Gaara's Neko

Gaara's Neko Chapter 4

I'm woken up by Kankuro shaking me.

"Yes, master?"

"One, I'm hungry, two, I need to train you for going to Konoha."

I get up and stretch, my tail arching over my head.

"I'll cook, but I'm already a ninja, master."

"Then why do you get tortured?"

"Firstly, I deserve it.  Secondly, my jutsus are very draining, almost self-sacrificing."

"You don't deserve it.  I need to teach you different techniques."

"I can barely move my fingers most of the time.  My techniques don't have many fingerings.  I can't do many Ninjutsus or Genjutsus, I have mastered Taijutsu."

"What rank are you?"

"Jonin.  I was very good at hiding my ears and tail."

"Come on, let's go get food." He grabs my arm and pulls me downstairs.

"Yes, master."

I start making pancakes.

Temari comes downstairs, and sits at the table.

"I heard a lot of noise once Gaara took you upstairs, Sweetie."

"He wanted to tell me that we were going to Konoha."

Kankuro's smirking.

"Have you decided on a name, Sweetie?"

I smile.

"Yes, Ataishinai."

She smiles sadly at me.

"If that's what you want, Sweetie."

"I do.  It describes me."

"I would rather call you Rippana, Sweetie."

Kankuro isn't smirking anymore.

"But I'm not, miss."

She doesn't say anything, just starts eating.

I sweep upstairs to Gaara's room, knocking on the door.

"Master-sama, would you like me to bring something up for you?"

He opens the door, and pulls me inside.

"Yes, Master-sama?"

"Mother, you are discontent, you haven't had any good blood lately.  Would you like the surēbu neko's blood?  I will sacrifice..."

I blink at him, he isn't talking to me.

"Master-sama, give me permission to comfort you." I request softly.

He nods at me, barely noticeable with his other movements, but I saw.

I move over to him pulling him softly into a hug.

I stroke his hair, making soothing noises.

He continues to talk, but collapses against me.

I hear the door close softly, but don't react.

The words are irrecognizable to me, but I know they're words.

With one fingertip, I trace the outline of his love tattoo on his forehead.

He tenses up, and I stop.

"Continue." He commands.

I don't hesitate.

His voice is... odd.

It's commanding, but still quiet.

Somehow, it gives the impression that to disobey would be a fatal mistake.