imbrii (imbrii) wrote in imbrication, @ 2007-11-24 00:21:00 |
|
|||
Current mood: | irritated |
Entry tags: | fragments series, gaara, naruto, rock lee, unfinished works |
Naruto - Fragments 3
Series: Naruto
Characters: Lee, Gaara
Pairing: past Lee+Sakura, LeexGaara if I can manage it in the future, NarutoxSakura
Type: weird introspective, futurefic, crazy, actual plot
Warnings: Abuse of italics. Like woah
Spoilers: Timeskip
Word Count: 2,045
Etc: I assume that a tokubetsu jounin is actually only a substandard jounin--promoted only because of prowess in one area. The main reason I posted this is because I got so damn sick of editing it and it's crazy long anyway. More of what the hell's going on is revealed! Took me long enough. Unbeta'd, as usual, if you see any mistakes please point them out!
Lee decides as he wakes up that sleeping all the time is really quite boring as well as far too lazy. If he’s really (this is my ninja way) a fighter, he can’t afford to slack off so much. If he can’t overcome a little vertigo, what kind of shinobi is he?
Without further ado, he rolls over and starts doing push-ups. This is easier than with casts on. If he can do fifty push-ups, the earth will surely stop moving under him!
The sand was trying to swallow him up, rippling and surging.
“Stop,” says Gaara from somewhere in the dark.
“I won’t get any better lying around all day. A healthy dose of exercise is best to get the blood flowing!” Lee gets the distinct impression that if Gaara were anyone else, he’d sigh in frustration right then. It’s familiar. But Gaara is Gaara and Lee isn’t Lee.
“I need to—ACK!” A band of sand loops over his lower back, forcing him to the ground. “Please let go!” protests Lee, flailing his limbs a little before the pain reminds him that’s a Bad Idea. Funny, this seems familiar too.
“You can’t handle the strain. Wait until you’re healed.” There’s the sound of cloth rustling, and the sunburned man finds himself missing the light. The sand retreats, and Lee wonders how long he’ll remain in this dream.
“Do we have to stay in the dark all the time?” He asks as he sits up. Pushups can wait…for now.
A tiny circular window appears, letting in a stream of sunlight as Gaara holds out something round and flat. Field rations. “Eat.”
Lee murmurs a quick “Itadakimasu” and starts chewing. He remembers it takes a ridiculously long time to eat these, possibly because chewing longer makes it seem like more food than what is there. He starts to ask Gaara if he’s going to eat, but remembers the Kazekage doesn’t eat in front of others. The green time is coming back, piece by piece.
“—but I don’t like you that way,” she says, and he knows the words are long overdue. Inevitable. It still makes his heart twinge.
Chomping on the brick-like meal takes his full attention and prevents him from talking. The silence drags out and Lee finds it horribly uncomfortable, like he’s back to mirages. Reality. Whichever it had been.
Gaara is holding two fingers over his eye, concentrating on something. “They’ll be here in a few hours.”
Lee finishes the bit he’s chewing, grateful for the interruption. “How do you know?”
Sand swirls near Gaara’s head, hardening into a sphere. Lee blinks in surprise at it turns into an eyeball. “One of these is with them. I can see where they are, and sense how far away.”
Blue eyes, soft and sad. “I just want to bring him home.”
“What a splendidly useful jutsu!” declares Lee, ignoring the tiny bit of envy he doesn’t understand. “Is that how you found me?”
“Partly,” but this time he doesn’t elaborate.
Silence was bad, more questions! “As Kazekage, shouldn’t you be back in Suna?”
Gaara’s mouth turns down at the corners, eyes strangely bright. “I was the only one who could find you. The Northern Wastes are too large for a search party.”
He pulls off his weights in a hurry, hearing the sounds of pursuit. They sink into the sand as he resumes running deeper into the desert. Faster, faster, have to keep ahead.
Things still don’t quite make sense, but that’s normal. Lee finishes eating as fast as he can so he can talk more.
“What more can you tell me about myself?”
“You specialize in taijutsu. You modeled yourself after your teacher. You’re a tokubetsu jounin, combat specialist.”
Strange, hearing that is depressing. Why should being a special jounin upset him?
Please give me this mission, Tsunade-sama! I’ll put forth all my effort! I won’t let you down!
Well, no need to let that bother him! There is a far more pressing matter: nature calls. Lee starts struggling to his feet, forcing his wobbly limbs to move.
A hand appears in front of his face. Lee isn’t sure why, but that gesture means all the world. This is significant the forgotten part of his mind whispers and the weight of it makes him hesitate.
Sand brushes against a hand, urging it forward. A slight smile on a face with strange lines on the cheeks.
In the end, he accepts the help up but refuses any further support. Gaara’s hand is smooth and strangely soft, surprising Lee. For whatever reason he expected it to be grainy.
As he releases the other man’s hand, the cave walls slide back into the ground leaving a thin section of the roof to provide shade. Squinting in the light Lee takes another look at Gaara. For a moment he’s disoriented, not understanding why he’s looking down until he realizes the redhead is actually shorter.
The red jacket, blue vest and black pants are all familiar, but for some reason Lee wonders why Gaara’s backpack isn’t a gourd. Perhaps the sun is still making him feel strange.
Gaara doesn’t ask what he’s doing or offer assistance beyond that initial hand up, much to Lee’s relief. It is bad enough being so far below his normal (youthful energy) self without any attention called to it.
Walking to a discrete distance takes far longer than it should, but Lee is determined to make it on his own. Once he’s finally finished his business and comes back, portable sand ceiling hovering overhead, Gaara takes his eyes off the horizon. They stare at each other a minute, the black-haired man scratching at the back of his head under the steady gaze. His skin screams protest, but pain is becoming quite easy to ignore.
“You’re filthy,” says Gaara, his monotone somehow lacking any traces of insult.
For the first time Lee takes a moment to really look at himself. His skin is a battlefield of scars, his green outfit is closer to brown and is full of tears and stains. His skin is red, blistered, peeling in patches and covered in grime and small wounds. The injuries are poorly bandaged and a few might be infected. Sand covered everything, but such was to be expected in the desert.
“You’re right,” he answered sheepishly.
Lee stares at his left arm, wondering why the scarring is so prominent. Something tells him Gaara knows, but that same feeling tells him not to ask about it.
“You can probably fit into my robes,” comments Gaara. “And my hat.” White and blue.
Lee sputters, a strange feeling crawling in his belly. “Your formal Kazekage robes shouldn’t be worn by a ninja of another village! It’s not right; these are special! And I shouldn’t use everybody’s drinking water for bathing.”
“There’s no need to contaminate the whole oasis; wiping off with a cloth should suffice.”
“But—” protests Lee.
“I can provide privacy.”
“But—”
“You smell,” says Gaara, and Lee knows there’ll be no arguing with him. He accepts the cloth and all-purpose soap mutely and watches his companion form a semi-sphere of sand around the edge of the water.
A twisted scream from inside a shell. First blood.
Gaara walks off without comment. Lee is grateful for the extra space.
Exposed and awkward, the injured shinobi peels off his tattered clothes—shirt, pants, belt, bag (important), what might’ve once been legwarmers, and sandals. Everything stings, chafes, burns but he’s almost used to it by now.
Despite the nervousness of being naked in the middle of nowhere, he can’t help but take a better look at himself. Scars run rivers over his hands and forearms, jagged deltas of raised flesh trickling out to the occasional stream or creek toward the elbow. His torso is also scarred, but far less. The nasty-looking cut on his side will probably add another landmark on his map of past battles. His feet and shins are almost as bad as his arms, and it’s most obvious there that his left side is far more damaged. Instead of cuts, the skin itself looks rugged and mangled.
It’s the best I could do, considering how banged-up you were. You’re lucky enough to be alive, kid. Don’t worry, I’m sure—
Well! Time to stop dwelling on such things and manage the matter at hand. Lee attacks the grime as if his skin doesn’t feel like it wants to fall off and ignores how the cloth turns a dull red. His skin is screaming but it does feel good to be clean.
“I have bandages,” murmurs Gaara from somewhere behind Lee.
Something between a squeak, yelp and shout bursts from his lips, before Lee realizes Gaara is behind the wall of sand.
“Please don’t sneak up on me like that!”
“Your senses have dulled; that could be dangerous. I have your change of clothing.” Weak.
Ignoring the sudden change of topic, Lee tries to protest one last time. “I shouldn’t wear those robes, it’s improper.”
A hand thrusts through an opening in the sand holding meticulously folded white robes, bandages, more ointment, and a hat. “Put them on.” There’s a shifting of sand and the tattered remains of the green jumpsuit vanish underground, leaving only his pack.
The injured shinobi quickly dresses his wounds, wraps bandages around his hands out of habit and dons the Kazekage outfit in case Gaara is the type who’d take it upon himself to manhandle Lee into doing it. He doesn’t like the thought of somebody seeing his tattered hands. I see why the me-that-was did this. His forehead protector is filthy but he uses it as a belt anyway. Symbol of pride.
Uncomfortably breezy but decent, Lee watches as the sand dissipates and the impassive face of the Kazekage comes into view.
“Thank you for lending me your clothing.”
“It should keep most of the sun off you to prevent further injury.”
“So I must continue wearing the hat?” He doesn’t comment about how it chafes around his shoulders and feels like sandpaper on his skin. Pain is an illusion!
“Yes.”
Lee frowns as best he can given how much it hurts to move his facial muscles and picks up his pouch. Don’t look inside. But there’s a nagging sensation that tempts him to do it anyway. Not yet. Well, the voice probably knows better than him anyway.
“…I hate the hat as well,” admits Gaara after several minutes, scanning the horizon.
The black-haired man blinks in surprise. For some reason, something so mundane seems wrong with Gaara. As if his companion is somehow beyond petty dislikes and day-to-day routines, which is just silly. Even a (monster) Kazekage (tanuki) like Gaara (sand Kami) has preferences.
I suppose he must be real. A mirage wouldn’t hate hats. Newly grounded, Lee smiles at the redhead. “I’m very glad you’re real.”
Gaara’s expression changes without moving a muscle, somehow. He seems close to saying something, but his head suddenly snaps around, eyes intent on the horizon.
“What is it?” asks Lee, nervous. If it comes to it, he wasn’t sure he could be the (person) fighter he once was, (the man Gaara sees.)
“They’re ahead of schedule,” is the only explanation provided as they walk to the edge of the oasis. The line of Gaara’s back relaxes just a little.
Slowly a line of dust comes into view, then two figures. They resolve into streaks of orange and pink, then a blond young man and a pink-haired woman around his age running full tilt with arms trailing behind them like streamers.
He can’t speak, and doesn’t understand the surge in his chest or the unease of his stomach and they come closer and closer.
Hey, Lee, do you want—
He’s dead.
Do you think we could ever be—
Take good care of her.
You made a promise, of course—
I lost to the better man.
Thoughts scatter over his mind like a flock of angry birds, all escaping but one: They are both precious to me.
That explains why he’s crying.
As they come up the last dune, Lee notices something. The pink-haired young woman’s hand is now in the blond man’s, squeezing tight.
Oh. So that’s why pink is a sad color.
Original post