AN: Yep, I'm still alive, just haven't posted anything in ages. Just a short, introspective story about Gai and Lee, based on a prompt from my friend Mel. Undertones of things to come, but no pairing. Takes place after "Stay With Me."

"Ahh, fresh mountain air!" Gai stretched his arms and breathed in deeply. Looking up at the starry sky, he grinned and planted his hands on his hips. "Invigorates the body and spirit! Nothing quite like it, eh Lee?"

"Yes, Gai-sensei," Lee replied, his tone unusually subdued.

Gai turned, brows knitting together. Lee was sitting on a log near the edge of their campsite, his white tunic smudged from their long hike through the forest, staring off into the trees.

Ever since leaving Konoha two days ago, Lee had seemed strangely preoccupied, and his smile lacked its usual brilliance. Gai had been debating whether to say anything. He'd held off, knowing that sometimes, calling attention to someone's bad mood could make it worse. If Lee wanted to talk about it, he would do so. Or so Gai had been telling himself.

But he couldn't hold back any longer.

"Are you all right, Lee?"

Lee looked up and smiled in Gai's direction without meeting his gaze. "I am fine, Gai-sensei." He glanced at the row of river trout they'd caught earlier, now impaled on sticks, sharpened ends stuck upright in the ground. "Those will be tasty once they are cooked. Should I start gathering some wood for the campfire?"

"Er…yes, thank you." He watched as Lee retreated into the forest and began gathering dry sticks.

Gai and Lee had been going on these camping trips regularly for several months now. Gai had come to look forward to the routine: the peaceful solitude of the mountains, Lee's comforting presence, his bright eyes and smile. Simple, wholesome student-teacher bonding; no worries, nothing to distract them from the pleasure of training and each other's company. Or at least, that was how it had always been.

What was different now? Gai wondered—was it something he'd done? Something he'd said?

Lee returned with an armload of kindling and began arranging the sticks in their firepit. He struck a piece of flint against a kunai, producing a spark which caught and grew into a blossom of flame as Lee fed it bits of dried grass and wood chips.

Gai felt a flicker of pride at how quickly and efficiently he went through the simple tasks. Just a few weeks ago, it had all been a struggle for him…but Lee's hard work showed in everything he did. He was the sort of student every teacher dreamed of, eager to learn, brimming with enthusiasm and utterly devoted.

Almost too devoted, sometimes. Gai often wondered if he really deserved that blind trust.

Once the fire was roaring and the fish were roasting on their sticks, Gai approached and sat down next to Lee on a mossy log. He extended his hands toward the fire, basking in its warmth.

Softly, Lee said, "I am sorry."

Gai glanced over at him in surprise. "For what?"

"I know I have not been myself. I have been feeling a little strange. That is all."

Gai offered what he hoped was a disarming smile. Odd, to feel so awkward around Lee. "Don't worry about it. Youth is a time of strong feelings, some of them confusing. I recall when I was your age, I was often overcome by strange moods. But it will pass. In the meantime, though, if you want to talk…"

For a moment, Lee stared silently into the campfire. The leaping flames reflected in his dark eyes. "I was thinking about the first time we came out here together. When I was bitten by that spider."

"I remember." Gai had raced back to the village with a shivering, feverish Lee in his arms. He'd opened four of his gates to get to the hospital in time. A chill rippled through him at the memory. It all could have ended that night. If he'd lost Lee—

He pushed the thought away. He hadn't, and that was what mattered. "Are you worried about that happening again? Because I brought some of that medicine…"

"It is not that." Lee stared down at his sandal-clad feet. His toes curled and flexed in a rhythmic motion, which Gai had come to recognize as a nervous habit. "I was just thinking about how you carried me back. And how you stayed in the hospital with me afterward. Just…how you were there. Always there by my side. It was the first time that anyone ever did anything like that for me."

"You're my student," Gai said gently. "I want to be here for you whenever you need it." It was the least he could do, as Lee's sensei. But Lee had gone so long without anyone to encourage him or offer comfort when he needed it.

Gai glanced at the fish, now cooking over the open fire, skewered on sharpened sticks. He sniffed. "Those are starting to smell done." He plucked out one of the fire-blackened sticks, took an experimental bite, and nodded in satisfaction. Smiling, he plucked out another fish and offered it to Lee.

They ate in silence, picking out the slender fishbones with their fingers. The day had been pleasantly cool, but now that the sun had gone down, the temperature was dropping rapidly. The chill penetrated Gai's jumpsuit and crept into his bones. Lee surely felt it too. Perhaps that was why he had inched closer to Gai. When Gai shifted, his arm brushed against his student's. Lee's breath caught in his throat, and Gai glanced over at him, wondering if he'd nudged a bruise or a cut. Lee always tried to conceal his injuries. "Are you hurt, Lee?"

"No, Gai-sensei. I am fine," he said, still without looking up.

They sat quietly for another few minutes, picking the last bits of fish off the bones, washing the meal down with swigs of water from their canteens. Lee inched a little closer, until his side was pressed against Gai's, then leaned his head against his teacher's shoulder. Gai could feel him trembling. "Cold?"

A tiny nod.

Gai glanced at his pack, lying a few yards away—he'd stored a couple of fleece coats in there, in case of a cold night. If it had been Gai alone, he would have tried to brave the cold without it. Enduring discomfort was a test of a man's willpower. But Lee was still a boy. "I can get the coats, if you like—"

"I will be all right." Lee's gaze remained downcast. "Sensei?"

"What is it, Lee?"

A pause. Then he murmured, "Nothing. It is nothing."

For a moment Gai sat, staring at Lee's expression. His cheeks were flushed, his teeth pressed into his lower lip, his long lashes downcast, hiding his expressive eyes. Gai knew that something was wrong, and Lee knew that Gai knew. There was no point in pretending otherwise.

"Talk to me. Maybe I can help." He smiled and gave Lee a thumbs up, trying to deflate the palpable tension. "I'm your sensei, after all. What am I here for, if not to help you?"

"I am always coming to you with my problems and doubts, though," Lee said. "It does not seem fair to you."

That struck Gai as an oddly adult thing to say—especially coming, as it did, from someone so innocent. But then, Lee could be oddly mature at times, in spite of his naivety. Perhaps, in some way, because of it. "It's no trouble," Gai said, giving another bright smile. "Why should I mind listening to my dear student? Besides—problems are easier to deal with when shared. If I know what's wrong, maybe we can fix it together."

"What if it is something that cannot be fixed?"

"No problem is insurmountable. It's just a matter of having the proper resolve, and—" He fell silent, staring at Lee's face. His gaze was still downcast. It wasn't like Lee to avoid looking him in the eye. And suddenly, he couldn't stand it. He needed to see those eyes. Needed to look into Lee's heart and understand.

Gai reached out, tucked a folded finger beneath Lee's chin and gently lifted it. And still, Lee dropped his gaze. Somehow, that simple movement made Gai understand that this wasn't just passing adolescent moodiness. There was a wound somewhere in Lee's being. And Gai sensed that, if left untended, that wound could grow and fester. He couldn't afford to keep ignoring this and acting as if everything was normal. "Lee…" Gai's voice softened. "Is there nothing I can do?"

Lee was silent. His soft, unsteady breathing echoed through the silence of the clearing, mingling with the crackling of flames. "I am sorry. I cannot explain it." After a moment, he hugged Gai's arm. Gai tensed in surprise. Lee had hugged him many times before. He couldn't have said why this felt different—but there was a rawness, a fierceness to the way Lee clung to him, as if he were afraid Gai might dissolve into thin air if he loosened his grip for even a moment. "Is it all right if I do this?" Lee whispered.

"Of course," Gai murmured. His mouth had gone dry. Odd. He'd just taken a gulp of water a moment ago—but then, they'd had a strenuous day, and he'd been sweating a lot. An active person had to take care not to become dehydrated—

His thoughts scattered as Lee snuggled closer against his side. "I am cold," he murmured. "That is why I—" The muscles of his throat worked as he swallowed. "I am just cold."

Gai sat silent, staring into space. The coats, he thought. That would be the sensible thing. Lee was cold, after all. But to retrieve the coats he would have to untangle his arm from Lee's embrace, and he couldn't quite bring himself to pull away. Not when Lee seemed so—so vulnerable. So uncertain. And he was trembling so hard. Too hard to explain as just a by product of the chill. He turned to wrap his arms around Lee, pulling him close…and Gai was suddenly aware of how small Lee was, compared to him. How fragile. Gai's embrace all but swallowed him up, and he could feel Lee's heart fluttering against his like a trapped bird.

Lee leaned his head against Gai's chest and said softly, "I do not want to lose this."

"You won't," Gai said, surprised. "I'm not going anywhere." He lay a hand on Lee's head, smoothing his glossy dark hair. "You're precious to me, Lee. That won't change."

Lee's heartbeat quickened. Gai continued to stroke his hair, hoping the touch would penetrate the deeper layers of Lee's doubt, where words couldn't reach.

He held him for a long time. At last, Lee straightened and gave him a forced, bright smile. "I am just tired, I think. Once I get a good night's sleep, I will be fine."

Gai studied his face, his brow furrowed with concern. He considered pushing harder—but something warned him against it. Instead, he simply nodded. "All right, Lee." After a brief pause, he added, "We can talk more in the morning, if you like."

"Yes, Gai-sensei."

But somehow, he knew there would not be talk in the morning. By then, a window would have closed, and things would go on like normal. Maybe that was for the best.

Maybe.

Later, they stretched out in their separate sleeping rolls under the vast sky. Gai lay, his eyes closed, listening to Lee's soft breathing. Just as he was starting to drift off, he heard the rustle of movement and felt a small, warm body slip into the bedroll beside him. Gai's breath caught as Lee pressed against his side, one arm curling around his waist. Gai gulped. "Lee…" He turned his head.

Lee was curled up beside him, but his eyes were closed, his expression relaxed. Asleep.

Lee sleepwalked from time to time. It had happened twice, to Gai's knowledge. Once when they were camping, Lee had wandered off a short distance; Gai had woken to find him gone and had discovered him in the woods, just standing, his head bowed and his arms hanging at his sides. The other time, it had happened in the village. Lee had wandered out of his own apartment, and Gai had found him in the clearing where he usually trained, the steady, rhythmic thumps of his kicks echoing through the silence. Gai had watched him train in his sleep for nearly an hour.

Now, he nestled closer to Gai. And Gai wondered what he was supposed to do—if he was supposed to wake Lee, to carry him back to his own bedroll without disturbing him, or…perhaps he didn't need to do anything. Perhaps it was all right to just let him be.

Lee's fingers twined into his hair. His eyes remained closed, his soft breaths tickling Gai's neck.

In a flash, he remembered the first time he'd seen Lee, running alongside his classmates behind the academy…then standing along in the schoolyard long after his classmates had gone home, practicing his jutsu over and over with no success. He remembered the day he'd first taken on Lee, Neji and Tenten as students, the way Lee's eyes lit up when Gai spoke of the importance of hard work and a fiery will. As if he had been waiting his whole life to hear those words. And the way he looked at him—

Gai had never had a sensei. Not like that. Not someone he looked at with such fierce devotion. He wondered what would happen to Lee if Gai ever fell in battle, what it would do to him to lose the foundation he'd built his dreams upon. He wondered why he was thinking about these things now.

You can't let—it isn't—he's not—

Lee's face was pressed against his neck. "Gai-sensei," he murmured, his voice fuzzy with sleep.

But of course, it was cold in the mountains. And though their bedrolls were well-made, even their thick warm fleece could not keep out the chill. Lee was cold, he thought—instinctively seeking warmth. How could Gai push him away, knowing how cold it was, how much he needed this simple closeness?

If he was honest with himself, he didn't want to push Lee away. Even knowing they shouldn't—because people already said they were too close. And people made jokes that weren't quite jokes. And…

And it was cold. It was too cold and too big a world to push away someone you wanted to hold.

Gai wrapped his arms around Lee and held him through the night.

The End