GaaSaku 2023 FanFest Day12
Prompt: Enemies to Lovers
“Man, what a drag.” Shikamaru tossed his cigarette to the ground and snuffed it out with the toe of his boot. It smoked against the pavement and his hand impulsively went back to his pack for another. “We got the cops crawlin’ all over this place. What are we even here for?”
Beside him, Gaara leaned against the old stone walls of the Historical Arts Museum, a cup of coffee keeping his hands warm in the brisk autumn air. He pulled down his scarf a little to take a sip and winced; still too hot. “Just hurry up,” he muttered. “We gotta get back in there.”
At the end of the alley, another pair of police walked by, talking casually, and didn’t even glance their way. The cops were everywhere, but it was typical security for the largest tourist pull in the city and surrounding metropolitans, and they had no idea what their mundane Saturday rounds were precedent to and couldn’t see the warning signs in front of them.
That’s why their team had been called in.
Shikamaru and himself, along with three other agents, had been deployed to safeguard the museum under the guise of tourists; they were to blend in with the crowd, watch for signs of suspicion, and would be staking out the building overnight. Only their contractor was privy to who knew of their operation and they were to function as if completely undercover. With orders given, the reasons behind them were negligible, but the recent and very public scandal including the museum and some of their artifacts had given them an inclination as to why their services had been sought out; they were anticipating a heist and couldn’t trust their hired security detail to handle it.
Gaara readjusted the radio piece in his ear, subtle and just like a Bluetooth headphone, and Shikamaru did the same before they reentered the museum and dispersed into the roving crowds. Going separately, they had plenty of time to kill and lots of ground to cover before they had a good handle of the space. No one would try anything during the day, so they spent their time looking for easy points of entry, blind spots in the view of the security cameras, and always wary of anyone acting suspicious.
A few calls had gone over the headsets of the agents as they lapped the building throughout the day: potential activity in the west wing, renaissance section on the second floor, then again in the same wing on the floor below. A third call had come in about a tourist getting too close to one of the paintings and a security guard had them removed. Sloppy work for any muscle-for-hire they expected to be on the job, it made it difficult to say what was to be considered and what could be ignored. Gaara made his way back over to the western wing, he was growing anxious with all the activity happening so far away, he needed to see with his own eyes.
Passing the lobby from the east wing, he was keeping pace with the crowd, not wanting to draw attention to himself, though he was certain the guards had changed shifts since the last time he crossed through here. Ascending the stairs to the second floor, a call came in over the headset; suspicious activity in renaissance again, his agent was in pursuit. Feeling his heart rate increase, Gaara thought they may actually be onto something, and perhaps the night wasn’t going to end in boredom after all.
Rounding the balcony of the second floor, he looked around for the directory, he should at least appear like this wasn’t the third time he’d walked this path today, and as he scanned the area for the map stand, a flash of pink left his heart dropping to his stomach.
Suddenly his hands were on the railing of the balcony, leaning over to double take at the ground floor he’d just come from. Yes, a short bob of that unforgettable light pink hair had just dipped out of view beneath the balcony. His heart was thumping against his chest now, and his feet were moving before he could even press the wireless receiver in his pocket to put out a message. Stepping swiftly down the stairs, he craned his neck to try and see over all the people crowding the adjacent hallways he’d seen her walk down.
“I need eyes on east first floor,” he hissed, weaving around those passing him on the stairs before he finally reached the ground again. “Suspect moving northeast.”
He hadn’t heard the response in his ear, he was too busy searching every head he saw for that familiar color, and he thought he’d seen it once he cleared the steps. Giving chase, he made quick steps in that direction while never taking eyes of the woman walking through the lingering visitors.
“Watch it!” a young man shouted after he’d backed up into Gaara and gotten knocked over in his haste. “Jeeze, look where you’re goin!”
Ignoring the man, Gaara stepped around him and scanned the crowd for any sight of his target; nothing. He walked away from the man still cussing at him and asked over his walkie, “Did you see her?” he asked, urgency in his voice. When his operative responded with see who he was about ready to call for their demotion when they got back to headquarters. “Sakura, you idiot!”
The earbud crackled. “Negative,” the voice responded.
Gaara scowled and rubbed his face as he demanded, “You missed the pink hair?”
Shikamaru came over the walkie then, his command authoritative. “Settle down, everyone dyes there hair now, seen plenty here today already.”
He countered by insisting, “I saw her.”
“Just like in April when you swore she was in Amsterdam?” Gaara stuffed his hands in his jacket pocket and clenched his fists, refusing to yet again make his claim that, yes, he did see her in Amsterdam. “Go back to post.”
He turned from the west wing of the first floor, returning to the stairs and ascending slowly, eyes lingering in the direction he thought he’d seen her last. No trace, gone.
“Dammit,” he cursed under his breath.
At the top of the stairs, a broad open gallery housed some large and impressive masterworks and Gaara took up residence on a bench in front of one of them. There were other people his age appearing to be sketching the paintings, or drawing the crowd, and he intended to blend in with them as he watched the floor below for any signs of that woman; if she were to leave, she would have to do so through the front doors.
Gaara sighed and put his head in his hands for a moment, rubbing his temples and pressing circles into his eyes. Maybe he was seeing things, he was likely just chasing a ghost.
Amsterdam or not; it had been over two years since he’d touched her, since he’d felt how real she was, and he played the memory of their first meeting on repeat so that he wouldn’t forget her face. He had first encountered her on a solo run for an agriculture firm that was struggling with security to their research labs, she’d been caught red handed making off with chemical samples for an upcoming pesticide. Their ensuing scuffle over them ended with a fractured skull and busted wrist for him, a broken rib and stray bullet for her, and he was sure that she had died that night.
He had seen her again a year after that, she’d come crashing down on him and his squad when they were just about to close in on their target, and subsequently slipped away with their payday and an ample helping of his pride. Again, he’d been on mission in central Europe when he returned to his flat and found it ransacked of all their intel with a small lock of hair left on the bed for him as a calling card. He’d been locked in a tidal pull with her ever since; unrelenting, she seemed to always show up when she was least wanted and when he was least ready for her.
This time, Gaara promised himself, eyes still watching all those that passed through the doors below, this time would be different.
“Sabaku,” the voice in his ear called out, conveying the impatience of their team leader. “It’s been noted, return to rounds.”
He stood, taking one last look to the floor below; it was swimming with tourist and locals, resonating a cacophony of echoed murmurs and footsteps, but without sight of her, it just looked empty to him.
“Dammit,” Gaara seethed as he sprinted through the dark corridors of the museum, his hard footsteps against the stone floor echoing around him, drowning out the sounds of the scuffle from the western wing.
Only stepping out for a few minutes, he’d been on his way back from using the bathroom when he thought he heard something from the direction of the lobby. Quietly, as to not echo in the open spaces of the empty museum, he made way for the eastern wing, having only made it partway down the stairs to the ground floor when the distinct sound of breaking glass found him. Quickening his pace, he’d whispered a call for backup only to go unanswered but, with the commotion he heard above him now, he figured they had their own issues to deal with.
Through the lobby, down the corridor, into an adjacent hall, and he froze.
Within the dim security lights of the gallery space, all was left undisturbed save for one glass display box with a spotlight shown on a velvet necklace display stand that was missing its jewels, jewels that were currently clutched in the gloved hand of his ghost.
It was only a moment that her eyes lifted to meet his, widening in a look of surprise before she turned tail and ran from him.
He gave chase and ran through the displays, she was fast, and she wasn’t against tipping a display full of priceless jewels over in front of him to slow him down. Gaara wasn’t going to let that stop him; finally, for the first time, he’d gotten the drop on her and caught her by surprise, she wasn’t getting away again.
“Renaissance was just a rouse, huh?” he yelled out to her. “Your lackies are keeping my men busy for you, aren’t they?”
She didn’t even turn her face to him, and he’d chased her into the long corridor and had to close ground before she made it to a door. He pulled his small notepad from his pocket and took aim, hoping to God that his throw was on, and chucked the book ahead of him. It skidded along the ground and an unfortunate footstep landed atop of it, slipped her foot out from under her as she fumbled to the floor.
He had his chance, and he called into his receiver; “First floor, east wing, I’m in pursuit!”
Closing the distance, he was about to make a grab for her when she spun her leg out swept his feet out from under him. Scrambling from the floor as he fell, she tried to gain space from him, but he snagged her ankle and wouldn’t let go. She yelped as she tried lunging away only to grabbed and, when she turned to face him, she was like a cornered animal.
Pulling himself up and grabbing her wrist as she tried to swing at him, he demanded, “Whose pocket are you in now?”
A twist of her hips and a knee connected with his left side, he flinched just enough for her gain back her wrist and lean forward to bring an elbow down against his traps on his shoulders. He grunted and seized up, though the blow had been favorable compared to the time she gave him a kidney shot with a crow bar. Sakura tried to scramble away from him, but he wasn’t relenting; not now, not after two years of bidding his time.
“Come on,” she huffed, breathless. “You’re not that stupid.” She tried to knee him again and he grabbed the front of her gear, hauling her up a few inches from the floor, only to slam her back down and press the breath from her lungs. She gasped and glared up at him, her eyes alight with fire and fury, and he hadn’t noticed her swing until her gloved fist struck his jaw.
Knocked back and halfway delirious, Gaara floundered after her, narrowly avoiding a kick to the face as he grabbed for her ankle again and when he pulled her back to him, something slid away from her and out of reach. It sparkled in the dim light of the hall, and she began thrashing against him once it left her grasp. Encouraged by the sight of her priorities, Gaara used his strength and size to his full advantage.
Stradling her, he pinned her hips to the floor and swatted away the hands she tried to hit him with. His one hand went to his belt and flicked open the snap holding a pair of cuffs in place and he snagged her wrist with his other. Able to feel her knees hitting against his back and her legs slipping on the hard floor, Gaara secured one wrist in the cuff before he found himself squarely smacked in the face, but he didn’t let go. Any other agent and he wouldn’t given them a broken nose to help them rethink their actions, but with her – from the very start of their cat and mouse – it had been different.
Second wrist chained to the first now, and Gaara held her by the cuffs, keeping her arms raised up to him so she couldn’t wind up for another swing.
He huffed as he kneeled over her, finally able to say that he’d caught the woman that had been the bane of his profession for years. But this wasn’t what he had truly been after, and he needed to know, “Why?” he asked, face contorted in a mask of satisfaction and longing. She stilled beneath him and caught his gaze. “Why do you insist on living this life?”
She looked into his eyes a moment, as if trying to discern if his question were rhetorical or not. “Because,” she said quietly after her pause. “What I do matters.”
Gaara scoffed and yanked on her cuffs, she jostled beneath him but remained otherwise unperturbed. “Theft, espionage, sword for hire,” he listed with a voice of contempt. “This is what matters to you?”
She looked a little disappointed to hear him say that, maybe even a little hurt, but he steeled his emotions and swore she wouldn’t get the best of him this time. Her next words were soft and quiet, not like the ones he would expect spoken of his opponent pinned and handcuffed beneath him. “You left me for dead,” she said smoothly; no anger or betrayal, and he knew instantly when she was speaking of. “What happened after that?”
After her heist of the pesticides, when his gun went off in their tussle and he’d been forced to leave her to evacuate the site, a study surfaced about how high levels of chemicals banned in surrounding countries were found in the new formula; it cost the company millions.
“Don’t feed me any bullshit,” he warned.
“What about the target I stole from you?” she asked, his warning thrown to the wayside. Gaara scowled. “Wasn’t he just a whistle blower your government wanted quiet?” He couldn’t refute that one, it had come out soon after their failed mission that the man they’d been sent to capture was indeed a high-profile target for the powerful people that ended up put behind bars with his testimony.
“What about Amsterdam?” Gaara demanded. “I know you were there.”
She smiled up at him, a soft expression, one that was so rare on a face like hers. “When do you think I took this job?”
Gaara looked up from her to where the glittering necklace still sat on the cold floor. “For that?” he questioned in disbelief. “For a necklace?”
“An heirloom,” she corrected him, her frustration with his lack of wit becoming evident. “You’re not deaf, you’ve heard the news?”
“For Christ’s sake!” he exclaimed. “Have them take the museum to court if it’s stolen!”
“It’s taken seven years to go to court!” she spat back at him. “I work much quicker.”
“Stop the misunderstood savior act,” he sneered. “I know you’re lying.” She had to be, no one was as good as she was with righteous intent.
Now, as she frowned and looked to the side, she truly did look pained. It was the first look of vulnerability he’d seen from her, the first glimpse into a person beneath the weapon that she was. “You don’t know anything about me.”
Defiant, Gaara tugged on her cuffs, still locked in the iron grip of his fist, and made a show of her bindings. “I know you’re not getting away this time,” he answered, his words every bit of a promise he could make them.
“Think so?” she asked, her eyes sliding back to him, and she was smirking now. Gaara hesitated, this was precisely why he remained suspicious of her. “I’m the only one that you can’t catch, Gaara,” she said, now looking him squarely in the eyes without a trace of uncertainty or deceit.
“But I’ve caught you,” he countered, unable to understand her mind when she was finally right where he wanted her to be after all this time.
“I know,” she agreed. Again, her voice was smooth and calm, unafraid and unworried. “And you’re about to let me go.”
“What are you talking abo–”
From the cuffs in his hand, a watch around her wrist suddenly flashed red and began beeping in a high-pitched succession. Gaara flinched but didn’t release her from his grip. Then all at once, a spray of automatic gunfire echoed through the museum and a few distinct pops could be heard returning fire. Looking back to the woman beneath him, he found her with a quieted look of urgency on her face, the echoed pops sounding off around them.
“You should’ve just let me walk,” she said, her voice sounding as if she were a bit sorry for the way things turned out before she ordered, “Go, they’ll need you.”
He didn’t know what he was about to say, he wanted to demand more answers from her, he wanted to drag her off with him so she wouldn’t escape him again, but his uncertainty died on his tongue when his radio crackled in his ear, and he could hear his fellow agent shouting over gunfire and calling for his location.
“Shit,” he seethed, dropping her cuffed wrists, he stood from where he had her pinned, and he took off down the hall. Passing the necklace she’d dropped; he scooped it up in his hands and shut it safely in his pocket and unzipped the vest to access his gun holster.
Sprinting, his lungs burned as he dashed through the lobby and he swiftly ascended the stairs. Gun drawn, heart racing, adrenaline honing his senses with every concussive sound to echo within the museum’s open chambers, Gaara swiveled around the railing to the second floor and found cover against the frame of the doorway leading to the western wing. He took a breath, preparing himself for the moment he turned the corner, and then all at once the gunfire had stopped.
The last of the shots echoed through the museum for a few seconds, and when they finally subsided, Gaara had called out over his walkie and ran to the team. They had been shaken and confused, surrounded by the sound of gunfire yet no one had been hit. His agents hadn’t been able to tell where it was coming from, and only a small number of bullet holes could be found in the floors and on the surrounding walls. Then it had simply stopped.
Gritting his teeth, Gaara turned a heel and ran back down the hall and down the stairs, the call of Shikamaru and his fellow agents going unanswered. Once through the lobby he slowed his steps upon seeing the dim glow of the security lights illuminating his pair of handcuffs left lying on the stone floor; open, both sides. His breath all but left him, his blood ran cold. How much of this had she planned? How long had she been watching him throughout the day?
Running again, he came upon the room he’d discovered her in and stepped through the broken shards of glass left at the display podium. He pulled the bejeweled necklace from his pocket along with a small flashlight and shown the beam onto the piece. It flashed in his hands and he moved the light to the display tile affixed to the podium.
Clenching the necklace in his fist, he took a shaken breath. A replica, and a poor one at that. She hadn’t even meant to leave it, who would have been fooled? It was for him, to make him think he’d finally bested her, and he’d fallen for it.
Running a hand through his hair and stifling his frustration and his rage, he once more secured the necklace in his pocket. He would be seeing her again, he was certain of it.
Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaceyJane
FanFiction: https://www.fanfiction.net/u/2120361/WiccadBaltane0501
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