A/N:
"Thank you" to everyone who has read/review/fav/followed this fic and given it a chance! It's been a long while since I wrote, so it's empowering to see your interests in my work.
I want to begin by saying the purpose of my prologue was to give you in broad strokes an idea of what's going to happen in the story (up until a certain point), meaning you will see the events unfold according to the structure laid out by the prologue. So, the story will not actually start with Gaara and Sakura already together, as you will see now. It will build up to that point.
My knowledge of Boruto is only limited to my research for the story, as I don't follow the series. So there will be potential inaccuracies, but as well as intended changes to the main elements. I wanted to write this idea particularly because 1). I haven't found many referencing the new era in the Gaasaku fandom, 2). I wanted to explore the realistic possibility that Gaara and Sakura can still get together despite Sasusaku becoming canon—Sasusaku canon will not deter me from making Gaasaku happen (shakes fist)!
Anyhow, without further ado, onto the first chapter!
Chapter 1
"Mama, are you really Papa's wife?"
She gripped tightly the glass in front of her. A decisive tilt of the glass and a hard gulp, she took in the clear liquid in its entirety. It left an awfully bitter taste on her tongue and burned her esophagus on its way down.
Sakura Uchiha, former member of Team Kakashi, protégé of the Godaime Hokage, specialist in medical ninjutsu, expert in advanced chakra control, one punch girl… Such were the many reputable titles she fancied during her prouder years as a kunoichi of Konohagakure no Sato. But underneath all that? She was still human, overridden with her own fair share of insecurities and helplessness.
As much as she tried to conceal it behind the numerous roles she's taken on in her adult life, tonight was another instance when her truest side slipped through her cracked facade of pretense.
Situated at a lonely end of the bar, Sakura toyed with her empty glass and debated whether she should ask for more refills. How many did she have? She lost track, but it was obviously not enough. The memories in her head were still clear as day, and Sakura was there to forget.
"What's weird is Mama and Papa's relationship!"
Children were brutally honest sometimes, she was convinced. Still, her daughter was right. Even a 12-year-old could see it.
When Sakura first came into the pub, she demanded for the strongest drink that the establishment offered. Whatever the mystery concoction that the man behind the counter gave her, it offended her virgin senses; but, it was a necessary medication.
The prolonged absence of her significant other and his affections were sorely felt. It was too depressing to lie awake night after night in her bed: The emptiness of the space next to her fueled her restlessness, and the dampness on her pillowcase served as her constant reminder that there were no shoulders for her to cry on. Sometimes, only sometimes, Sakura fantasized what if she had instead married… —No! Shaking her head, she wouldn't let her corrupt mind go there.
Despite being a non-drinker, she decided she'd seek companionship in alcoholism tonight. She had really hit a low point in life, she thought. However, none of her friends seemed to suspect anything amiss.
In fact, she was always on the receiving end of endless envy from her peers. But truthfully, she envied them. Her pride had kept herself from speaking out and her pain muted. After all, everyone believed that she got her happy ending: Married to the man of her dreams—the sole survivor of the Uchiha clan, savior of the world, and not to mention "Konoha's eligible bachelor of the century," as Ino had flatteringly joked.
I really am a bad mother. Sakura thought to herself in disdain. This was not how a 33-year-old mother of one should act.
But… this was also not the married life she envisioned: Sacrificing her career and aspirations, single-handedly raising a child, and being physically separated from her husband for an unnatural length of time. Still, she wouldn't trade this life for the world because it had bestowed her the greatest gift of all. Sarada…
Her daughter was temporarily staying over at her grandparents' house, while Sakura managed their move into the new apartment. Though instead of unpacking boxes and re-arranging their belongings in their new home, Sakura found her exhausted self at the bar on a late night, needing an escape that no other outlets could offer.
I really am a bad mother. Sakura inwardly scolded herself again.
She felt horrible for her daughter. Sarada didn't deserve this—her mother acting so irresponsibly, and her father… The resentment gnawed to resurface. Sakura's jaw hardened. She herself could endure the suffocating loneliness, but the least her partner could do was to be there for their daughter during the most crucial years of her growth!
"Our family is really dysfunctional."
Sarada was right. Their family was an utter mess: A temperamental mother who destroyed their house in a fit of rage, and a father who was never home because he was on some glorified mission to save the world once again.
Distraught by the thought, Sakura could feel the corners of her eyes dampen against her will. How pathetic, she wiped at her eyes with little grace.
It was when a few familiar faces filed into the building that snapped Sakura out of her inner turmoil. Some chuunins that worked in the human resources division at the Kage tower, she reckoned while ducking her head out of reflex. The polished and virtuous wife of Sasuke Uchiha couldn't be caught in her shameful indulgence! The last thing she wanted was for her little night out turn her into the talk of the town.
The newcomers made eye contact with her. Panicking, Sakura could feel her fight or flight mechanism kicking into gear. Shifting ever so closely to the edge of her seat, she was ready to race to the exit. However, when her colleagues took no notice of her and blended into the crowd, she relaxed and breathed a sigh of relief.
Fishing a compact mirror out of her pant pocket and holding it at eye-level, Sakura examined her own reflection. She almost couldn't recognize the image of the person that held her blank stares. In lieu of her emerald eyes were orbs of chocolate brown; and long black tresses replaced her pink shoulder-length bob, heavy fringe covering the distinct seal on her forehead. Thank goodness her disguise seemed to be airtight, for she really wouldn't want any of her friends or acquaintances see her sorry self binging the night away on liquor.
Recomposing herself on her stool, Sakura confidently beckoned the bartender for another glass.
It was well past midnight when Gaara left the Nara residence. He hadn't intended to prolong his stay into such hours, but Temari's apparent fondness of their conversations prevented him from an early retreat. She took advantage of his visit and insisted that he stay as long as possible. After all, their reunion was overdue, and it had been a while since Gaara last saw his older sister.
Together, they talked about their lives and reminisced about the past. To him, Temari had become more sentimental over the years—a stark contrast to the headstrong demeanor she previously carried. Perhaps a result of being married and having a family of her own, Gaara supposed. It interested him to observe how the individuals around him have changed over time. Himself included. If someone were to tell him in his youth that he would grow to love and be loved by his siblings and others, Gaara would have found that nonsense laughable. Conversely, to think that that he had dealt with his closed ones rather gratingly during his younger years was enough to overcome him with remorse.
Stepping into the streets of Konohagakure, Gaara noticed that the scene before him was virtually devoid of any pedestrians. Needing no help in navigation, he effortlessly chose the path in the direction of his hotel and began his solitary journey. Despite the developments and expansions that had transformed the Hidden Leaf in the last decade, his thorough knowledge of the village's in-and-out could rival that of a local tour guide. His familiarity of this place was unsurprising, since his business dealings often dictated his presence here. After his sister had married and moved to Konoha, he now had a personal interest to visit as well. The flourishing village was starting to become like his second home.
Nonetheless, there was one thing about Konoha that was to his distaste, occasionally: The rain. Of course, Gaara knew the frequency and scale of which paled in comparison to the level of precipitation that characterized Amegakure. It had rained once or twice during his current stay, but even that was more than too much for his personal preference. He was glad that mother nature decided to be more agreeable for the latter half of his visit. He really hated the rain, he hated the wetness, and it was not good for his sand. He was, after all, truly a child of the desert.
As Gaara rounded the corner of another block onto a smaller street, the same view again greeted him: Quietness reigned, and there was no living being to perturb the peace of the night. He assumed that the residents had long gone to sleep, a natural condition of the body that continued to evade him even with Shukaku long gone. So despite the lure of the night that naturally induced somnolence from people, he was still as awake and alert as ever…
…in fact, so alert that he immediately picked up a faint unusual hum within vicinity. He halted his footsteps. His ears perked up.
The feeble groan was unmistakably human. It was almost whisper-like, sounding so low that an average person would not have easily detected. He heard it though, for his keen senses never failed him in or out of the battleground. Pinpointing the direction of the sound, he sought to investigate the disturbance that disrupted the silence that blanketed the village.
A few steps and a right turn took Gaara to the entrance of an alleyway perpendicular to the main road. He suddenly stilled at the sight before him. His instinct automatically put him on guard.
A few feet before him, a slender body was on the ground in a fetal position. The long hair and feminine clothing gave indications to their owner's gender. It was a woman, Gaara noted.
He had found himself in a curious situation. The woman, seemingly semi-conscious, was very much out of place. The ebb and flow of her weak groans continued to reverberate through the atmosphere. A trap, perhaps? Gaara suspected and subtly inspected his surroundings. Sensing nothing out of the extraordinary, he decided to approach the body with his sand at bay. She could be injured, or dying. He narrowed his eyes.
Gaara held mild apprehension, as he knelt down next to the woman. He checked her wrist for pulse. No abnormality. There were no visible wounds on her exterior either. It was then a whiff of a harsh scent that cleared up the mystery for Gaara.
Alcohol. He wrinkled his nose. So this woman was simply some drunkard that passed out in the middle of the street, he deduced.
If this were his younger years, Gaara would've left people like this for dead and he could care less; sometimes, if he were in his good "Samaritan" mood, he might have helped to end their misery by making them guests of his infamous Sand Coffin.
But, that was a period that Gaara was not proud of… He grabbed the woman's shoulders and maneuvered her upward into a sitting position against the wall. She stirred slightly in the process. Now facing directly at her, Gaara took a moment to examine her features. Fair skin, dark hair, blunt bangs…
Somehow, the woman looked strangely familiar? Had he seen her somewhere? Why was she alone? Questions filled his head.
Gaara shook the drunken woman a little, wondering if he could get her to her senses first and then proceed from there. The force in his movement was enough to agitate her from her stupor. She opened her eyes.
Even in the dimly lit space, her eyes were mesmerizing, unmarred by the redness and puffiness in her lids: One vivid green; the other, decadent brown. It was a peculiar combination, the likeness of which he'd never seen.
"Can you stand?" Gaara asked her.
She bobbed her head up and down sluggishly. Gaara held onto her arms. With a deliberate pull, he lifted the woman to her feet. No sooner did she stand, she faltered and took a shaky step forward. Gaara caught and steadied her before she could plant into him. She looked up at him and gave him a lopsided grin.
He frowned. Now came to Gaara the more important question: What was he to do with her?
He briefly considered his options. The somewhat responsive state of the woman didn't seem to warrant a reasonable visit to the emergency room. On the other hand, he hesitated to show up on Temari's doorsteps again at such an unreasonable hour with a barely conscious stranger in his arms just to earn an earful from his sister. After all, his ability to survive on minimal sleep was a blessing or curse, however which way one looked at it, not readily shared by others.
As Gaara contemplated his next course of actions, the limp woman in his hold produced another troubling sound.
The retching noise from the back of her throat was foreboding. Upon recognizing seconds too late what was to come, Gaara froze in abject dread. His absolute defense was a pitiful nanosecond too slow for the woman's "attack"…
…as she promptly ejected her stomach content all over him and herself.
