[Log] Chicken Soup for the Sadist's Soul [Part 1 of 2] [Backdated like whoa]

[dango_diva]

Characters: Anko and Gaara
Date: May 21st, immediately following this log
Location: Anko's Apartment
Rating: R
Warnings/Notes: Blood, Violence, Language. Oh, and did we mention blood?
Summary: After a pretty bad trip, Anko just wants to get some sleep and Gaara just wants some attention. Too bad they both get what they're looking for.

These hauls between Districts were becoming longer and more tedious every time the trek had to be made. Especially when her calf burned like a motherfucker and her head swam distressingly with almost every other step. At least she wasn't being smothered with the Arceos-issued helmet, having left it back in that Cena street along with that bitch-slap from her past. So tired was she that Anko didn't even glance towards the stairwell, fully intent on braving the mysterious monstrosity that was the apartment building's elevator. The metal contraption lurched into motion with a loud screechy jerk, only pausing momentarily before leveling off on her floor. Limping off the elevator, Anko winced slightly feeling the fresh flow of blood trickling though her makeshift bandage but with her apartment door mere yards away, it was enough to give her the needed energy to travel those few remaining distance.

As silently as she possibly could, she slipped her key into the lock and let herself into the safety of her home. Even with her mind whirling with the night's revelations, a small part of her focused on how unnecessary her care really was. Kankurou wouldn't have even noticed her absence and Gaara...he wouldn't have cared outside of the fact that she hadn't been there for him to bitch and pick at. With that thought in mind, she didn't even glance at the couch as she made her way back towards her bedroom. The 'click' of her hand hitting the light switch in her bathroom echoed through the tiled walls, but nowhere near as loud as the jumble that consisted of her thoughts at the moment.

Her hands moved on auto-pilot as she tiredly fell to the floor, reaching into the cabinet to dig out her first aid kit. Weapons were carelessly tossed to the side to be properly cleaned and put away later. Mechanically she went to work, ignoring the nearly-crippling pain in her hand as they both reached down to seek out where Kurenai's knife had shredded her uniform, tearing the clingy fabric away from her lower leg completely.

Gaara was annoyed. Most of the time, he didn't even pay attention to the other inhabitants of the apartment, instead opting to live in the disillusioned mindset that he was, in fact, alone. When these moods passed, and boredom set in, it was up to Anko to amuse him until her presence became unneeded once again. This was basic fact. He had thought the other two understood this by now.
But Anko wasn't here.

He hadn't noticed her leaving, but really, when did her matters concern him (Except for the rare case of extortion.)? That was one thing they had an understanding of - don't ask, don't tell. He stayed out of her way - for the most part -, and she stayed out of his. It wasn't aversion; it was respect. Gaara was a recluse. He enjoyed being alone, hated company for long amounts of time. It meant he had to 'behave', and he had never been good at that. With Anko, he didn't have to concern himself with acting the right way (Not that he ever did, mind you. It just wasn't a thought in his mind around the violet-eyed woman.), could live his life without fear of attachment. When either of them got too close, or crossed thatundrawn line, both retreated. It was a mutual understanding: Don't tell me yours, and I won't tell you mine.

But Gaara was bored. And Anko wasn't here. Which only meant the red-head was beyond agitated at the woman. Didn't she know it was up to her to amuse him? If they didn't want him unleashing a bloody massacre in Celo, they had better keep him well enough entertained.

He was still brooding over this fact when the door creaked open, the silhouette of a rather tired looking Anko slipping past the barrier and into the living room beyond. She didn't pass him a sparing glance, though his eyes pierced into her form from his position on the couch, and he growled silently at this fact. What was her problem? ... Damned if he knew, but he was definitely going to find out. Hoisting himself up off the couch (His injuries were fully healed, by now. The couch just happened to be... comfortable.), the red-head stalked into the hallway, staring at the light coming from the bathroom. A pause, and then he stepped forward, arms crossed, and leaned against the open doorway, staring down at the woman on the bathroom floor. The smell of blood reached his nostrils, and he took a deep breath, closing his eyes, letting that nasty inner voice rant about how long it had been since he had last felt that warm liquid on his fingertips.

Oh, so Anko had gone out and had some fun without him, then? That just wouldn't do.

"Where were you?" It sounded more like, 'Why didn't you take me along, too?', but he tried to ignore that fact.

The rumble of an actual physical voice just barely cut through the clamoring of the ones only she could hear, causing her hands to still momentarily as the words permeated her mind.

"What does it matter to you, brat?" Her voice was low and monotone as her hands began to move again. Methodically wiping the blood away, Anko tried to ignore the presence hovering in the doorway. The smooth tone told her it was Gaara, had it been Kankurou there would have been yelling and worrying and even more emotions then she was capable of handling at this time. The sharp bite of the alcohol-infused wipe helped her to focus a little more, helped her to recenter herself a little more now that she was somewhere safe from any real harm and the ghosts of her past. Here there was a small piece of her sanity kept safely away where no one else could touch it, not even she, locked behind a door just down the hallway completely blind to what was going on scant yards away.

"Did you get something to eat earlier?"

Well, that was unexpected. He had been expecting her to snap at his question, or tell him to 'Go fuck off' (That saying was a common occurrence in this household... Not so much a common action.). Instead, her voice was hollow, lifeless... like his, actually. This revelation made his head tilt to the side. Still leaning in the doorway, he studied the other for a moment, his eyes following the trail of her hands, before the overwhelming scent became too much.
Bending down into a crouch, the red-head ran a single, pale finger along one of the bloodstains that had found its way onto the floor. Bringing it up to his mouth, he rubbed a line from his bottom lip to his chin, his eyes staring at nothing in particular in the distance. Anko was interesting when she was injured - not that that happened often, but when it did, it was amusing enough. Usually she flew into a fit of rage, getting her revenge in any way possible. Now, though, she was much more distant, more methodical in her movements. It was disconcerting.

Her question was irrelevant; it didn't deserve an answer. Instead, he snapped his bright jade eyes in her direction, his hand lowering to make designs in the floor with the blood she had spilt, watching her, waiting for her to answer his question.

The movement in her peripheral vision had Anko tilting her head to the side slightly, watching the redhead warily as he crouched down beside her. He wouldn't hurt her, she knew that much but he also wasn't one to instigate anything warm and fuzzy either. Seeing the pale finger drag through a smear of blood caused a certain level of panic to bubble up in her chest. Her fingers automatically released the items she had currently been using to patch herself up in a mad fumble for a fresh alcohol wipe, tearing open the package with little finesse to hurriedly wipe away the blood smeared across Gaara's chin.

"Don't," she hissed, rubbing the wipe viciously to remove all traces of blood from his face before snatching up his hand to repeat the process. Her own bloodstained fingertips were noticed belatedly, causing her to release to release Gaara's hand to mop at her own, the near-silent whisper of "Dirty" coming from her lips unnoticed. The fact that he was so careless to dabble unknowingly of the consequences, it angered her, giving her something firm to hold onto, something familiar and tangible that had her actually focusing on the other occupant of the small room, looking up to glare into green eyes. "Don't touch it you idiot, it's...just don't."

His first reaction was to flinch back from her touch - since when did she care if he was dirty? - but he forced himself to remain in that crouched position, even now not wanting to lose so easily to the violet-eyed woman. His entire body froze, every muscle, every tendon strained and tensed for action, as if Anko would dare try to attack him. As if she could, in her state. Ah, well. Paranoia was a way of life for the insomniac.

He watched as her hands scrubbed furiously at the blood - both on him and the floor -, something frantic in her eyes. She had never been this eager to clean up before. Gaara remembered countless times when he'd return to the apartment, blood spatter covering him from head to foot, and her only complaint was that he not get it on her carpet. But now? It was odd, this bout of cleanliness. Weary jade eyes followed her progress, shuddering when she scrubbed at his hand - the feeling of another touching him was absolutely disgusting.

"Don't touch me," he said coldly, though didn't move away from her, watching her frantic movements with interest.

She ignored the order, instead focused on trying to wipe away any trace of blood before Gaara could it in his head to seek out another smear that gave away her little trip across the border.

"I wouldn't have to if you weren't sticking your fingers where they didn't belong," she muttered, finally satisfied that the majority of the stains were gone, or at least clean enough for now until she could properly clean away all evidence of her little escapade before Kankurou decided to wander out of his cave to catch her doing what he had specifically asked her not to. Two fingers delved into the first aid kit and pulled out a pair of gloves, flinging them at the redhead before turning back to her still oozing leg.

"Didn't ask you to follow me in here, but if you're going to stay, put those on. I'd rather you keep your hands to yourself but just in case you feel the need to finger paint some more, it will make me feel a little better." The comfortable bickering delivered a little peace to Anko, giving her something else to focus her attention on rather then the whirlwind of turmoil that was distorting her thoughts and making her head ache. She propped her heel up on the edge of the toilet so she could easily reach the back of her calf to carefully dab some healing ointment on the cut before applying the gauze and and wrapping it carefully with some tape.

"Didn't feel like sleeping tonight?"

Gaara disregarded the gloves, setting them on the counter as he hefted himself back up into a standing position. There was no point in crouching down any more - the blood was gone, and he surely wasn't there to comfort. Leaning against the sink (Gaara had been doing a lot of leaning, as of late. Probably a habit picked up from his time spent incapacitated, when he had to lean against something to keep from falling flat on his face.) in a lazy manner, the red-head looked down at Anko, watching her wrap her ankle, concealing the cut she had been cleaning moments before.

"No." He had never had a choice before. Why indulge in the luxury now? Kankuro's drugs were inexplicably addictive - one couldn't truly appreciate sleep until they had gone without it for a long time, and Gaara had been awake for seventeen years, give or take a few bloody mishaps. He craved the bliss of unconsciousness. It was like being able to forget for a few precious hours. Like silence. Like peace.

But Kankuro wasn't sharing his drugs tonight.

A sideways glance towards the woman on the floor. "Didn't feel like staying home?" Back to the subject at hand - Anko's bruised and battered form, but, more importantly, Gaara's lack of similar injuries.

The tearing of tape echoed against the tiles, Anko's face contorted into a scowl with the intrusive question. It was something that would have been more appropriate coming out of Kankurou's mouth rather than his younger brother's, but unwelcome regardless of who's lips formed the question.

Needed to get out and get some air. I know you're not going to give me grief about leaving my own apartment, Gaara." Her unspoken threat of violence for the double standard hung heavily in the air as she tossed the gauze back into the box. Long fingers picked through the supplies to find a bottle of painkillers, snapping open the lid and tossing back a couple dry. It took a little twisting and cursing in an attempt to reach the zipper that ran down the length of her spine but between her mangled hand and bruised (hopefully not cracked...she still needed to check that-) ribs, her efforts proved wasted and unfruitful. Tiredly she eyed the pile of knives figuring that to be the easiest route out of the skin-tight outfit and then the brat leaning up against the door frame.

"Is it too much to ask for a little bit of a hand here?"

That was more like it. Threats, he could deal with. It was the cold, hollow woman that perplexed him the most. He watched silently as she continued to clean up her body, downing a few painkillers in the process. More drugs. It just reminded him of the night of sleep he had missed out on, thanks to Kankuro's whining complaint about not getting paid for those sleepingtranqs Gaara often took from him. The idiot had hidden them, too. Well, as soon as he was out of that room, the red-head planned on making a little raid, and hiding thosemeds in a place where only he could find them.

His eyes focused in on Anko as her voice cut through the silence. Any other time, he would have flat out refused, or left the room entirely. But tonight he was curious, and leaving wouldn't get him the answers he wanted. Neither wouldsnarking off on her request, so instead he heaved a sigh and pushed off of the counter.

Without another word, Gaara bent down and took the zipper between his forefinger and thumb, tugging it gently downwards until it was all the way open, revealing bare - and bruised - skin. The red-head was unaffected, and instead breathed another annoyed sigh, his hot breath ghosting across the other's flesh.

"Better?" he asked, straightening up and leaning away from her a bit, but still standing in place, in case she wanted something else. It was late, and the moon was new, and he had just downed a wonderful pot of coffee, and, for some reason, he was in a generally good mood.

"Yeah, thanks." It still took some twisting and pulling to extricate her arms from the clingy fabric but eventually she finally had the uniform open to her waist. She hissed as her bare back met the cold porcelain of the bathtub, but as the shock wore off the cold actually felt pretty good against her sore skin. Sadly that was the best she could do with the skin discolorations, the only other option being some foul smelling stuff that would undoubtedly lure Kankurou out quicker than any other method Anko could think up. And right now that was the thing she was really trying to avoid. As always, her actions suddenly seemed quite foolish with the prospect of yelling and screaming that would inevitably come when Kankurou would see the marks left on her by her Cena field trip.

If Kankurou were to see them.

Suddenly his absence at her side wasn't such a hardship if she were to really think about it. He rarely ventured outside of his workshop except to eat or to wander straight to the bathroom and back out again. It wouldn't take much of an effort at all to just keep out of sight however long the bruises stained her skin, though there was always the possibility of just blaming them on her and Gaara's latest tumble too...nothing too unusual but Kankurou would surely not understand the long cut marring her leg or the reason her hand was all fucked up.

Either way, she would have to rely on the brat to help make it work. Shit.

"Surprised you're not off lurking around somewhere instead of hanging out here. Figured you'd be sick of the place by now."

"Hn." Truth was, he was sick of the place. It was stifling, and stuffy, and boring, but... it had become familiar. More of a home than his apartment back in Cena - not like that had ever been a home, but still -, more of a refuge than his many haunts through the whole of Curia. She was right - he probably should leave for a while. Get out, get some air... kill something. It had been nearly three months since he'd actually felt another's life draining away beneath his hands, and with each passing night, that voice which constantly haunted his psyche had grown louder, more pressing. It was no longer a constant prick in the back of his mind, but a tangible noise beating at the front of his skull.

The sight of all this blood did nothing to quell its frenzy.

She was working to clean it up, and Gaara hesitated on whether or not he should stop her movements so he could run his hands through the crimson stain once again. Doubtful that she would comply, though, and unless he killed something himself, the voice would only get louder. He wasn't willing to lose control in front of Anko. That would be weak.

But he wasn't willing to leave her here, either. It didn't register in his mind that he should probably stay to make sure she was alright - to help her -, but he did determine that watching and prying information out of the violet-eyed woman would pass another few sleepless hours. And besides, he was genuinely curious about her strange behavior. Anko had changed throughout the past few weeks. Slowly, yes, and she hid it well, but she had still changed.

So he hovered, watching her clean herself up, arms crossed and bright jade eyes downcast as they followed her movements.

It took a little bit of elbow grease but finally all traces of blood had been cleaned from the bathroom and a pile of stained towels and rags sat ready for a long soak in some bleach. Her bones cracked painfully as she struggled to pull herself to her feet, her joints all cramped up for sitting in the small space for too long, but she managed to do it on her own without assistance from her silent onlooker. She brushed past him on her way from the bathroom to her bedroom, trying her damnedest to keep the limping minimal as she wandered around the room, pulling out a pilfered shirt and pajama bottoms that used to be Kankurou's. Again, a little more awkward struggling as she peeled away the red Arma uniform completely, uncaring of the other person's presence as it would have hardly been the first time he'd seen her, but eventually the uniform sailed by Gaara to land near the to-be-bleached pile and she was in the looser comfy clothes that still smelled like her 'Kurou, giving her the comfort she needed since he was locked away and unavailable to her.

The room remained devoid of conversation as Anko rifled through the bedside nightstands for that familiar vial, her aversion to needles ignored completely when a good 12 hours of blissful unconsciousness were involved. But when her search turned up no results, a light sense of panic began to tickle her senses as she double checked any other place that Kankurou could have stashed some in their room.

Not tonight. She hadn't even contemplated that there wouldn't be any accessible to her, not with Kankurou's need to randomly attack his brother and her own need of that magic elixir that gave her the sleep she needed since nothing else did anymore. It had to be somewhere, somewhere that didn't involve actually having to seek out her lover and actually ask for it. Needing it like a junkie needed their drug of choice, this was Anko's. And her body began to revolt with the thought that it wouldn't be able to indulge in what her mind had promised.

"Gaara...that sleeping stuff, I know you've got some somewhere right? Or did 'Kurou move it or leave it out somewhere else?"

Gaara followed her out of the bathroom, his entire air bored and uninterested. True, he was curious, but that curiosity could not be satisfied as Anko undressed and changed. Not that the sight of a naked body didn't affect him in that way...- Well. It didn't, actually. Not when blood wasn't involved. And besides, Gaara didn't think of Anko in those terms. She was someone he could fight with, argue with, relate to on some strange level. Nothing more, nothing less.

So as she got dressed, he found his gaze wandering to other parts of the room, not really focused on the unclothed woman before him. He had seen it before, he would see it again.

He was studying the far wall with an intensity wholly unnatural, when her question broke through his concentration. Dark jade eyes slowly settled on her form - ah, she had found something to wear, now -, a bit of a question in their depths. She sounded desperate, in need, and Anko was never one to appear so... addicted.

"Ask him," he intoned coldly, still a little bitter at the fact that Kankuro had hidden those sleeping drugs from him.

That bitter yet still nonchalant tone riled her nerves even further, even more than the audacity of the suggestion itself.

“And what makes you think I can just go to him all banged up like this when I’m not even supposed to be straying too far from home? If you think you had it bad with the restrictions we had given you, you don’t know the half of it. He finds out about this and my ass is in deep shit.” It hurt her pride somewhat, to admit this to Gaara of all people. Kankurou’s protectiveness over her was something she knew and accepted for the most part, but it wasn’t something that needed vocalizing. It was one of the few concepts she still had to force herself to remember at times, knowing that whatever it was she was doing, it wasn’t only affecting just her anymore. Whether or not he realized it or not, it wasn’t like Anko went out of her way to irritate or disappoint him. After living on her own for so long with no one else to answer to, was it really any surprise that this compromise took a little getting used to?

“Not unless you want to help me out and back me up that you and I had gotten into it again to explain away anything in plain sight. If you do that, then I can perhaps manage enough for the both of us.” How far she had fallen, to wheedle and bribe with narcotics that were not even hers to do so with.

Ah, her offer was tempting... but so was the thought of sating his boredom with a good dose of prolonged curiosity. It was curious that she had come back not only beaten and bloodied, but a little hollow and... shaken, as well. It was curious that her apparent need for something she blatantly avoided - needles - was now making itself known.

No, he wasn't willing to help her out in such a manner. Not when he could have the pleasure of watching her squirm, sadist that he was.

The slight head tilt and sly, disbelieving look he shot her way proved as much.

She should have known better then to have asked such a stupid thing from Gaara of all people, but desperate times called for desperate measures and in this instance there was no one else she could turn to. Sure, it was a simple thing to go to Kankurou and be contrite and accept the blistering argument that would have resulted - she didn't want to risk pushing him so far that he would leave again. There really was nothing keeping him here but his word that they'd get through this whole thing, but if she were to keep nudging him in the thousand little ways that she did, who's to say that he wouldn't crack under the pressure?

It wasn't something Anko was willing to risk.

In a last desperate attempt of a chemically induced slumber, she stormed into the closet, each heavy fall of her heels only pulling at the cut calf muscle as she tried to remedy the situation herself. A few loose garments went sailing over her head as she attempted to unearth one of her supply bags. Magically, numerous colored vials were appearing from a forgotten pocket here or the pouch of a bag there, a colorful and mostly deadly assortment of little surprises that Kankurou had made for her. The black and pale green being little gas bombs, definitely not what she was looking for. The acids and corrosives leaning to the clearer spectrum while the instantaneous poisons claimed the blue coloring and the harsh tranquilizers violet.

Or was it the other way around?

A soft cry of frustration escaped her as she swiped away all but the blue and purple vials, stumbling up from her seated position amongst the destroyed closet to the nightstand next to her bed. Even with the sudden addition of the bedside lamp her mind still couldn't precisely equate the proper use to each particular vial. Knowing that the drug Kankurou had made for her (and on a good day, Gaara) was clear didn't do her any good, the things he had made for her were color coded so that she could tell them apart easily enough - but what good did that do when it had been so long (was it really that long ago?) that she couldn't remember what was what?

Her increasing desperation only heightened the intrigue of the whole ordeal. Gaara watched as she rifled through her closet, narrowly avoiding a stray pair of underwear as it went hurtling towards his head. His face was schooled into a look of passive contempt, arms crossed comfortably over his chest, and with each step he took, he drew closer and closer towards the frenzied woman in front of him.

"Anko." His own voice startled him, and for a moment he had to regain his bearings just to remember what he was going to say.

That familiar smirk settled into his features with ease, and as he took a few more steps in her direction, he could practically taste the predatory instincts rise like sweet blood in his throat. His fingers circled around one of her vials - purple -, and he brought it up towards his face to sniff at it curiously. It definitely smelt disgusting - but was it actually poisonous? That Anko would be desperate enough to risk that possibility, struck his mind like a fatal blow. Suddenly, he no longer liked the look of those blue and purple vials. They were a threat to Anko - to his only source of entertainment.

Giving a small sound of disapproval, the red-head strode over towards the window, lifted up the pane, and tossed the little poison vial out into the open air. It made a rather satisfying shattering noise on the pavement below.