[But what about these feelings I've got?]
She doesn't see him again for nearly a week.
Kankurou tells her on Monday morning that — and she doesn't miss the way his mouth twitches when she walks into the lab with Gaara's scarf bundled around her shoulders — they have business with the Wind Daimyo — something about requesting increased funding. He and Gaara will be leaving for the Lord's estate in the countryside and won't be returning until Friday. With a flirtatious smile, he tells her he hopes she won't be too lonely without him. She cheerfully informs him that he shouldn't worry — she won't be. He laughs and slings his scrolls over his shoulder before packing away a few vials of the new poison he's testing — just in case.
"See you Friday," he says, and then he's gone.
At first Sakura thinks she'll be grateful for the solitude. She tells herself she'll be much more productive without the distraction of Kankurou's smalltalk, but quickly finds that she misses his company. The other Sand medics are wary of her because, as it turns out, Sakura's reputation as the apprentice of the Godaime Hokage — yes, the one who effectively nullified all of their poisons during the first war and could conveniently punch a hole through a five-foot-thick concrete wall without batting an eyelash — had preceded her, and so they do their best to keep their distance, leaving her with no one to talk to.
It proves to be a very lonely week.
And she's not sure why, but she continues to wear Gaara's scarf to and from the hospital. By Friday, she's even stopped bothering to take it off when she arrives in the morning and instead contentedly goes about her day with it pulled up around her chin because it's surprisingly comfortable, the lab is heavily air-conditioned, and she might like the way it smells — though the more she wears it, the more she finds it smells like her instead.
The day wears on with her engrossed in testing the antidote she's been creating against Kankurou's new poison, but with limited success because the antidote is still in its preliminary stages of development, and somehow it's always easier to make something that effectively kills a person than it is to make something that will put a person back together. Despite her love of a good challenge, she finds herself cursing Kankurou for having been given the easier task. When her tenth adjustment stills fails to produce more than a slight fizzle on the scroll bearing Kankurou's poison, she swears and tears the paper in half before pitching it in the hazardous waste bin with what some might call 'excessive force'. She glances out the window, dismayed to find that the sun has already gone down, and then at the clock on the wall. She sighs. Ten o'clock. Fourteen hours tinkering with her antidote and what does she have to show for it besides ten wasted scrolls and nearly a pint of base poured down the drain. She swears again and slumps forward onto the counter.
"You sound just like her."
She whips around in her seat to glare at the doorway, her right hand having already pulled a kunai from the holster around her thigh because her instincts are apparently faster than her vocal recognition, but she knows that shock of messy red hair anywhere.
"You're not the first person who's told me that," she says, frowning and tucking away the kunai.
She doesn't think to be embarrassed by the fact that he'd witnessed her temper tantrum, or the fact that she's still wearing his scarf.
"I'm sure I'm not," he says, and even though he's not smiling, she feels her own lips turning up at the edges.
What a strange world, she thinks. Gaara of the Sand Waterfall is trying to make fun of her.
"You're late," she tells him.
He crosses his arms over his chest and regards her sternly from the doorway.
"We only just got back," he replies, and she wonders if he doesn't realize she's joking because it sounds a bit like an apology.
"And you came straight here?" she balks, hoping he'll catch on. "Should I be flattered or worried?"
Judging by his placid expression, he doesn't. He tells her his presence shouldn't worry her. She smiles, resigned, and assures him it doesn't. He glances down at his scarf around her neck, then back at her, and asks how long she's been here. She flushes a bit and tells him that she'd gotten in at eight o'clock this morning. He asks if she's eaten. She admits that she hasn't — at least not since breakfast.
He scowls. "You need to eat."
"That's a bit rich coming from the man who doesn't sleep," she says before she can stop herself, and immediately ducks her chin into his scarf.
If she's offended him, she has no way of knowing because his expression doesn't change. Instead, he just asks her if she's hungry, and somehow that makes her feel worse.
"A bit," she says quietly.
He stares at her from across the lab for a long moment, as if carefully considering his response, so she is somehow both surprised and not by the single word he chooses.
"Dinner?"
She blinks at him. Dinner? She has to forcibly suppress her knee-jerk reaction to ask him if this is his way of asking her on a date.
She hesitates, then smiles. They could be friends.
"Sure," she says.
Noting the tiny upward curve of his mouth, she quickly finishes clearing her work station and rinses her hands before joining him at the door. Her fingers hover over the light switch when she notices him studying her, his eyes moving between her face and his scarf, then back again.
"It's grown on me," she explains, and hopes he doesn't mind that she's been wearing it most of the week and that it could probably do with a wash.
His gaze steadies on her face. "It suits you," he says.
She feels her cheeks redden, and immediately flips off the lights.
He leads her through the quiet streets to a little hole-in-the-wall of a place tucked away in a back alley just around the corner from her apartment building. It's a single room with six seats at a small bar and two tiny tables barely large enough for two people, and Sakura is surprised when the woman behind the bar greets Gaara like a regular and gestures to the table in the corner. The moment they've sat down, she brings over a bottle of sake and two cups, then promptly disappears into the kitchen. Sakura glances across the table at Gaara — he's already uncorked the sake and pouring her a glass.
"Do you come here often?" she asks when he hands her the cup.
"Often enough," he says, filling his own.
She takes a sip and glances around the tiny establishment, having already noticed when they stepped inside that they were the only patrons. "I can see why you like it."
"It's quiet," he affirms, and Sakura can't help but smile.
As food begins to arrive at their table — without them having ordered anything or even looked at a menu — she asks him about his meeting with the Wind Daimyo: If they had safe travels. How the discussions had gone. If they'd secured additional funding. Where he planned to invest the extra money.
They talk and eat and drink as a seemingly unending series of dishes is brought to the table. When one plate is empty, another one is slotted into its place with such speed and ease that Sakura, so engrossed in their conversation, hardly notices until she pops a pork dumpling into her mouth when she'd been expecting a spare rib.
She finds that she quite likes talking to Gaara. Each of his responses to her rapid-fire questions is carefully considered and intelligent, and the calm conviction with which he speaks about his position, his people, and his village surprises her, and she can't help wonder when and how he'd become so invested in the wellbeing of others.
"Why did you decide to become Kazekage?" she asks suddenly.
His steady expression tells her she is not the first person to ask him this. Far from it, in fact.
"I wanted to prove that I was no longer just a weapon, and that I could be useful for more than just killing people — to the village, and myself," he says without hesitation, and the words make Sakura's heart hurt.
Her fingers twitch and she curbs the instinct to reach across the table for his hand, and instead tells him with a wry smile that he's much better suited for the role than Kakashi, and maybe even Naruto.
He frowns. "Why did Kakashi-san accept the position?"
Sakura shrugs and sips at her sake. "He didn't realize how much paperwork there would be, I suppose."
She feels guilty for making the joke and hopes Gaara doesn't think badly of Kakashi, because in truth, Kakashi cares deeply about Konoha and its people, and makes a fine Hokage, but she'll always remember the look on his face when she'd strolled into his office on his very first day with a stack of documents so high — thanks namely to his predecessor, who had possessed a similar dislike of paperwork, and made a bad habit of ignoring it — she could barely see over the top of it. She's only seen Kakashi cry on three occasions, and the moment she'd thunked down that heap of paper on his desk had nearly been the fourth.
To her surprise, Gaara nods his head and agrees that there were many things he had not been prepared for when he became Kazekage.
"Like the paperwork?" She teases.
He nods and takes a sip of his sake. "And the assassins."
Her chopsticks clatter against the table and she stares at him, wide-eyed.
"People tried to have you killed?"
He shrugs. "I knew there were many people — many council members — who opposed my appointment, but I hadn't expected them to want me dead, even though I probably should have. I was overly optimistic. I thought if I'd been elected Kazekage, then I had earned the trust of the village. After the first attempt on my life, I realized that wasn't completely true, and it never would be."
He doesn't miss the way she then nervously eyes the woman behind the bar, because he immediately clarifies: "The assassination attempts stopped when they realized I wasn't killing the men they sent after me. But there are people in this village who will never trust me, and I've had to learn to accept that."
"But you've changed!" She insists with more vehemence than she realizes. "What about everything you've done for this village since you became Kazekage! How can they just ignore it?"
"They don't," he says, reaching across the table to pick up her chopsticks and set them carefully on the side of her dish — she's never realized how long his fingers are. "But, they also can't forget everything I did before I became Kazekage. The terror I inflicted. All the people I killed."
He pauses for a moment and his expression darkens.
"Would you have forgiven me so easily?" he continues, his tone solemn. "If I weren't your friend?"
Confused, she makes a face at him. "Forgiven you for what?"
"I tried to kill you once," he says, and she winces — she hadn't wanted to be reminded. "And the people you love. I had a hand in the destruction of your village."
"That was a long time ago," she says quietly. "Things are different now."
"The good doesn't outweigh the bad, Sakura. I understand why those people wanted me dead, and I don't blame them."
She stares at him, bewildered, and wonders if that's what he thinks of her.
"I don't want you dead," she tells him. "I've never wanted anyone dead."
The corners of his lips turn down and his eyes soften. "Even if they'd deserved it?"
Realizing what he's really asking, she frowns and fists her hands on the table, her chest aching terribly. "You don't deserve it."
The rest of the meal passes in silence, with Sakura only opening her mouth to argue when Gaara refuses to let her pay. They say nothing to one another on the short walk back to her apartment building, and part of her wonders why he'd bothered to walk her back at all since it's only just around the corner. But here they are again, standing outside her building, having a stare down, each unsure what to make of the other. Her gaze flickers to the blood kanji on his forehead — she's never known how he came by it, but she doesn't have the heart to ask him now. She thinks she might not really want to know.
Not knowing what to say, reluctantly she reaches up and unwraps the scarf from around her neck, half-expecting him to protest, and finding herself disappointed when he doesn't. She carefully folds it over once, then twice, into a neat square, but when she goes to hand it back to him, she suddenly throws her arms around his neck instead and buries her face in his shoulder. She feels him stiffen immediately, and knows she's probably crossed over the threshold of his comfort zone, but she doesn't care and holds onto him even more tightly.
"You don't deserve it, Gaara," she murmurs, the words muffled against his shoulder, but she knows he's heard her when he lifts his arms and tentatively wraps them around her middle.
She's seen him embrace his siblings, but this is different, and she has to wonder how many times in his life he's been held like this when she feels him press his cheek against her temple and take a deep, shuddering breath that causes his entire upper body to shake. With the hand that isn't holding his scarf, she gently strokes his hair and the back of his neck, ignoring the way her heart constricts in her chest. She takes a shallow breath in through her nose, and thinks he smells like the desert, and then, that it wouldn't make sense for him to smell like anything else.
They stay like this for several minutes, until at last Sakura can feel her chest give and it doesn't hurt so terribly to breathe. She loosens her arms around his shoulders and steps back, noting how reluctantly he does the same, and how his fingers tremble when they trace down her arms as he pulls away. She peers up at him, but — except for tiniest hint of color in his cheeks — he's as calm as ever, and she can't even begin to guess at what he's thinking.
So she just smiles and holds out his neatly folded scarf. "Thank you for letting me borrow it."
He accepts it, but says nothing. Half-afraid she's broken him, she thanks him for dinner also, but he only nods. So, unable to think of anything else to say, she reaches out and gently touches his arm.
"Goodnight, Gaara."
She gives his arm a little squeeze, then turns to head inside.
"Sakura."
She stops on the top step at the soft sound of her name and looks back at him. He's standing with his hands at his sides, and his pale eyes flit to the side, then back to her and she thinks this is the first time she's ever seen Gaara nervous, if you don't count the time he found himself being pummeled by Lee during their first Chuunin exam, which she doesn't.
"Yes?" she says.
"I would still like to come by the hospital," he tells her.
She smiles. "You're still the Kazekage, aren't you?"
He hesitates, then nods.
"Then you can do whatever you want," she reminds him, and it's hard to tell in the low light from the street lamps, but she thinks she sees him blush.
"Friday?" he asks after a moment.
She can't help but laugh just a little.
"Sure," she says. "Friday."
He wishes her goodnight and waits for her to disappear inside before holding up the precisely folded scarf clenched tightly in his right hand. He considers it for a moment, then, uncertainly, presses his nose into the soft white fabric. It smells like her. Suddenly, the sensation of her arms around his neck and her fingers in his hair from just moments before comes rushing back, and he recognizes the same feeling he'd experienced last Saturday, standing in the same spot on the street outside her building, watching her walk up the steps — wearing that dress. But rather than turn tail and head home the way he had that night, he lingers for a long while after she's gone inside, not entirely certain of what it is he's feeling — though he thinks he can probably guess — with his face buried in the scarf he'd lent her, like an absolute fool.
"What?" she says, noticing the dirty look Kankurou shoots her when he walks into the lab on Monday morning.
As expected, he plays dumb.
"What?"
She still rolls her eyes. "That look," she says. "What was that for?"
He sets his things down at his work station with a little too much force and looks at her over his shoulder, then sighs.
"You and Gaara got dinner on Friday night," he says, his expression pained.
She doesn't see the significance. Why should having dinner with his brother be a reason to scowl at her? "So?"
Kankurou turns and leans back against the counter, crossing him arms over his chest and regarding her severely.
"He said you hugged him."
So that's what this is about. Sakura makes a face at him.
"He told me about how the council tried to have him assassinated after he became Kazekage," she tells him, annoyed at being made to feel like she needs to defend her actions. "I was upset for him."
Kankurou continues to glower at her, as if he thinks she's making excuses. "Sakura, people have been trying to kill my brother since he was six years old."
Her heart seizes, and she thinks he could have just punched her in the chest and she wouldn't have known the difference. She's come across countless terrible people in her life, but she still can't wrap her head around how someone could stoop so low to send assassins after a child.
"Well," she says, fisting a hand in the front of her dress and swallowing hard, as if it might relieve some of the discomfort, "then he really needed that hug."
Kankurou's expression doesn't change — he clearly doesn't appreciate her attempt to be funny.
"What's the big deal, Kankurou?" she presses. "You've known me for years. I hug people. It's what I do. I get upset, and I hug people. I've done it to Naruto a million times, and I'm pretty sure I've done it to you. Why are you so worked up about this?"
Kankurou's face softens and he slumps down in his chair, not quite able to look at her.
"Just—" he hesitates, as though he's unsure if he really wants to say it, then forces it out anyway. "Just go easy on him, okay?"
She balks, sitting up straighter in her seat. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"He's never had a girl interested in him before—"
"But, I'm not—" she cuts him off, before he can say anything else, but finds herself trailing off, unable to fully deny it.
He stares at her sadly. "Aren't you?"
Sakura digs her heels in.
"You say girls aren't interested in him," she says, attempting to swing the conversation in a different direction, away from any feelings she may or may not have because even she's not sure yet, "but what about all those silly little kunoichi who are always going on and on about how 'Gaara-sama is so cool! Gaara-sama is so strong! Gaara-sama is so handsome!' It's pretty obvious they're interested."
Kankurou just shakes his head. She doesn't get it.
"They're just fangirls," he tells her. "This is different."
Sakura scowls at him. "This isn't anything," she says stubbornly.
But based on his somber expression, it's obvious he doesn't believe her. "Are you really sure about that?"
"I—" she falters, then slowly relents. "I don't know what this is."
Kankurou gives another sigh and spins around in his chair, turning his back on her.
"Look, can you just do me a favor," he says, making no attempt to mask the hurt in his voice, "and try to figure it out soon? He's my little brother."
But, Sakura can think of nothing to say to him, and consequently the rest of the week passes in slow, agonizing silence.