Gaara tossed and turned beneath his thin sheets. His whole body burned with a dull heat, and the sheets clung to his sweat-damp skin, but he wasn't running a fever. He'd checked his temperature several times that night.

An image of Naruto's face flashed through his mind, sharp and clear as a photograph. Gaara's heart-rate and breathing quickened.

Him again. Why did Gaara keep thinking about him, and why did those thoughts affect him so strongly? He'd considered asking the med-nin, but he found himself oddly reluctant to discuss the problem…so he tried to will the thoughts away. But that proved impossible. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Naruto. It was as if someone had rigged up a tiny movie-projector inside his skull and was using the back of his eyelids as a screen to show Gaara's memories of him over…and over…and over.

He came all that way to save you…risked his life to retrieve your body so Chiyo could revive you…

Gaara's stomach did something peculiar, and he pressed a hand over it. He'd been getting that weird sensation a lot lately. It wasn't indigestion, wasn't nausea or cramps, it was…something else. Something he had no name for.

He sighed, rolled onto his stomach and buried his face against the pillow. Two hours ago he'd taken one of the sleep pills the med-nin had prescribed, but he was still wide awake.

Of course, insomnia was nothing new to Gaara. But in the first few weeks after Shukaku's extraction, he'd slept a great deal—almost twelve hours a night. Now, however, his insomnia was back with a vengeance, and it felt somehow worse, knowing he should be able to sleep now and being unable to.

He rolled onto his back, shut his eyes and tried to focus on breathing, as the med-nin had advised him—tried to quiet his restless mind. But he couldn't settle himself. His heart kept up its jackhammer beat. There was a pressure and tightness in his groin. Gaara whisked the sheets aside and growled in annoyance. He had an erection. Again.

That had almost never happened in the past. Why, now, did it happen so often? Did Shukaku's absence have something to do with it?

A few days ago he'd asked Kankuro if that was ever a problem for him, and Kankuro had turned an alarming shade of red—You mean you don't know? You've never done…that? At all? When Gaara assured him that, yes, he really didn't know how one was supposed to deal with such things, Kankuro had given him a fumbling, stuttering explanation of masturbation.

Gaara's attempts to act on his advice, however, had been unsuccessful. He'd been unable to achieve orgasm—the promised relief. Rubbing or touching his cock just increased those sensations to an unbearable point.

Now, he grabbed his own cock as if it were an enemy's throat and tugged it, but received only a sharp twinge of pain. He must be doing it wrong. Surely it wasn't supposed to hurt. After a minute, he gave up, rolled out of bed and got dressed.

He slipped out of the building and walked through the dark, silent streets, into the desert. A sickle moon hung in the sky, painting the dunes the dead, ashen white of a waterlogged corpse. Sand swirled around Gaara in undulating ribbons.

Whatever these strange feelings meant, they were connected to Naruto. Gaara wanted—no, needed to see him again as soon as possible. Maybe then he would understand better. Or maybe Naruto would help him understand.

In the meantime, he just had to deal with these feelings on his own. But that was proving difficult.

He wandered, his head heavy with exhaustion, until the faint, peach-colored light of dawn glazed the dunes. Then he turned and made his way back toward Suna. He had a meeting today. Maybe he'd take another pill and try to get at least an hour or two of sleep.


"And another thing," the council member said, scowling through his grizzled beard, "you need to learn how to listen to your advisers. You're the Kazekage, but that doesn't mean you can do whatever you please. You have to take our input into account as well."

The other council members shifted nervously in their seats.

Temari cleared her throat. "Elder…"

"I'm speaking to him, not you. Everyone keeps quiet because they're afraid of you. It's time someone spoke up."

The corner of Gaara's eye twitched. A headache pulsed behind his brow like a small, hot stone embedded in his brain. "Your complaint is noted. Let's move on to the next issue."

"I won't be dismissed so easily."

Gaara spoke slowly, controlling his tone: "I'm really not in the mood for this today. I did not sleep well last night, or the night before. I'm very tired. I'd advise you not to push me."

"Oh no, I'm not going to let you intimidate me this time."

"Sir," snapped Temari, "remember your place. You're speaking to the Kazekage. Show some respect."

"I've tried being respectful and polite in the past, and that hasn't worked, has it? I've served under three Kazekages now. This…boy apparently thinks he has the wisdom to lead the village without…"

His voice faded to an angry buzz in Gaara's ears. His vision blurred and wavered as the headache grew, pounding behind his eyes, swallowing him in a red pain-soaked haze until at last, Temari's frantic voice broke through—"Gaara, Gaara, stop! Please stop!"

Gaara blinked and snapped back to reality. The council member lay on the floor, screaming, his arms encased in sand. Gaara quickly withdrew the sand, but the damage had been done. The man's arms lay limp and broken in a puddle of blood. "Monster!" he gasped.

"I—I'm sorry," whispered Gaara. "I didn't mean…" He looked around the table. A ring of faces stared at him, mouths open, eyes wide. Temari's expression was the worst—a look of agonized horror that went through his heart like an arrow.

Someone ran out of the room, shouting for a med-nin. On the floor, the wounded council member kept wailing, calling Gaara a demon, an abomination.

Gaara's throat and chest tightened. He raised his tight, trembling fists to his temples. Then he stood, turned and walked out of the room.


The med-nin—a plump, motherly-looking woman—crossed her arms over her chest and frowned. "Describe your symptoms again?"

Impatiently, he rattled them off: "Heart palpitations. Rapid breathing. Flushed face. Occasional dizziness…and a strange sensation in my stomach. I don't know how to describe it, but it's similar to the sensation I get when I look down from a great height."

"And this happens when you think of a particular person, you said?"

"Yes. I've tried to stop thinking of him, but I can't. My thoughts keep going back to him throughout the day, and especially at night."

"Is this someone who frightens you or makes you uneasy in any way?"

"No, quite the opposite. It's someone I consider a friend, which is what makes this so strange. But it's interfering with my life. The insomnia has gotten worse." As an afterthought, he added, "I've been getting those erections a lot too."

The med-nin cleared her throat. "Yes, well…I still find it odd that you never experienced them until recently. Normally, a young man starts getting them around the onset of puberty. Fifteen is rather late for that. I suppose Shukaku could have something to do with that, but I can't say for sure."

"Well, I don't like them. They're annoying. And I still haven't gotten the hang of masturbating." Thoughtfully, he added, "Perhaps you could show me. Demonstrate on me, I mean."

She flushed. "I'm not sure that would be appropriate."

"Fine then, I'll have Kankuro do it."

"Your brother? That's also not really…well, it's your own business, I suppose. But you must understand, Kazekage-sama, the social issues surrounding sex are complicated and delicate. It's not really considered normal to ask one's brother to demonstrate masturbation. But I suppose you never had a chance to learn these things. Your upbringing wasn't really…normal. Forgive me for saying so."

Gaara sighed. "Never mind. These symptoms of mine, what do you think they mean?"

"Well…you say they happen when you think of this certain person?"

"Yes. I've told you that twice now."

"My apologies, Kazekage-sama. But from everything you've told me, it would seem that you're in love."

He stared. "In love?"

"Yes. With this person you mentioned. And that sensation in your stomach you described is called 'butterflies.' Who…" Her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh dear. It's not your brother, is it?"

"No."

"That's a relief. I mean…not that it's any of my business."

Gaara was growing impatient. "Well, what should I do? Is there a pill or a jutsu that can stop this?"

"Stop you from being in love?" A smile curved her lips. She looked as though she were holding back laughter.

"Do you find this funny?"

The smile vanished. "No, Kazekage-sama. But medical ninjutsu can't deal with this particular issue, I'm afraid. Why don't you talk to this person and see how he feels about you?"

"I can't. He doesn't live in Suna, and I don't know when he'll be here again. I need something to help me deal with this now. I'm not sure you realize how serious this issue is." Gaara leaned toward her. "I'm losing my mind. I can't sleep. I have no appetite. I injured someone during a council meeting yesterday. You probably heard about that."

She bit her lower lip. "Well, I could give you some stronger sedatives. Those might help you sleep, at least."

"Very well." Gaara accepted the bottle of pills from her and walked out of the room, his heart and mind in knots.

What was he supposed to do now? Talk to Naruto, she had said. But when would he have the chance? And what then?


Temari stood in the doorway to Gaara's room. Her brother—the Kazekage—sat at his desk, hiding behind a mountain of paperwork, a pen in one hand. "Do you need something?" he asked without looking up.

"Yes. We need to talk."

Gaara raised his eyes. His face was as blank and doll-like as ever…but even so, Temari could see a difference in him. The dark circles around his eyes seemed more pronounced than usual, and there was a heaviness in his posture, as if he carried invisible sandbags. And he'd lost weight. His baggier-than-normal robes all but swallowed up his small frame, so he looked like a child playing dress-up with his parents' clothes. He said nothing, just waited.

Temari squared her shoulders, determined not to let that steady, emotionless stare intimidate her. "I know something's been bothering you lately…"

"I told you before, I'm fine. Is that all? I need to get back to this paperwork."

Temari clenched her teeth until her jaws ached. Lately, he did this every time one of his siblings tried to talk to him; just insisted everything was okay and brushed them away like buzzing flies. It was getting really old. "You're not fine. You spend all day locked in your study, hiding from the world, then disappear at night without telling anyone where you're going."

"Sometimes I can't sleep. I like to take walks in the desert. That's all."

"Also, you've missed quite a few council meetings lately. That's not like you. And there was that incident the other day. I know that guy was being an ass, but even so…you just can't do things like that."

"I know that. Don't you think I know that?" Gaara's gaze shifted away. Temari—who could read his subtle expressions by now—saw his mouth twitch with embarrassment. "I lost control. It won't happen again."

"I just want to know what's going on. I'm worried about you. We're both worried, Kankuro and I. And don't try to tell me that I'm imagining things. I've known you too long for that."

"Your concern is noted, but I'm fine. I can deal with my own problems."

"It doesn't seem that way."

Gaara's shoulders tensed, and his tone went frosty. "This is none of your business."

"Yes it is. You're the Kazekage now. The safety of the entire village hinges on your stability. If you have some kind of mental breakdown, Suna is going to be in a very vulnerable position…and if we have any more incidents like that one in the council chamber, we could have a coup on our hands. Lots of people are still scared of you, despite all the good you've done for the village. The last thing they need is an excuse to turn against you."

Gaara flinched. He stared at the floor, his posture rigid.

Temari gentled her tone. "I just want to help. That's all. But I can't help unless you talk to me."

His voice—when he spoke—was so soft she had to strain to hear it. "You can't help me."

"Why not?"

"I'm sorry, but this is not something I'm prepared to discuss."

Temari's chest tightened. She hated that cold, businesslike tone. By now, she supposed she should be used to Gaara's lack of visible emotion, but it was somehow worse to hear that mechanical voice out of him when he looked like a wrung-out dishrag. "Is it because I'm a woman?" she asked desperately. "If you can't tell me, then maybe Kankuro…"

"That has nothing to do with it."

She took a step closer, pulse drumming in her throat. "Please, Gaara. Don't shut us out. I know you're used to dealing with things alone, but you're not alone anymore. Let me—let us help you."

Silence.

Tears stung her eyes. She blinked them back and looked away, angry at her own weakness. But this was just so damn frustrating. What if there was something really wrong with him? Had his mind been damaged somehow when they pulled Shukaku out? Or did he, God forbid, have some sort of life-threatening illness? "Is there anyone you'll talk to?"

"Naruto. I need to see Uzumaki Naruto."

"I told you before, he's not in Konoha right now. We haven't been able to get in touch with him. He probably won't be back for another few weeks at least, and even then…"

"That's who I want to talk to. I'll wait as long as necessary." He picked up the form in front of him and resumed reading; a tacit dismissal.

Anger stung Temari's heart. Her fingers itched to grab her fan, overturn his desk with a well-placed gust of wind and scatter his precious papers across the floor. Instead, she took a deep breath and clenched her fists.

Gaara had surmounted incredible odds to become the Kazekage—overcome prejudice, fear and hatred and carved out a place for himself in spite of the ever-present voices clamoring that he was a demon and an abomination. He was a strong and determined man. But at times, he could also be an insufferable, spoiled brat. And when he was like this, there was no reasoning with him; you might as well try to convince a mountain to move.

Temari stormed out of the room. As she slammed the door, she noticed the breakfast tray she'd left outside of Gaara's room that morning. It still hadn't been touched. "Ungrateful little prick," she growled, not caring if Gaara overheard her. She strode down the hall, nursing her anger. Anger, at least, was an improvement over cold, gut-twisting fear.

-To be continued