"She stays with me."

Gaara's words came out harsh and clear. It was an end all, be all sentence. The cuadrilla of shinobi that surrounded them when they reached the compound reminded him ever so much of the ogres back at the inn. Instead of overly large foreheads and extra toes, these males that flanked them were more of a greasy-haired stalker variety. They focused their yellow eyes on Tenten, and she timorously huddled by Gaara's side, in a vein attempt to ensconce herself from their vision. Their pervading leers only caused the Kazekage to flex his sinewy chakra reserves, letting loose a full-power dose of what it meant to be like to be in the presence of someone who was christened Kazekage. The konoichi at his side remained somewhat nonplussed at the sudden power serge, no doubt hitting her full force in waves that most would stumble to the ground from; Gaara was no one to take lightly.

The magnitude of his qi plied to the furthest wall of the high-fenced manor, raging on, until every guard and household member knew, with out a shadow of a doubt, Sabuko no Gaara had returned.

The sudden hesitating glances from the onlookers had epatered them out of their salacious thoughts about his Tenten.

His Tenten.

Over the course of this journey, she ceased to be just another shinobi and had somehow meandered into the realm of his possessions. But she wasn't a thing to be bartered or traded for: Gaara wasn't interested in how many goats she was worth. He didn't linger on such archaic rituals; he wasn't a misogynist after all. Somehow, at some point, the thought of sharing her, even if it was only someone looking at her, brought out his more dominating instinctual side and he wanted to cloister her away for only himself.

Tenten looked up gratefully beside him, and he had to fight himself from giving too much emotion away; what was it about her that always made him want to smile?

Gaara didn't smile. Gaara was a master at the art of stoicism and imitating brooding still life portraits. Temari once joked that blinking was how he emoted, and it wasn't a far cry from reality.

And now, as they passed through the corridors of the high-lofted mansion, he couldn't help but want to keep his fey konoichi inviolable to their pernicious eyes.

Gaara had almost forgotten how much of the feudal lord's residence lay underground. The massive constructor outside was not nearly impressive as the catacomb of chambers that lied beneath. The hall ways were narrow passages burrowing downward into the earth, narrow and sturdy, effortlessly holding fast against the weight of crafted sod and stone and wood in the upper holdings above them. The four lanky fellows that escorted them through the labyrinth below stole glances at Tenten who tried not to cringe with every askance look. Chakra still impressively exuded from his presence prolifically; their gangly charge feeling its full effect and hastening their pace.

The doe-eyed konoichi slugged almost clumsily through the halls beside him. Her sable eyes glossed over as she vacillated her steps beside him. He took a deep breath and reigned in his prana, knowing the magnitude of the energy was capitulating her sap in motion.

They halted in front of the double doors meticulously covered with indigenous carvings: a beautiful statement to their artisan's talents.

Gaara nodded curtly to the four escorts who insidiously bowed lowly before him. Tenten faltered in her step towards the door once they took leave, crashing into Gaara with eyes half lidded. Supporting her weight against him, he guided her inside the poorly lit suite and closed the heavy wooden doors.

She leaned unapologetically against him as he shifted her weight onto the overstuffed mattress. Her head lolled lazily in her seated position, and Gaara pressed his palms to her shoulders in order to assess her condition as he bent down on one knee.

"Tenten?" he spoke in a firm yet soft tone, but his concern for her was more than evident. Her proximity to his full strength chakra-unleashing might warrant more rest than they could afford. He should have at least warned her that he might have to reduce himself to such aphonic retaliations instead of reviling them openly like his sister may have so loquaciously succumbed to. Had he still been the demonic vessel every one knew to fear so notoriously, he would have just eviscerated them on the spot, without so much as a second glance.

Stupid politics.

Her head continued to oscillate in what seemed to be a half-in, half-out consciousness; that is until he spoke her name more harshly, with more warning and concern.

"Tenten!" he nearly shook her shoulders and he could feel his patience on the matter running thin. He wanted her to look him in the eyes so he could see the efficacy his billowing qi had on the twin-bunned konoichi.

She snagged his attention with a lopsided smirky visage, full of drowsy euphoria.

He caught his breathe.

Now he had heard rumors, over heard a conversation between Temari and Kankuro, and eves dropped on general well hushed dialogues about such happenings. His chakra was intended to frighten all except her, and generally, it eked those sentiments to those the qi reached, driving ever so effectively the figments of his thoughts out into cold harsh emotions. Sending out his overprotective vibes the way he did in mass quantities was bound to culminate into a beast altogether unseen. He had never done that before.

She looked high.

He supposed he really should have tested this before hand. He hadn't realized that his chakra at full strength was something he should have inured her. Not having really come to grips with how deep his feelings ran for her, he could have only guess the outcome: he damn near raged himself a storm of defensive fury in an attempt to shield his Tenten from any possible threat.

She laboriously breathed in gulps of air in an attempt to shake the drugged stupor, excoriating her arms with her nails to ground herself with mental and physical purchase. "Gaara," she heaved out in a strangled whisper. He was torn between the dichotomy of his own happiness and concern over her wellbeing.

Gaara would attempt to feign contriteness, but he had yet to find a good reason to do so. He wasn't sorry about his non-verbal threat to the feudal lord, nor was he going to communicate an empathized apology. It just didn't seem appropriate. Instead he fought the feelings of his own sentient neediness and focused on how to help her. But his thoughts kept returning to the overheard conversation between his siblings.

It was evening, a week after the chunin exams. Gaara had been wandering the tower, too confused with his own thoughts to care where his feet led him and determined not to sleep for fear of Shikaku taking over, eating away at the fragmented shards of what was left of his newfound personality. He stopped when he heard the gossipy voices, very unlike his siblings. He waited by the door, concealing his chakra and listening with intense curiosity.

Temari had spoke of the lazy nin that she fought during the exams, the only one to procure chunin status. He had approached her the day after, strolling up along side her in a casual manner, checking the halls to see if they were alone. She was going to break into their normal sarcastic and witty volley when he lunged towards her, backing her into the wall. She was caught off guard, he never touched her, but he pressed every ounce of his chakra against her like a hot brand, and whispered one phrase in her ear before retreating back to his normal bored pace, shoving his hands back into his pockets, leaving her dizzy, breathless and confused in the hallway.

"Have a safe trip," she claimed he said. For a lazy ninja who didn't have the proclivity to instigate any kind of relationship that might be troublesome, that spoke volumes.

"It felt…warm, the good kind," she had explained to her brother, "but tingly and fuzzy, too."

Gaara looked at Tenten and realized he had inadvertently done the same thing. Whatever that was, but with far more intensity. The results were astounding.

She was panting now, gripping her fists in the downy fabric of the bed, holding on to reality, a palatable gasp of pleasure escaped every now and then.

Gaara fought a fatous grin, fastidiously holding true to his calm demeanor, however ecstatic his viscera contradicted his outside façade.

"That was intense," she finally vocalized, after her breathing had regulated.

Smug, Gaara fought the urge to explain that he had that effect on people. He folded his arms across his chest and blinked.

He could have simply stated something simple, like it had to be done, but continued to blink and turn his head away instead. He had half a mind to ask her what it felt like.

Yes, the konoichi was bringing out a plethora of feelings the Kazekage didn't know existed. Except for the conversation with his siblings, Gaara had never known to be curious.

A/N: You will have to forgive me, someone brought it to my attention that my vocabulary was more expansive than was exhibited previously. Feel free to hate on this chapter, (and my best friend) for manifesting such superfluous information.

Prana is Sanskrit for energy or qi or life-force or chi, however you want to look at it.

~jaggedjacket