Author's note:

So, here we go. Years ago, I used to write under a different pen name, but after a very...very, long hiatus, I have returned. New anime. New stories. This one, well...I have been debating whether or not to write it for a very long time. Anyway, I hope there's no huge G A P S in the story, but bear with me. I hope to make up for it with some plot-holes - I mean what?

Now, I present for you, in a single act:

So Close

Chapter 1:

The Boy With the 'Love' Tattoo

'A wound of a heart is different from a flesh wound. Unlike a flesh wound, there are no ointments to heal it, and there are times when they never heal.'

Words buried in the ground with a buried man. What use were they now?

'Do you live only for yourself, Gaara-sama? If this is so, then you are truly lost; if not, then time will reveal it to be so, and I can save you.'

Now her words, drifting on the wind, out across the barren sands. What use were they out there? Unless they were spoken by her, they were emptier than the unbroken horizon of the desert.

Sabaku no Gaara leaned against the railings of the rooftop balcony, where the wind caught in his crimson hair and blew his Kazekage robes about him where his hands could not hold them. The silence was something he treasured. He had wandered up onto the rooftop after having attended Chiyo-baasama's funeral, something that attended without question - the woman had given up what was left of her life to save him, after all.

Footsteps upon the ground suddenly made Gaara aware that he was not alone. Thoughts momentarily broken, he turned to find Kankuro, dressed in his casual attire but with his face still painted, making his way out onto the rooftop, hands in his pockets. He was silent, until he joined Gaara by the railing and sighed heavily, leaning his weight them and staring out over the circular streets of Suna.

'Chiyo-baasama's funeral...' Kankuro started up, glancing across at his sullen-faced brother. 'You didn't seem to be there, Gaara. What happened?'

What happened? Gaara repeated to himself, and he almost smiled sadly. Does he forget that I was dead? I had to watch them bury the woman who traded places with me...

The thought wrung in his mind like a bell, uninterrupted by anything else. It was quiet inside his head, nowadays: having Shukaku removed from him was like having a shard of glass removed from his skin, gone unnoticed until it was actually taken away. He could barely orientate himself anymore.

Quite suddenly, Kankuro made sense of what Gaara had been thinking all along. 'If you're thinking about that Guardian of yours...I sent out a team. If she shows up, we'll know about it.'

Only the wind responded to him. Though his face was beginning to look disgruntled, Kankuro held his tongue. It was one thing for Gaara to be closed - but it seemed as though he was sulking this time.

'Kankuro,' Gaara started, voice quiet. 'I'm not sure...that she wants to be found. I think... She thinks that I am still dead.'

But a child, Gaara already knew, far too well, the harsh nature of the world. It was beautiful, but it was also ugly, and it left scars on those who could not quite handle it, like a kunai in the hands of an untrained shinobi. The very same went for Gaara - and when people saw the kanji carved upon his forehead, the very symbol meaning 'love', they realised that he now fully understood the burden of being a jinchuuriki. Of being a monster. Hate was a stigma upon his childish soul. Death followed him, always close, always stalking.

Barely a week out from his uncle's betrayal, Baki - under orders from the Fourth Kazekage - took Gaara to one of Sunagakure's gates, explaining nothing, and although this bothered Gaara, he was still young enough to feel curiosity. With a handful of other sand shinobi, he and Baki waited, staring out over the rolling dunes of the desert, until a grey smudge on the pale horizon alerted the guards around the village: they had visitors.

They were from the Land of Iron - Gaara heard them introduce themselves to Baki. There were only five of them, led by a middle-aged woman with coal-coloured hair and a long grey coat embroidered with a peculiar wheel pattern. By this woman's side, holding her hand, was a little girl, no older than Gaara, paler than porcelain and wearing a similar grey coat. She looked weary from travel: black crescents marked her deep green eyes, and her skin was burn by both sun and wind. To protect herself from these, the girl had a hood thrown up over her head, and though its shadows, she attempted to smile at the boy with the 'love' tattoo. He only glowered.

'Junko, is it?' Baki was asking the woman holding the little girl's hands. She nodded and bowed her head, the wind blowing her grey-streaked hair about her face. Next, Baki knelt down to address the little girl. 'And this is Kazue Isamu's daughter?'

'Yes. Kazue Houseki.'

The little girl smiled at Baki, too. No gesture was returned, and downtrodden, Kazue Houseki lowered her gaze to the sand at her booted feet. Straightening up, Baki then said to Gaara: 'This girl will be your new friend, Gaara. Say hello.'

But his words were drowned out in Gaara's ears beneath a benevolent growl from Shukaku. It was so forceful, in fact, that Gaara winced and held a hand to his head.

Chakra! Shukaku whispered. I smell it! So much chakra, swimming in so much blood. This girl...how delicious.

He was right. Gaara could feel the chakra pulsing from this girl like the sun's heat - as for her being "delicious", he was not quite sure about that. Meanwhile, the Suna shinobi, Baki, Junko, and the other visitors were gazing down at the children. Some of them looked fearful.

Timidly, Houseki said: 'How do you do?'

Gaara remained silent. How dare she even speak to him?

'Perhaps now would be a suitable time for us to visit the Kazekage, Baki-sama?' The woman named Junko was saying. 'The sooner we may rest, the better. Houseki in particular...the journey was far too long for a child, I fear.'

'Of course. This way. Gaara.'

Rather reluctantly, Gaara began to follow Baki and the group of guests to his father's office. As he went, he glanced sideways at Houseki: at the way she clung to Junko, but also the way she surveyed her surroundings with great interest, as if taking in every detail. He wondered if her powers were greater than his; how easy she would be to crush into dust.

But mostly, through all his thinking, he resented the way Junko held the little girl's hand so tightly.

Kill!

No. Gaara fought to block out Shukaku's most immediate thoughts.

For a long while that day, the adults spoke of special jutsu and a foreign word - "mandala" - that Gaara could not quite understand. But soon he came to realise that his name was being spoken quite a bit; when he turned, his father was looking - no, glaring, as he often did - down at Houseki, and that the little girl had the stomach to look him right in the eye.

'Kazue Houseki. From hereon in, you shall be my son's guardian. You shall watch him, and you shall silence that...monster inside of him. If you cannot do either of these things, you will pay with your life. Believe me when I say that is not my wish.' And at this, the Kazekage turned to stare at his son. 'It is Gaara's.'

'I never understood our father's intentions as a child,' Kankuro was saying, now gazing out over Sunagakure as his brother did. The sun had begun to set in a flare of bright oranges and pale reds, and it made it look as though the entire desert burned. 'To bring a foreigner into the village like he did and appoint her such a heavy task.'

'He was only thinking of his village,' Gaara murmured, his words both truthful and bitter. 'Perhaps...I would do the same. That is why we should remain tightly bonded to Konoha - there is no time for fuedes between villages, these days. Not with war haunting so close.'

At this, Kankurou's lip curled. 'War? You believe Baki when he says this?'

'Akatsuki,' Gaara began, and the name tasted like lead on his tongue, 'they are the gears turning the wheel.'

An idea sprung to mind then. It flashed across Gaara's brilliant green eyes like a flicker of light, and he stared intensely over at Kankuro when he next spoke.

'The Akatsuki...Houseki disappeared when fighting, didn't she?'

Kankuro had no idea where this was going. He could only frown deeply. 'Yes. Kakashi-sama said that she went after the blonde Akatsuki man, after realising he'd used a substitution technique to escape.'

'So...' Gaara stepped away from the railing, not looking at anything in particular, face stoic. 'She went after the man she thought had murdered me? Houseki is strong...but so is Akatsuki. And if they know about her kekkei genkai...'

Kankuro's frown deepened. 'So. A trap?'

Gaara turned at that, making for the door to exit the rooftop. But Kankuro called after him:

'Gaara! Baki won't allow you to go!'

The Kazekage paused, hand on the handle of the door, wind at his back. He was silent.

'Gaara,' Kankuro's warning was obvious in his tone. 'Don't go running off. Not after a memory.'

Again, Gaara was silent. Without further ado, he left his brother standing on the rooftop.

Perhaps that memory is the only thing I have left to run after, brother. I owe it to her.

Closing:

Ah, it's done! I am sorry the chapter was kind of long, but I am quite busy in my day-to-day life...so I have to make my updates count. Please let me know what you think... :) For chapter two: more tiny Gaara, and my character does a bit of showing off! Onward.