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At The Intersection of Gauche and Obtuse	By : Sushi4Brains Category: Naruto > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 2102 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto or any of its characters and no profit is made from this work of fan fiction.

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
Obtuse: not quick or alert in perception, feeling or intellect.
It was the time of day he'd come to appreciate. Sitting beside the window, the sun not having reached its midday crest - perfumed breezes making music as they flutter the corners of his book. Since his confinement, it was also the time of day which made him ill at ease. Thrice daily came the performance of a delicate balancing act, pitting years of training against the reawakened need to please. Instinct had his body strung like a hunter's bow … the entirety of his focus now concentrated on the door to his cell.
They were coming for him…
the sounds of their crepe soled footfalls like signatures,
unique above all others as they marched down the corridor.
Soon they'd stand outside his cell, flabby arms folded across droopy bosoms as they debated the arrangement of his interrogation or torture. Instinct drew his left arm across his body, his fingers stretching forth, straining for the handle of his absent tanto - and as they always did, the stabbing pains shooting through his back stopped instinct cold; yet another reminder of his defenseless state.
Downcast eyes sweep back and settle on the book lying spine up in his lap - a training manual from his squad leader, a gift given on the second day of his imprisonment;
Social Intercourse: Volume One - Establishing Rapport.
"Remember Sai," his captain said as he handed over the entire series, "this isn't a Foundation infirmary. These people aren't trying to slit your throat or poison you. They're healers ... civilian healers… noncombatants."
A forced exhale banished the tension from his body and when he closed his eyes, his fingers tracing the book's spine, he could see his captain sitting there by the side of the bed, wearing the same, "I want to strangle you, but I understand your confusion," look he always seemed to have. He could hear the drumbeat of his captain's fingers against the edge of the chair's seat as he futzed about for the right words to say.
‘Lookit, Captain Yamato said, ‘the last thing you need in this place is a bad reputation. What if you thought of your stay here as an infiltration mission? All you need do is adapt yourself, conform to their routine and gather information. Just give 'em a smile ... be quiet, polite and cooperative. Think you can do that for me?’
For his captain's sake, he was willing to try, since the concepts of routine and conformity usually held his instincts in check. It would require a great deal of effort, so accustomed was he to the expressionless masks of the Foundation's medics, the animated faces of his present caretakers still made him wary.
Their smiles are as fake as mine, he thought, and perhaps, so are their intentions. Still, reports of my good behavior will make things easier for my captain.
Adaptation to routine … that was the easy part. Three times a day, these same two civilian nurses charged into his room, bearing trays laden with tasteless foods, their pockets filled with vials of medication, clinking against the empty cylinders intended to store portions of his blood. They always took turns, scribbling down his vital signs or noting his current mental state on their ever present clipboard.
Aware of what he had to do, he opened his eyes and rose slowly from his seat, knowing the nurses felt less threatened when he wasn't ambulatory.
Only a few minutes remained in which to crawl into bed where they expected him to be; soon they'd stand on the other side of the door... cackling and whispering. But in the ears of a trained shinobi, civilian whispers were anything but.
'A creepy psychopath' ... a 'lunatic', a 'difficult' patient - that's what they always called him - that's why they feared him.
Given his condition upon arrival - his mind warped by fever, his body wracked with pain, ninja medics would have understood what triggered the attack. It was a case of bad luck all around, as less experienced civilian medics staffed the emergency room that day. In retrospect, it was what his captain called - a 'teachable' moment.
For the medics, they learned the folly behind attempting disarmament of a wounded shinobi and for Sai, it was the day was branded a deranged dissembler.
Quietly slipping between starched sheets, he settled back into a brace of lumpy pillows, and as he smoothed the linens over his lap, once more he heard his captain's voice saying:
‘Try not to antagonize the nurses and whatever you do, don't startle them with your drawings. Understood?’
No worries about that second bit, for all his brushes, inks, and scrolls were turned into the hands of his captain after he was subdued in the emergency room. From that point onward, he was granted supervised periods of sketching whenever his captain was present. As for the politely smiling, cooperative quietness bit which his captain insisted on ... well, that just made the nurses edgier.
Short, stubby nails clicked against the door's metal hand hold - a signal that rounds had begun. The mid-morning injection of painkillers would render him unconscious, docile… less prone to attack when it came time for his physical exam. The nurses wisely left that chore to the Hokage, a ninja and medic herself, one capable of countering any instinctual defensive moves on his part.
A contrived smile pulled at the corner of his lips when they entered - as usual, it was met with the same revulsion, the same matched scowls and the same unblinking fear in the nurse's' eyes as they rushed through their chores.
No sooner than they left, the thick medication crawled through his veins, forcing his mind into neutral; afterwards, the same images running in an endless loop would present themselves – events of days, weeks and years past would recycle themselves as if having freshly occurred. And as his drug induced dreams always did, the second his eyes closed, Sai felt darkness descend once again -the sensation of falling and the pain …it all rushed back.
As the ochroid mist lifts this time, he sees a gigantic hairy spider advancing on his frightened teammate - he feels the membranes crunch under his tanto as it slips inside the arachnid's brain; his nostrils filling with a nauseatingly sweet odor as hot, slimy, green venom splatters against his face, into his mouth and all over his uniform.
Sakura's frantic screams echo inside the cave and rumble down inside his ears as his limp body hurtles toward an unyielding pillar of mud. Then came the ear shattering snap of bones … his bones, when he's slammed to the cave's floor. The iron taste of blood … his blood, fills his mouth and the acidic burn of disappointment scorches his gut.
Another mission failed.
He was falling into darkness again and the scene beneath him shifts as he spirals downward. From an earthen prison to a wide open space inundated with bright lights ... an ocean of white robed people surrounded him - their faces aglow with terror.
Suddenly, that voice thunders over the noise and confusion in the room - it's timbre, firm and uncompromising, keyed into the part of his psyche which demands obedience above all else.
'Lay down your weapon,' the voice said. 'Your mission's complete.'
Slowly, the face attached to the voice swims into focus - the happuri, the spiky brown hair and eyes of darkest brown. That voice, softer now as the stern features of his captain slacken … the feeling of warm, strong fingers prizing a kunai from his clammy, clenched fist – it still tingled against his flesh.
'It's alright, Sai … I'm here,' the voice whispered. 'You're safe.'
The sensation of floating ceases as his body comes to rest inside a room with white walls and warm breezes gently blowing from the window opposite of where he lay.
His captain's snorts of laughter fill the spotlessly clean room with a ticklish warmth much like the sun, which passes through his skin and heats his mending bones. That voice … daily keeps him abreast of current events, it patiently responds to the stream of his endless questions and gently corrects his misconceptions.
And as they always did when the medication started to wear off - his thoughts sort themselves out … whittling down to one point, one person,
Captain Yamato.
Calm, reasonable, easy to converse with or listen to - Captain Yamato had been most helpful, teaching him to adjust to life outside the Foundation.
Comfort, he thinks when he stirs; perhaps that is the best word for Captain Yamato. He willingly compensates for or explains away my behavior when others take offence - his presence ... it feels as easy and natural as a paintbrush in my hands. The appreciation he has for my approach to people and situations … it's almost the same as the feeling of charcoal skimming over parchment.
Captain Yamato, commanding officer, interim squad leader ... friend?
The passive aggressive Sakura, always ready to give advice whether requested or not, or to render aid to those in need of medical intervention, whether they were a member of her team or not. She’d been helpful and unusually patient in her explanation of the things he found unfamiliar and nonsensical. Intelligent and freakishly strong, her infrequent knocks upside his head were no longer seen as an invitation to spar, instead Yamato-taichou explained that this was her way of showing ‘affection.’
Affection, he quickly learned was rather painful.
Naruto, a spitfire, was much more than the container for a demon spirit as he’d been taught to believe. He was denser than a 2x4 in matters intellectual, that much was true, yet Naruto possessed something Sai desperately wished to apprehend. . . something one of his books termed as ‘emotional intelligence.’ Naruto was loud and obnoxious, but he had a way of sifting through the darkness in another person’s heart; shining the light of hope, forgiveness and tolerance, he drew people to his side and his cause.
When next he opens his eyes, the chair beside his bed is empty though he senses the presence of two other people - even though a cotton partition prevents him from seeing their faces, their chakra is familiar.
A smile ... effortless, genuine and grateful skates over his lips and into a dip of the hard hospital mattress he sinks.
NOTE:
Ochroid: ocher, a pigment which ranges in color from pale yellow to orange and red.
- 10
- 11
- 12
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At The Intersection of Gauche and Obtuse