13 // sh

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        The way into the Hidden Sand estate was damned near impossible. In fact, with Sasuke's lack of espionage training, it was a suicide mission just showing up. Sasuke's line of work called for less finesse: a hard knock on the head, a kick to the gut, a bullet through the skull, and the subsequent disposal of any remaining bits. This mission tonight was anything but quick.

Sasuke read carefully over the instructions that Kiba had already worked out. Thankfully, at least someone had put some thought into how to get in. From the detail Kiba had written, someone would have believed that he lived there; seriously, what was that kid doing as muscle? His talent was clearly in the details.

        The information file burned into Sasuke's brain, he carefully followed the path through the woods that Kiba had found. Sasuke moved his way silently past the guards patrolling the property, carefully avoiding the areas that were marked as watchdog territory. Soon he was slipping in through the back veranda, hiding among topiaries and hugging the path that had been plotted for him on the map. He carefully watched the gentle sweep of the cameras, and prayed that he wouldn't make a wrong step.

Since God clearly wasn't watching out for someone like him, it must have been sheer luck that he was able to get in through the french doors cresting the patio. He dug through his pocket until he found the lock picking kit Naruto showed him how to use, and after three tries, the door creaked open. He breathed carefully as he ducked inside, laying low in the darkness of the sunroom. Sasuke closed his eyes, searching for the next step.

Through the sunroom, past the kitchen, into the main hall. The stairs to the second floor, hug the left railing, cross the hall. Sasuke breathed low as he approached two ornate, wooden doors. Pulling his gun from his belt, he held it at eye level, and exhaled. Sasuke pushed the door open with one hand, and stopped.

An elegant man in a lax version of a suit- an undershirt with exposed suspenders, wrinkled slacks, and a tie that had been loosened after a long day- with a shock of red hair rested his hip on a large desk made of heavy wood, a document in hand. He chewed on a pair of spectacles as he read, his red hair covering his face until he looked up.

For a moment his eyes were cold and unfocused, until he saw the gun Sasuke had pointed at his face. His cool demeanor fell, and he raised his hands, glasses and papers hanging loosely in his fingers. "Don't shoot."

"Yeah, that's not why I'm here," Sasuke said softly, shutting the door behind him.

Gaara lowered his hands, dropping the glasses on the table.

Sasuke cocked his gun nervously. "Don't fucking move, Gaara."

"All right," he said, his voice even enough. "Just tell me why you want me dead, and maybe we can make a deal."

"I'm just doing what Mr. Orochimaru hired me to do," Sasuke admitted, moving closer. "That should tell you enough."

"Look, whatever Orochimaru is paying you, I can triple it," Gaara said, his hands outstretched.

"Right," Sasuke said, scoffing. "Except he's paying me in ways that you couldn't match."

"Please," Gaara begged, although his voice never wavered. "I'm just a man with a family, trying to provide."

Sasuke chewed the inside of his lip. "Nice story," he said. "But I'm not the emotional type."

Of course the next voice to speak would make Sasuke regret his words. "Daddy?"

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