will break you in two.”

He really knew how to end a conversation.

 .:.

 “You ever tried to kill yourself?”

Every week she asked a question, he answered it, then he asked her something, and the cycle went on. It was the only experiment she suggested that he would go along with. Now, with only one more shared group therapy session left, Sakura was feeling the deadline to break through him fast approaching; the end of having him in her life.

She thought of the craziest question she could conjure; the rumours of his violence having escalated to murder lingering on the edge of her mind. And the question blurted itself out of her mouth before she could stop it.

Gaara didn’t look offended though, just nodding his head slowly. After a minute, he asked “you ever killed anyone?”

“No.”

She came close once, though. It wasn’t something she was particularly proud of. It was a line she didn’t want to cross. Even in her darkest moments while her inner was in control, that last breath and final punch to the gut never came. She never did it. It was why she’d been carted off to the loony bin rather than jail.

Sakura was not grateful to her inner, but rather grateful it at least wouldn’t do that.

“It’s almost the same thing,” Gaara said. “Except the pain isn’t yours.”

Her heart was racing now, but she just had to know. “What does it feel like?”

Sakura had no idea what she was expecting from him – perhaps, “horrible” or “it feels like dying”. She held her breath, waiting.

“Only an idiot would ask that.”

She seethed. “Fuck you. It was just a question. Why are you such an arsehole?”

He reached over to her and she stiffened. Gaara gave her a wry grin and plucked the unlit cigarette from her fingers without making physical contact; so absorbed in their game, she hadn’t remembered she was still holding it.

“It’s my turn to ask a question.”

She huffed. “So, ask.”

“Why are you such an arsehole?”

Sakura sighed. She rubbed her forehead and groaned. His light chuckle startled her. “What’s so funny?”

He waved her cigarette at her patronisingly. “I don’t think you understand the rules of this game.”

“I don’t like this game anymore.”

“You don’t like to lose.”

“What? I’m not losing.” She frowned, realising her slip. “This isn’t a competition.”

He just shrugged.

Sakura glared at him; as usual, he was unfazed. The nerve of him! When he continued to ignore her heated glare and put her smoke in his mouth, she growled. “Fine. I’m an arsehole because it keeps people away who I don’t want to deal with.”

He stopped flicking his lighter to stare at her. “And that’s all?”

“No.”

He gave her a Cheshire grin. “Why else?”

“Why else?”

Gaara nodded and inhaled; shuddering and closing his eyes for a few minutes. He looked like a satisfied cat that had just dismembered a bird. Or maybe a whole flock of them. She could just visualise the speck of blood on the corner of his mouth while his tongue darted out to taste it again.

She shuddered, then shook herself, almost forgetting to answer his question. “I don’t like that goody-two shoes act. I used to play it all the time. It’s annoying. Why are you so pushy?”

“It’s fun. Why were you in the loony bin?”

Sakura bit her lip to keep from snapping something inappropriate at him. It wasn’t until she regained control from her inner that she’d been locked up. It wasn’t fun. It wasn’t a game. She’d have thought he, of all people, wouldn’t make light of that.

“Sorry,” he whispered.

She offered a small smiled. “No, it’s no worse than me asking you what it feels like to kill someone. I shouldn’t have asked it. I just...”

“Wanted to know.”

“How do you read me so well?”

Gaara shrugged. The truth was, it was like looking into a mirror – one with pink hair and a cute little nose, but a mirror nonetheless. She was a version of himself without the need to tear things apart. He loved that.

Sakura fiddled with the hem of her shirt. She wanted to avoid that murder question, but she didn’t want to ask anything trivial. Everything seemed bland by comparison.

“Why... when did you start smoking?”

He snorted. “Lame.”

“Stop telling me how stupid my questions are and answer me.”

Gaara stared at her blankly. “I was thirteen.”

“Why?”

He sighed. “My turn.”

“Sorry.” Again.

He nodded but said nothing. After a few minutes, she started to fidget. As soon as she opened her mouth to tell him to ask her a question, he spoke.

“When did you start smoking?”

“Talk about lame questions.” She giggled when he glared at her. “Fine. I was nineteen. But I don’t smoke often. Never have. Uh... why–”

“No more simple questions. I’m bored.”

She bit her lip. “I noticed you don’t touch people.”

“That’s not a question.”

“Can I touch you?”

He didn’t stiffen like she thought he would, just stared at her – almost unseeingly. “No. Why do you want to?”

She blushed. “Uh... because...”

He rolled his eyes.

“Craziest place you can imagine having sex.”

“On a plane.” Gaara held her gaze unblinkingly. “The last time you had sex?”

“Uh.” Her face must look like a tomato by now. “Um. Maybe... a year ago.”

Gaara had put out his cigarette (her cigarette, the thief), and was leaning closer to her. She could feel his breath on her skin. She had to get the topic away from sex before she touched him and let him crawl inside her. And die. She would literally die.

“Uh...” She cleared her throat. “Where else in the world would you rather be right now?”

That was a safe topic, surely.

“Inside you.”

‘Fuck me.’

She stuttered. “What happened to you not wanting to touch me?”

“I never said I didn’t want to.”

“I thought–”

“Doctor Senju filled your head with the he can’t touch people routine?”

Sakura growled at him. “Are you accusing her of lying to me?”

“Just skirting around the truth.”

“She warned me to be careful with you.”

“Kittens aren’t supposed to be masochists,” he snarled.

“I’m not a cat.”

“Yes, you are.”

She frowned at him. “What’s gotten into you?”

Gaara smirked devilishly, his fingers now tugging at the top button of her shirt. She made no move to stop him, but Sakura had gone stiff, terrified of the animalistic look in his eyes.

He stood, leaning over her, and shoved her backwards; she’d been sitting on the edge of a concrete garden, hedge flowers at her back. Gaara held her down, climbing over her; she spared only a momentary thought for the fact that her shirt was getting dirty and was laying at an odd angle before gasping. His hand was on her throat; his body encased hers. Fingernails scraped along her neck; not enough to bleed but enough to hurt.

“Do you ever dream of me?”

Gaara was continuing their game, even as he nipped her throat and settled between her legs.

“Y-yes.”

Gaara shifted his weight on her to kick her legs apart. “Is this what you wanted?”

She licked her lips. “Y-yes.”

He chuckled when she groaned. There was a sharp pain along the back of her legs from being held down like this, but she ignored it. What she really wanted suddenly scared her. “Wait.”

Gaara growled; his grip on her throat tightened and Sakura gasped for air. “No more waiting. He wants you.”

Sakura coughed and spluttered. “He?”

He added a little more pressure but eased enough to allow her airflow. “Yes. He’s been thinking about you hot, wet, and wriggling underneath me.”

“Are you...”

It suddenly clicked. Sakura had an inner – a voice that spoke to her and lashed out. A female voice. It wasn’t inconceivable that Gaara had something similar. From her one-on-one sessions, she’d begun to unravel her inner; to see the reflection of her psyche for what it really was. But clearly, Gaara hadn’t made that leap into redefining himself. He still thought of his inner voice as something separate from himself. Something that can’t be overcome because it had a mind of its own.

She pushed her pity down and shifted into medic mode. He needed her more than she needed him, right now.

“You can pull away if you want.”

It pained her to deny herself something she had grown so desperate for, but maybe taking it slow and letting this come more naturally would be good for her, too. Sakura had no doubt they would progress that far eventually, but in the bushes, just out of sight of the hospital entrance, was not the place to have sex with him for the first time.

They had time.

“Gaara.” She reached up and touched his forehead. The complicated kanji felt just as smooth under her fingers as the rest of him did. Almost like it wasn’t even there. “Push him away.”

He growled down at her, almost like that persona was speaking through him. “I will fuck you. I don’t play games and I don’t fuck around. Next time you push me, I’ll push back. This is your only warning.”

He shoved her again, and then jumped up, moving away from her. But he didn’t go far before half turning to frown at her. “If you do that again, he’ll kill you.”

She swallowed heavily, watching him through her blurry vision as he limped away from her; whether he was in pain from something he did to himself or being so turned on, she couldn’t tell.

She’d pushed him too far. She knew it.

And if it wasn’t for the fact that he had already proven himself to be possessive, Sakura would worry about never seeing him again.

No.

He wasn’t done with her yet.