Chapter Two.

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Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.

Off and Onward.

Gaara was thirteen when the custody agreement had been put into action.

It was bullshit, but the siblings were powerless. None of them were adults and Yashamaru didn't have the balls to fight their father to the full extent.

Gaara sneered at the manor. It sat on a little bit of a hill – at the top he could see his father waiting for them, arms crossed and face emotionless.

"This is bullshit," Temari said for the fifteenth time. "I swear to fucking God. If he touches either of you – "

"He won't," Kankuro cut her off with a confidence Gaara hated him for. "Not after last time." He shot a pointed glance at Gaara. Gaara glared back until Kankuro averted his eyes.

"Still," Temari said, lowering her voice as they trudged up the hill. "I don't care. He's a bastard, and there should be no legal way for him to be able to have custody!"

Gaara wanted to roll his eyes. Their father was in the goddamn military. If he wasn't kicked out for what he did, then he'd get away with anything.

Too many connections, someone had said. The best we can do is require a supervised visit …does Mr. Sabaku have any servants? Butlers?

Of course he did. Turns out that they – after being hand-picked and interrogated by some judge or something – were the designated supervisors.

"Yea, well Yashamaru's a dick," Kankuro said, and that was all he could get in before they were standing before their father.

Gaara glared up at his father, but it was all he could do to mask his fear. Much as he hated it, he feared his father, feared the man who made his life a living hell. He masked it pretty damn well, though, behind spiky hair and the black clothes and the chains and the boots. Gaara could hit two birds with one stone that way – no one approached him and no one could tell what he was thinking, that he was scared.

The Colonel surveyed his children, his eyes finally resting on Gaara. Gaara gave him the same cold stare that everyone else got and didn't avert his eyes.

Their father took a step back. "Baki will show you to your rooms."

In his place appeared a man with a hard face and tattoos on his jawline. He said something, but Gaara had already put on his headphones and jacked the volume up to deafening. He didn't give a shit, just followed his siblings up the obnoxiously large French staircase and entered the doorway Baki gestured him to.

The first thing he did was lock the door.

The second thing he did was drop his bag onto the bed – which was ridiculously large, and he didn't sleep, anyway. Inside the room was a bookshelf with books that he didn't recognize, a dresser, a nightstand, a T.V. and what looked like a gaming system.

Gaara sneered at it and lay on the bed, loosing himself in the angry music to drown his anxiety.

After two solid days of hibernating in his room, Gaara was beginning to grow restless.

It was agitating; except for midnight excursions to the kitchen, Gaara hadn't left the room. And being surrounded by the same four walls was absolutely maddening. Temari had knocked on his door and tried to get him out, but she was met with stony silence and a growled threat. But by the time eight o clock, day three in Hell rolled around, Gaara almost wished that she would nag him relentlessly, if only to give him an excuse to get out.

But then again, he's out there.

Unbidden, his gaze traveled to the window.

Five seconds later he was jumping out of it.

He landed in a crouch, stood up, and began walking in the direction of town in one fluid motion. Years of living with his father had made him agile, and when one associateswith Naruto Uzumaki one will grow physically fit. It was simply a law of nature.

Gaara tugged his headphones around his neck and glanced around. His father lived on the fringes of the gated neighborhood; should he just walk around the development or would it be better to get out?

There was no question; Gaara bolted for the exit, not knowing or caring where it took him.

Xxxxxxxxx

Some fifteen minutes later, Gaara was roaming around the streets of a vintage sect of the town that only emphasized the fact that he was located in Dessert, The Middle of Hell. It was freakin' hot outside, and there were no trees anywhere. It was also noon, which meant no shadows; no shadows meant to way to cool off, and no way to cool off meant a hot, crabby (-er than normal) Gaara.

Scowling, he shoved open the door to the nearest shop – a quaint little place called Elysium.

The irony wasn't lost on him.

Upon entering, he glanced around. The room was dominated by bookshelves taller than he was with hardly enough space between them. To his right he saw what looked like paintings, and to his left there were CDs.

From what he could tell, there was no one else in the store.

None of that really mattered to him; it was cool in here, quiet, and away from the stifling closeness of the manor. Gaara sat himself down in the narrow space between two of the CD shelves, put on his headphones and selected his favorite album. The coolness of the room was nice, the harsh vocals somehow soothing. Soon enough, he shut his eyes.

He opened them some time later, though he didn't know when he fell asleep. All he knew was that the last song on the album was drawing to a close.

He frowned. He wasn't one to sleep, much less nap in the middle of a goddamn bookstore, even if it only was for thirty minutes or so. He didn't feel refreshed, or even like he had slept.

He stood and placed his headphones around his neck and checked the time. Nearly two o clock in the afternoon, and he hadn't eaten lunch, the pangs in his stomach reminded him.

Gaara felt someone's eyes on him. He whirled and presented them with a withering glare, but the man only chuckled. "I was wondering when you were going to wake up. Looks my niece owes me."

Gaara arched an invisible eyebrow and crossed his arms.

"Anyway," the man continued. "I'm Ulrich." Ulrich was a man, probably in his sixties, with graying hair and pale blue eyes.

"Gaara," Gaara said, not offering a last name.

Ulrich nodded. "I haven't seen you around here. You just move in?"

"I'm visiting." Gaara said shortly.

The man seemed to take the hint. He gestured around and said, "Music's here. Books over there, and art stuff if over to your right. I'd recommend The Masquerade if you're looking for something good." With that he took his leave, saying a, "I'll be at the desk if you need me."

Gaara hned in response and glanced around. Truth be told, he wasn't sure what to do with himself. He browsed through the music briefly, but the type he like was few and far between in the selection. He half contemplated going back outside, but it was so hot out and there was no way in hell he was going back there.

So he stormed down an isle and stared at the book titles. After thirty seconds they began to blur together, so he grabbed on out, glanced at it, and almost immediately put it back. Uh-uh, no, he was not reading a book entitled 101 Ways to Make Him Want You.

With a shudder, he turned around and faced the other shelf. He didn't know what to look for, had never really been an avid reader, but by the looks of the titles, he was beginning to understand why.

A couch from the end of the isle drew his attention to Ulrich. "What?" he almost snarled.

Ulrich looked amused. "You may not find anything you like," Gaara narrowed his eyes at the man as he not-so-subtlely disguised a laugh with a cough, "Because this is the contemporary women's section. Young adult is over there." He gestured to the back, and Gaara nodded, heading that way.

And even though Gaara left the bookstore that day without a book and in a rather foul mood, it was enough to spark his interest.

He returned the next day, and the day after that. The interest of Gaara no Sabaku had been sparked, and, like his father, when he became interested in something, the interest didn't go away.

He didn't know why he liked the bookstore so much; maybe it was the elusiveness? The quiet? Perhaps even the company of Ulrich? The man was a good conversationalist, Gaara had found out. A little like Naruto in that respect. Everyone knew him, and he knew everyone.

One day Gaara entered, same time as always, and found Ulrich in an intense discussion with a young, dark-haired girl.

She was sitting on the checkout desk in a pair of what looked like boy's shorts and a gray t shirt, kicking her sneakers against the desk. "It sucks ass," she said in frustration, glaring at the floor.

"You're lucky your mother didn't hear that," Ulrich reprimanded lightly. He was bandaging the girl's arm, from what Gaara could see.

The girl snorted and muttered something he didn't catch. Gaara was debating on whether or not to exit the store and come back later or quietly make his way toward the back, when Ulrich turned and caught sight of him. "Ah, Gaara," he greeted.

Gaara nodded in greeting. The girl turned and said to him, "You cost me ten dollars, you know."

Gaara blinked. He didn't know whether to be offended or not. I'll bet she's annoying…"What?"

She nodded. "Yea. You weren't asleep till closing. Or dead. Ulrich bet that you'd wake up before closing and were alive, and you were. So I'm out ten bucks."

Gaara narrowed his eyes. "Sorry," he muttered, sarcasm dripping from each syllable.

Ulrich cut the gauze and said, "At least introduce yourself, Skye."

"You just did," she said, hopping down from the desk. She half-walked, half-skipped over to Gaara, so close that she was almost invading his personal space. "Who're you?"

"Gaara," Gaara said, narrowing his eyes. "Don't touch me," he warned in a dangerously low voice.

The girl grinned wickedly, and Gaara recognized the look. It was one that Kankuro often got on his face right before he did something particularly nasty to Temari.

Before she could steal his iPod – for that was what Skye had intended to do, Kankuro had tried it enough times for him to know the signs of iPod theft – he grabbed her wrist and pushed her back.

"Skye!" Ulrich reprimanded sharply.

Skye paid him no heed. She wrenched her wrist from Gaara's grip and grinned. "You just touched me."

Gaara frowned. This girl was too much like Naruto, he decided. But more clever. "You tried to steal my iPod."

She shrugged and rubbed her wrist. "I prefer the term, 'forcibly borrow.' And you didn't have to grab so hard. Jeez. I just wanted to check out the music."

Gaara said nothing, and Ulrich took the opportunity to tell Skye, "Don't steal other people's things."

She rolled her eyes and turned to Gaara. "So, what's your favorite color?"

Gaara took a couple seconds to process her sudden question. "Red," he said, slightly surprised that it was true.

She nodded and her expression was one between a fierce smile and a feral grin. "Lovely. Did you dye your hair?"

"Skye…"

"No," Gaara growled defensively. He knew what question was coming next. "And I don't wear eyeliner, either."

But she was already asking another question. "Do you like the stars?"

"What?"

Gaara didn't know it then, but that was the spark of a friendship that would last him through eighth grade and into high school. Skye was too blunt, too nonstop for most people; Gaara was too closed off and not a friendly person on the whole. Skye could easily fill the conversation gaps, and Gaara could keep up with her antics.

For the rest of that fateful two weeks, Gaara and Skye were known as a unit. Gaara would follow his routine of waking up, swiping some food, and heading to the bookstore where Skye would turn up sooner or later. From there she'd drag him all over Suna, explaining that some places belonged in the cesspool and others were alright, if you knew where to look.

Gaara had remarked that he'd seen most of the town and that it all looked like it was already in the cesspools of Hell. Skye had laughed and remarked, "Wanna bet?"

"Not really."

Skye didn't deflate in the least. "I'll still prove you wrong. What time is it?"

With a glance at his iPod, Gaara replied, "Three forty-five."

"Hm. Well, stick around till about nine or so and you'll see."

Despite himself, Gaara was intrigued. So he hung around (some onlookers would go so far as to say hiding behind) Skye until it was dark. They were currently walking the streets of Suna, it a more vintage district than where Elysium was located. They passed a tattoo parlor, and Skye asked absently, "So where did you get the tattoo?"

Gaara's hand subconsciously flew up to his forehead. "It's not a tattoo," he said darkly, voice warning her to drop it, though he doubted she actually would.

She surprised him, however, by doing just that. "Here we are," she said, running forward and giving Gaara no choice but to follow her. People were staring at him.

It was growing darker out. Skye had scampered up to an old apartment building and was climbing the fire escape. It didn't look too sturdy to Gaara, but what could he do? He followed her up, tensing every time the metal stairs creaked.

Finally, he reached the top. He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the light, or lack thereof.

Skye was sitting on a raised block of concrete. He sat down next to her but not too close, and said, "What am I looking at?" He could hardly see anything; the sun had just set and it was getting dark.

"Just wait. Give it like ten minutes." And she sat back and, for the first time since Gaara had met her, the girl had gone completely still.

He took the opportunity to ask her a question that had been sitting on the edge of his mind. "How old are you?"

It had been bugging him for some time; Skye looked about ten years old, and she acted about five, but she used big words like obsolete and megalomaniac and socially handled herself well enough.

"I'll be thirteen in August," she said, swinging her legs against the side of the slab they sat on. "Why? How old are you?" she asked absently.

"Thirteen," Gaara answered. So she's going into eighth grade.

She nudged him. He tensed, but didn't push her like the first time. From the beginning, it had become apparent that the idea of 'personal space' was foreign to her. "Look up."

Gaara did. "What am I looking at?"

"The stars, moron."

Ignoring her 'moron' comment, Gaara rolled his eyes and did what he was told.

Holy…

There were never this many stars in Konoha. They were never this bright, never this…wow. There was a band of stars going across the sky – they looked almost hazy, like a cloud.

He was acutely aware of Skye watching his reaction, but he couldn't turn his gaze away. "You think this is good? You should seem 'em in winter."

Gaara showed no sign that he had heard. He didn't know how long they sat there, or when exactly Skye nudged him and said, "Dude! It's nearly one in the morning!" but he didn't care.

The sky that night was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and ever since then Gaara had been obsessed with the stars. It would be a routine for him and Skye over the years, to stargaze and, if they were lucky, catch a meteor shower.

But never was the sky as breathtaking as it had been that night.

Alright. Focused on Gaara's past now, getting some stuff down. In case you didn't get it, he was thirteen for the duration of this chapter. I may go back and edit later.

As always, let me know your thoughts.