Sands of Time

by Pikapixie The Demigod

And then she realized- that her mother had never hugged her, never comforted her before. The only one that had ever been there when she needed it, or even that was able to figure out when she needed comforting, the only shoulder she'd ever cried on belonged to- Gaara. And now Gaara was gone. Sequel to BLAEE

6. Coming home

...

~ "No." ~

...

Walking all the way back to Sunagakure was grueling in its own right, and the going was slow and painful, but it seemed almost like a parade, with the happy people around him.

Gaara was supported on either side by Naruto and Kankuro. Fumiko had tried, but she wasn't tall enough and she wasn't strong enough to support his entire almost dead weight. So she fell behind, level with Kankuro, arms wrapped around herself.

He could barely see her, although he kept craning his neck to try. She wasn't wearing the brilliant smile he'd seen when he first came back from the dead, nor was she laughing or crying, but her eyes were glued to the sand at her feet, expression almost blank.

It bothered him. A few things bothered him, actually, like the sheer amount of people who had come against orders to help him, the fact that he had died in the first place, the disturbing feeling of coming from nothing to tears on his face.

But the sudden blankness bothered him. Immediately after paying respects to Chiyo, Fumiko had withdrawn into herself like a clam, merely watching and not speaking.

The sand was hot. The air was hot. His skin felt supersensitive, and he was grappling with a subtle but overwhelming sense of emptiness. That was another thing that nagged him, although he wasn't quite sure what it was exactly…

"- Shukaku out of you, but then we ripped them a new one! I totally beat the crap outta the guy, he blew himself or a clone or something up to get away, but then Kakashi-sensei used his sharingan to-"

Shukaku out of you.

"What, Naruto?"

...

~ The advisor sighed. "I'm only saying-" ~

...

There were people lined up along the walls. Fumiko registered the sound of their cheering before she even picked them out from the sandstone, rocky wall pathways. How many people were out there? Hundreds at least. Not the entire population but are they all here for us?

Men, women, children, ninja and civilians alike. It was like a larger version of the group that had come searching for Gaara before. And they were here for Gaara, hopeful smiles breaking into loud screams of happiness, crying out his name and his title and bursting with words and words and words.

"That's what I call a warm welcome," Kankuro said beside her with a grin.

Gaara's face was blanked out with surprise. It almost made her want to laugh, but it also made her want to cry, and then all she managed to do was shake her head a little. This was important. This was forever. If it would last forever, though, was very, very unknown. But she could feel pride bubbling deep in her chest, warm and flowing.

"Uh-huh," Uzumaki Naruto said, grinning.

"Look at how many people there are," Lee exclaimed.

"Just what you would expect for the Kazekage," neji said. He didn't know quite how wrong he was, or quite how momentus the crowds and crowds of people and their cheering really was. Or maybe he did, and he was just being Neji-cool.

"I'll say," Tenten breathed.

The sun was rising behind them, which made it easier to see them people when they finally rushed forward, catching up with their stretching shadows. They swarmed, people mixing with people until it was just the four of them left inside: Uzumaki Naruto, Gaara, Kankuro, herself.

Baki broke free from the crowd. He didn't smile, but stood ramrod-straight, like a shinobi.

"I am glad you're safe," he said quietly.

Gaara dipped his head in an acknowledging nod. "Thanks to these people."

Baki nodded back. Now he did smile. "Uzumaki Naruto, I thank you."

"Huh?" Uzumaki Naruto blinked. "But- But I wasn't the one who-I mean... I hardly did anything at all, really."

Was there maybe a little bit of guilt in that? Uzumaki Naruto didn't get bashful. Fumiko supposed it didn't really matter, but still glanced over at him quickly. He still held Gaara up, looking away like he would deny everything.

"Lord Kazekage," Baki said without pushing it further. "Your people are waiting to welcome you home."

...

~ "I don't plan to die any time in the near future," Gaara said, cutting the man off with an only mildly irritated tone. ~

...

The next day, Fumiko had to dig through her closet to find the black dress at the back of her closet. Just today, she would mourn. But still, it felt strange, the velvety fabric between her fingers. She even had a black slipper to go with it. It had been a while since she went funeral clothes shopping, so it was too short, and she had never bought pants for it.

But that was okay. She borrowed a pair of leather pants from Mai. The left leg hung over her prosthetic all the way to where her ankle would've been, and it bulged around the wood part like a dangerous tumor, but that was okay too.

...

~ "People do not usually plan to die, Kazekage-sama," he said dryly. ~

...

There was an area along the wall put away as a graveyard. A depressing number of headstones had built up since the destruction of the catacombs. That seemed like years and years ago, back when the most important thing in the world was making sure Gaara didn't get too stressed out and running out of paint in the storerooms of her studio.

Ebisu was already at the freshly made gravestone. Fumiko wondered, briefly, how they were made- did someone carve them by hand, or maybe someone had a mastery of Doton jutsu that allowed them to carve it out with chakra? It had been made in a day. They were artfully made, like the hourglass of Sunagakure's symbol, sketched with the name, birthday, and death date of the person.

She didn't want a death date on her gravestone. Fumiko wanted to live forever, even if it was only symbolically.

Gaara wore black mourning clothes as well. He looked significantly smaller in them, less dangerous, less important. But at the same time it made him seem more human- tired, and sad, and grateful. His red hair stood out like a shock against the dark colors. Kankuro, Mai, and Temari as well all wore shades of black, without weapons. Fumiko herself carried only her medical pack, the strap of which she gripped.

"Is that..." Sakura, of course, wouldn't know who was buried here; although maybe she could have seen Chiyo's name from afar with her ninja trained eyes if she'd wanted to, Fumiko didn't know.

Gaara ducked his head. "Chiyo's final resting place."

They all stepped closer, feet scuffing against the ground. There had already been a funeral with tons more people in attendance, but everything had been wild since they got back- no one had even thought of sleeping with all the chaos.

Now, however, they stopped along the way to the Sunagakure gate. Everyone aside from Lee and Gai-sensei- for reasons unknown to her- were leaving that day. But they were all- Lee and Gai included- here now, paying their respects, waiting to say goodbye at the gates.

Finally, Ebisu spoke, breaking the heavy silence with a nostalgic tone. "She didn't want a headstone on her grave," he said almost wistfully, and then paused, putting a hand on the stone and running his fingers across the smooth top. "But despite her wishes, I thought it was better to have one... I felt sure that people would want a place to come to remember her."

"Everyone," Kakashi said. "Say your farewells."

They all ducked their heads. Fumiko did as well, ratty hair curtaining across her face, although her mind was blank, save for Chiyo-baa-sama.

The moment was over too early, and everyone began to raise their heads. Fumiko did not, clenching her fists against her sides. Water squeezed past her closed eyelids, and although they didn't spill they pooled in the corners of her eyes.

"It'll be alright. She's bringing him back."

She remembered all the times Chiyo had degraded her. Been rude to her. Refused her. All the times she had scorned the village, called it doomed; scorned other villages, called them doomed. Fumiko remembered all of her negativity, her certainess of hell. Maybe that was why Chiyo had hated her. Because where Chiyo had been full of bitterness Fumiko had held only hope.

"Chiyo-baa-sama..."

"Everything I've done in my life so far has been wrong. But perhaps now, in my last hour, I can finally do something right."

"Chiyo-baa-sama!"

Fumiko started to run forward before realizing she was only a few feet away from the stone and slowed, stopping, and now the tears spilled out over her cheeks again. Her voice was still raggedy. She could feel Gaara's and the others' surprise as she dropped to her knees in front of the tombstone, and then her hands hit the ground, and then her elbows bent.

Her forehead touched the sand.

Maybe she herself was undecided and tormented and trying to be happy and sad at the same time, and maybe they were all wearing black, and maybe the entire world was about to spiral into hell, but Chiyo had given her life for someone she had hated, someone not important to her, someone important to those around her, and didn't she deserve something for that?

"Thank you," she whispered. "... Chiyo-baa-sama."

...

~ "Joseki-san, I'm not discussing this any further." Gaara said. His hands moved furiously, penning out his name on three different legislatures before he even finished the sentence. If he stopped, even for a second, to truly pay attention to the conversation... ~

...

Almost immediately after bidding the Konoha ninja farewell, Gaara collapsed.

They hadn't gotten three steps away from the gates of Sunagakure before it happened; Gaara's knees buckling, his body flopping to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut, all loose joints and pooling clothes.

She had known his unnatural body heat was a bad sign. Okay, yes, it wasn't a fever, it was just the average heat of an average person, for now, at least, but that had been strange in its own right. Fumiko had thought maybe, maybe it had something to do with the Shukaku being taken out- like, maybe the Shukaku had been making him colder somehow, and now his natural bodily functions were regulating.

But no. He was breathing funny now, too, shallow and rushed. His face held no flush yet, but considering that he'd just passed out-

She thought all of this before she realized she was saying his name, kneeling down beside him. She touched his face, lips drawing down at the ends. Still warm.

Kankuro, Mai, and Temari had long since cried out in alarm, and now they were giving her and each other sharp commands, reaching to pick him up in pieces- his shoulder, his arm, his waist. Fumiko let them, because she could barely stand, let alone support him again.

But, Kami, she wanted to. She felt like absolute crap but she wanted to help him, save him, wanted to pick him up from the rubble and run, get out of the heat, the sand, bring him home-

No, no, no, he's fine, he's safe, he's-

Gaara groaned, snapping her out of her freeze. She realized her fingers were clawing red slashes into her throat as the smell of clay faded from her nose, although the cloying heat didn't fade, which was strange, was she still, was she- desert. She was in a desert. Of course she was hot. Stupid.

Stupid? When was the last time she had used the word stupid to describe anything? Had she ever?

Kami, what was wrong with her?

Redness was starting to swirl into Gaara's face, which was a sign of fever. Fever, the sudden collapse, it didn't make any sense in her suddenly sluggish brain, the world around her coming through like snapshots in a picture booth- sick? Sick? Those were signs of sickness, her medic side said, in Gaara, said the rest of her.

Flash: "Temari, he's slipping, grab his other elbow!"

"Right, right, I know!"

Flash: Gaara was mumbling her name incoherently, she could barely make out the fragmented words, word, over and over, sometimes clear and sometimes not, but what broke through was Fumiko, sorry, Fumiko, sorry, like a broken track.

Flash: "Alright, let's go!"

Faceless people with featureless clothes and soundless, vibrating voices.

Flash: "Wait- wait, Baka-Kankuro! Fumiko's-"

I don't feel so good.

Flash: Spinning air, skidding buildings and suddenly she was sideways? What?

Flash: Sand. The texture against her face and tickling the inside of her nose. The color of it. Sand, she thought dazedly, safe, dangerous, it protects me, I'll die out here-

...

~ Then he would start to blush and that was not at all acceptable. ~

...

Fumiko woke up suddenly, body jerking like she had just came out from a nightmare. She always woke up suddenly, but this was different- her eyes hadn't even opened yet, which was strange. And it still felt like she'd only slept for a millisecond.

She pried them open, squinting at the sudden light, but turning her head every which way to try and make sense of this particular waking-up, considering that she didn't remember falling asleep. At first it was all blurry light and malformed shadows, but then her vision cleared.

She was in the hospital again. It was strange how much she'd woken up in a hospital in her life. It smelled like antiseptic, bleach, and air freshener. A very peculiar, very familiar scent that was comforting in its own right.

There were three different IVs hooked to her arms, pumping clear and cloudy liquids into her veins. She felt less hungry, and realized that they were artificially feeding her, which was fine, since she didn't want to eat food. The idea made her feel even sicker.

There were a couple more machines about her, and a few more things attached to her, like a blood-pressure cuff and heart monitor that beeped in slow, heady rhythms. Her nightgown was starchy and itchy, and she knew her prosthetic wasn't on because she couldn't feel the chakra tug. The bandages about her arms and neck were fresh.

Her muscles seemed to fizzle. Fumiko's tongue felt like glue pasted to the top of her mouth, and her skin was starting to peel from too much exposure to the sun over the last few days. She was certain that if she looked, the throbbing skin of her stump would be black and purple and green with bruises. She was so used to bruises now that she didn't quite remember what it felt like not to throb like a pulse all over.

Fortunately, her ribs didn't seem to twang as much as it had before, and her sprained ankle barely twinged. Unfortunately, she still felt sick.

With guilt, yes, and with that horrible swirling, churning sensation in her stomach. But also with a strange dizziness only amplified by the heat and the liquid feeling draining between her eyes, and the still twisting feeling of her physical stomach, despite the fluids trickling into her body. And sugar, she felt so tired.

"Fumiko? Fumiko!"

"M-m-mai?" Fumiko's voice, apparently, was still hoarse and ragged, so she couldn't have been asleep for that long… "Wh-what-"

"You had some kinda panic attack," her sister said. Fumiko tracked her voice until her eyes slid messily across her form- black hair, tan skin, red shirt, earring, teeth, small, compact muscles- and then she thought, wait.

Panic attack?

"Panic attack?" she echoed.

"Yeah," Mai aid, and shrugged. "After Gaara flaked, you just kinda, I don't know, froze up. Then you started crying. Then, well, you passed out. I got you here, Temari and Kankuro brought back-"

"Gaar-ra," Fumiko gasped, because she remembered fainting now- although, she hadn't realized she'd been crying. "G-Gaara, whe-where-"

"In the other room." Mai's voice was husky with softness. She pointed with her thumb. "But no getting up, okay? I tried making them bring him in here or you in there, but he's just too sick. They don't want you to catch it in the state you're in."

Mai cut off her protest almost instantaneously.

"Fumiko, I know." she said. "But you just can't this time."

You can't this time.

This time.

This time?

Kami, now she wanted to pass out again, to kill it, her stomach, that churning, that guilt, that fear, oh sugar, the fear was killing her again, it was worse than before. This time? What about all the other times? She could see it, now, all the times she could have saved him but didn't, all the ways, all the opportunities she hadn't taken, never, never-

"Hey, chill out." Mai said uncertainly as Fumiko's mouth twisted like she was having a seizure. "Fumiko, hey, you've done enough. Rest now."

There was something in that, in what she said, that bothered her. You've done enough made it even worse, yes, something was really wrong with her, it was like a virus, but- Mai.

"Why a-are you-"

Fumiko was abruptly cut off as the door opened with a soft snick. "Fumiko?"

"L-lee?"

"Ah! You are finally awake!" he cried, rushing the rest of the way inside and letting the door slam behind him. Mai grumbled to herself, raking her fingers through her bangs with an exasperated sigh. They instantly sprung back into place across her forehead, but she didn't seem to care.

"Lee, for the last time-"

"Lee," Fumiko said, and was suddenly intensely grateful for his noise and brightness. Her body felt weak, but she managed to raise her hand a little. "L-lee."

Mai narrowed her eyes a little, then shrugged. "Dude's been flying in and out of here like a seagull, shrieking his damn head off every time."

"H-how long have I b-been…"

"Two days. But you'll be in another week or so. When, exactly, did you twist up your ankle and break your ribs?"

"I f-fell down the s-stairs," Fumiko muttered. At Mai's deadpan stare, she added, "O-oh, and f-fought with Sa-sasori."

Stop. Freaking. Out, she ordered herself.

"Oh, right," Mai said, eyes flashing. "By the way, that was really, really-"

"Youthful!" Lee cut in. "Fighting to save your beloved against all odds, knowing you might very well fail! Battling to the very bitter end, and then deceiving two powerful opponents with a Genjutsu like no other! Oh, the passion of Youth runs strongly in you, Fumiko-!"

"I," Mai interrupted with a twitching smirk, "was going to say stupid."

"Stupid?" Lee looked bewildered. "How is that stupid?"

"She's a pacifist civilian with next to no real combat training who tried to go up against two S-ranked ninja- twice, even though they weren't there the second time- one of whom was perfectly capable of taking out Gaara, and the other entire units of Black Ops." Mai said dryly. "No offense to you or anything, Fumiko, but really, I'm amazed you're alive. Work on that Genjutsu 'til your chakra starts to bleed, you got that?"

Fumiko nodded.

"Good. Anyway, me and Lee've been talking."

"T-talking?" Fumiko frowned slightly. "About w-what? And where's ev-veryone e-else?"

"With Gaara or somebody, I dunno. Shut up and listen. We want to teach you how to fight."

"I kn-know how to f-fight."

"No. Not self-defense. Not protect-myself-until-Gaara-or-somebody-comes-to-save-me. I mean fight. Like a shinobi."

"Wh-what?"

"Lee's going to teach you taijutsu," she said. "And not the little pussy things you do because you think it's fun to tag along with him, but really, really train."

"I will come over to Suna myself every now and again," Lee said. "but aside from that, Mai will help you to follow one of my training regimes."

"Yeah. And aside from that," Mai continued," You and me or Temari or someone are gonna work on your jutsu. You said you were Suiton, right? I dunno much about water style, but I do know how to separate by element."

"M-my-"

"If you're gonna run out and play the hero," Mai said, "Then you need superpowers. A kunai and a few lucky breaks just isn't gonna cut it."

"Mai… I d-don't know-"

"Kankuro told me that these guys knew about you. Right?"

"Y-yeah, but-"

"Look, Fumiko, I know this is weird for you. You're a little messed up right now, and you just had the earthquake of your freaking life. But if those guys know about you, then so does everyone else. Me, Gaara, a lot of people in this village would rather die than let you get hurt, but look how that turned out."

Fumiko wasn't quite sure what to say.

Learning jutsu used to be so far away. A dream that hadn't even formed. It had always been so final- you'll never learn it. But then came Genjutsu, and later, medical ninjutsu- although her medical ninjutsu and her Genjutsu were radically different than ordinary.

Could she?

With her developing Darning Stitch Chakra technique, it was possible.

Did she dare?

Free to learn new things. Isn't that what being human is?

...

~ "Lord Kazekage," Joseki huffed. He was standing up, a contrast to Gaara's seated position. Gaara thought fleetingly to be polite and ask to get him a chair, but then again, the advisor had barged into his office while he was talking to discuss a matter that he didn't want to talk about at all... ~

...

She'd said she would think about it and then said nothing else on the matter until finally Mai, and then Lee, left.

She had to see Gaara.

But she had a heart monitor on.

But she had to make sure he was okay.

But there were fluids draining into her arms.

She had to.

But she wasn't allowed.

What?

Since when had that ever mattered? Fumiko wanted to laugh at the thought, but something choked it off. There was still a desperation to her actions that pushed her forward, a drive she had had since Gaara's defeat almost two full weeks ago- first, following Gaara, then, caring for Kankuro, running the village, and when she could stay still no longer, fly off into the desert to search for him.

I left Sasori there.

It was a sudden strange thought. She had left Sasori among the rocks, partially in pieces. At least she had taken the swords out. If she had been able, she would have, should have taken him with her. Nobody deserved that.

She sat up, careful for the moment at least not to pull out the taped in IV needles. There was one in her right wrist, another in her right elbow, and a third in her left elbow.

Her prosthetic was gone. It wasn't even in the room. Mai's doing, probably. But her IVs were on rollers. She would only have a few moments every time she did this, before the doctors started to realize that she wasn't actually dying every time it flatlined.

She'd played this game before.

Fumiko tapped off two of the IVs, the least important fluids of them, then carefully peeled off the tape and pulled out the needles out. Tiny bubbles of blood poked out, but she just licked them off and kept going. The only needle left was the one taped to her right wrist.

There was water by her bed; she downed the entire jug like a drain, sucking and gasping. When she finished, there was a bib of water down the front of her nightgown and she was coughing, but the coldness felt good and her stomach sloshed instead of twisted.

She pulled the velcro of the blood pressure cuff apart and dropped it next to her on the bed. The monitor squealed in protest, announcing her death to the entire hospital. She hated that sound- flatlining.

She braced herself, wrapping her fingers around the pole, then heaved herself out of the bed. Fumiko almost tripped, but hopped about until she finally found her balance, the harsh squeaking of the wheels banging off the walls.

Fumiko took a breath, then another, fingers clenched so tightly to the cold metal that her knuckles turned white. She scooted forward, one careful hop after another, with the pole on her left side acting like a crutch. She made it out the door carefully. She only had another minute at best before the doctors and nurses came running to resuscitate her. Although, maybe by now they would know her tricks well enough to take their time.

His door was just to the right of hers.

She realized as she stood in front of it that maybe Mai and Lee had gone in there. If Mai or Temari were in there…

It opened right before she managed to grab the knob.

Kankuro greeted her with a tired smile.

"We heard you dying next door," he said. "Don't worry. I told the doctors to ignore it if you flatlined."

...

~ "I am only suggesting that you prepare for the future." ~

...

Gaara wasn't dying, but he definitely wasn't just taking a nap, either.

He hadn't woken up for more than a few minutes at a time since he'd initially passed out. He had a constant, unbroken fever, shivering and sweating no matter how many blankets they did or didn't pile on him. He muttered a lot in his sleep, about many things: sometimes her, but also about his siblings, and Chiyo, and the Akatsuki and Naruto and some kind of light.

Until Fumiko woke up, they hadn't been able to give him anything that wasn't by mouth. She was the only one that his sand would allow to give shots and plug in IVs. He wasn't out of chakra. He didn't have a lot of chakra, but enough of it had generated to subconsciously protect him.

So nobody forced her to leave, although they did try to make her eat, which she still couldn't do. Mai gave her back her prosthetic, mumbling things under her breath that Fumiko didn't really feel like repeating.

The best she could figure was that Gaara's incredible immune system wasn't actually his- it had always been Shukaku. The sheer power of that demon's chakra and energy had burned out everything that wasn't necessary- including, she hypothesized, extra nutrients, which would explain his gawky height and weight compared to others at his skill level.

So when Shukaku was taken away? Instantly Gaara had next to no immune system. In a way, it was good he was getting so sick: his body was learning to counteract it. But that didn't mean she didn't want him to open his eyes, say her name again, something.

His sand still worked. Something about that niggled in the back of her mind. Hadn't his sand been from Shukaku? His Ultimate Defense- to keep his host from dying before he could find a way to take over? It made her think of that day, out in the desert, when the chakra-infused sand had protected her.

But why?

Shukaku hated her.

This train of thought, however, was pushed to the side in favor of cold water and blankets and fluids and painkillers for the pain plaguing his body, especially his joints, residue from his day or two of being a dead man.

Not many people were allowed in Gaara's room. Close family- Kankuro, Temari- and the doctors and nurses, which included her. It made sense, but it made a lot of people mad- Mai and her mother, to name a few, and a lot of concerned citizens.

Once, on the way to the bathroom, she'd been ambushed, bombarded with questions from reporters and ninja and civilians alike. Bewildered, Fumiko was only able to make them even more curious, and then Baki came along and advised her not to talk to the reporters again until Gaara woke up.

...

~ "By making an heir out of wedlock?" Gaara finally demanded, grabbing papers with a furious energy. "What would that accomplish aside from having me skewered by the media?" ~

...

His pulse spiked irregularly sometimes. Fumiko wondered what he was dreaming about.

...

~ Joseki huffed. "I never said out of wedlock." ~

...

"Hey, I got junk food!"

"Kankuro, stop getting that crap from the vending machine."

"Whatever, mom. Hey, Fumiko, got you some chocolate stuff. You want it?"

"Not really."

"Freak."

Fumiko couldn't help but snort, a quick, aborted thought of a laugh.

...

~ "Please get out of my office." ~

...

"… water…"

Fumiko smoothed his hair back. The kanji was kind of meh now- not bright and not faded. He'd been sick for a week almost. That was three weeks, Fumiko counted, since she'd last done a lot of things.

"… thunder…"

...

~ "This matter must be addressed, Kazekage-sama!" Joseki had the nerve to reach out and straighten his cactus plant. "You cannot avoid it forever." ~

...

It was another day where no one was around. Mai had disappeared again, and had been gone for three days already, Kankuro was filling in somewhere for somebody, and Temari was helping man the Kazekage office.

It was also another day where she couldn't stop feeling heat on her skin and making a million plans that could never be used now. It was overwhelming, how badly she wanted to fix her mistakes.

She wanted to be more like Gaara. Or Kankuro. Or Mai. Able to fight to the very bitter end. Kankuro saved her, and, sort of, Gaara, by getting the flip of fabric, even though he could've died. Gaara saved the entire village, even though he could've won if he didn't, at the expense of his own life.

Mai trained so hard so that if the time came she could successfully risk her life for something. It was the whole point of being a shinobi, especially in Sunagakure.

"I mean fight. Like a shinobi."

Gaara was getting better, or at least they thought he was. He responded to a few voices now- hers, Kankuro's, Mai's, when she snuck in. Not Temari's yet, which frustrated her to no end.

Fumiko was sitting beside his bedside. Gaara was laid out flat, sleeping peacefully and without nightmares, which was funny, because it was so much like before, with her watching over him to make sure he didn't drift too deep. Only now she didn't need to do that.

Her bruises were changing color again, she could see it whenever she changed her bandages. Lighter, although they were still pretty dark. She wondered what she was going to say about them when Gaara woke up and decided it didn't really matter.

"You know," she said suddenly, as the reel of his battle played in her mind again. "I didn't really think I could fall in love with you any more."

She touched her fingertips to his open palm. His fingers twitched and almost curled around hers.

"But I think I was wrong."

...

~ "I can," Gaara said. "And I will wait." ~

...

Is this how Gaara feels?

She was sick now too, albeit not as badly. Once again, doctors and friends were forced to comply, dragging in an extra bed and just making room.

...

~ "Kazekage-sama, you have been with this girl practically since you were out of the womb!" ~

...

Doctors swarmed when Gaara's heartbeat suddenly spiked- a continuous nightmare. They were versed in Gaara's old nightmares- which basically meant, over the course of his life, if he started having a nightmare in the hospital wake him up or get someone who could- quick.

But now it was just a nightmare, just a normal, bloodlust free nightmare, although it still tugged at Fumiko's heart to see him writhing like he was, face twisted with some kind of angry sadness. The sand still danced with a pluckish fury, looser than it had been once, less controlled.

The doctors couldn't get close, but now Gaara was starting to moan, and they spoke airless words that he couldn't be overly stressed when he was as sick as he was. So without really asking her opinion- it didn't matter, she liked it better anyway- they took their chances and simply moved her out of her bed and next to him.

They were both sick, so it didn't really matter. Fumiko curled into his side, wanting to cringe away from the heat of his skin but drawn to his Gaara-desert scent. She said things in a rough, weak, sticky voice muffled by sick, but it must have been recognizable enough, because it calmed him- even woke him up for a few seconds.

Well, enough to say, "Monsters," and then he fell back into sleep, but still. Awake, and his eyes had found hers.

After that they left her there and took out the extra bed to save space.

...

~ You have got to be kidding me, Gaara thought. He's insane. "Barely more than a year, in truth. Joseki-san, I may be Kazekage, but I am fifteen, remember. And in any case this isn't only a matter of political stability. Fumiko needs to be considered as well." ~

...

Her sick burned out first, and she was back on her feet within three days of catching it. And then she wove seamlessly back into the work of caring for him.

...

Joseki's tone turned poisonously sarcastic. "I'm sure she wouldn't mind." ~

...

When Gaara finally woke up, it was three weeks and six days since the beginning of this entire snowball. Almost a full month since Deidara had taken their village by storm.

Deidara had a track record of murder a mile long. Fumiko had cross-referenced at least one or two sets of bingo books from three different villages to get the most accurate information possible.

He had certainly made a reputation for himself right away- he had defected from his village after using a forbidden jutsu to give himself the ability to create those clay bombs- although they didn't list how or why it worked, and two of them weren't even sure why he'd defected all together- and had killed his entire explosion corp as a parting gift.

As far as she could tell, the explosion corp. was similar to puppet corp. in Iwagakure. Deidara was some kind of terrorist, bombing things both for money and just plain enjoyment. How blowing people up was in any way enjoyable, she didn't know.

Although, a tiny part of her mind whispered, given the chance…

Fumiko quashed it.

Now, looking at Gaara trying to sit up, thinking about murder and Deidara and Sasori, arms throbbing, the discomfort in her soul suddenly burst.

I can't do this.

...

~ His calligraphy brush stilled against paper. Gaara's thoughts turned into a continuous loop, playing through his head like a broken radio track. ~

...

Waking up, Gaara realized, was a lot like coming back to life.

His body felt squishy and uncomfortable and sick. Obviously he knew he was sick- between being conscious a few times and the insane technicolor dreams, he had put two and two together.

But the debilitating stiffness in his joints had vanished. He wasn't a walking dead person anymore.

Of course, he was still sick, which was foreign and disgusting, but his fever had broken. There was also still that strange emptiness in his head and in his core. He had no seal. He had no prison. The Shukaku had been him, like his blood, a second, heady chakra system, twining with his energy and his thoughts.

Now it was gone, and it was like someone had pulled the filaments of an intricate spiderweb out of him- a million tiny holes, an empty twisting passageway miles long, blank spaces in his mind that should have stuck to him.

"Hey, Shorty-sama," Mai's voice said from somewhere before his eyes started working again. "Jeez. Things better stop going wrong soon or they might just impeach you."

Her tone was joking, or else that might have alarmed him. As it was, he blinked until his vision cleared, then startled away from Mai's waving hand.

"Hey, Gaara," Kankuro said. "Scared us all. Again," he added.

"Oh please," Temari scoffed. "The doctors said he would be fine, and Fumiko wasn't-"

"Fumiko," Gaara said.

Mai grinned. "Kami. You know, when it comes to you two, I can't even talk about the other one without-"

"Fumiko," Gaara repeated. "Where-"

And then he saw her, seeming to shrink behind Kankuro's shoulder.

So she wasn't hurt or sick. But then why wasn't she right here, where Mai was standing? He'd never woken up in a hospital without her either right there, hurt, or sleeping.

Nobody was touching him, so there was no need to brush anyone off when he tried to stand again. Mai let him- of anyone in the room Mai was the most likely to let him. He stood, wobbly.

Kankuro shifted a little, just to reach off to the side for a bag of chips, but it was enough that Fumiko realized he'd seen her. Gaara stumbled a little but then straightened.

Being dead- or dying, he supposed- had given him a lot of thinking time. If what he had gone through could really be called thinking- more like feeling. Aching. Remembering. Every emotion his mind had stored had gone through his body, not like a movie reel but like he'd relived everything he could remember.

It was fast paced and glittery. Now he didn't remember too much of it at all- like a fleeting dream he couldn't quite catch. But there had been a lot of depression- a lot of sadness, a lot of anger, a lot of blank ice, and a lot of raging fire.

But then there was warm, easy contentedness. Not quite happiness, not quite love, not quite joy, or excitement, or pleasure. But a smooth contentedness, moments where nothing else mattered, where you could lie down all day and be perfectly fine without feeling like you were wasting time, where you could be a Kazekage and play board games at the same time, where you could kiss someone and they would never care if you blushed.

There was so much he had withheld- so much he refused to let go, even if it was eating holes inside him and leaving behind infection. His father. His mother. His almost fickle village. The shadows people expected to forever be cast over him which he would never surpass. Shukaku. The blood on his hands, in his brain.

His darkness that he had shrouded around him and then it got worse when barely any sunshine penetrated, which was completely his fault in the first place. And then he had died, and left everything behind.

Gaara didn't want to do that again.

Fumiko wasn't smiling. She didn't look any better or worse than she had before he passed out- fluttery bandages wrapped tightly around her arms and neck, and probably her chest, too; shadowy circles under her eyes as dark as marker, pale, sallow skin greasy with lack of washing. Her hair hung limp, the ever-curling bounce of her bangs raggedy against her temples.

There were angry red hashes on her lips and around them that looked like they would start to bleed at any given second. Fumiko's brown eyes were completely bloodshot, and when she finally said something, her voice was broken and hoarse and scratchy. "G-ga-gaara…"

Her grungy, destroyed look only seemed darker with the clothes she wore. One of her sleepshirts- one of his old shirts- seemed to hang about her body as she hugged her arms to her chest. She still wore the same knee-length black cargo shorts that she always had, but it seemed so much less cheerful black-on-black.

I did this to you.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, and held out his arms, not really caring that his siblings and Mai were watching.

Her eyes widened, and instead of coming forward like he was expecting, she took a step back. She stared at him like he was a stranger, a fence, a liar and a thief and a friend. Like a colorful shiny shard of glass that had cut her once but was so pretty that she wanted to touch it again.

Gaara's hands lowered again with concern. He started to say, "Fumi-"

And then she was twisting, turning away, and she slithered out the door, slamming it shut behind her with a bang, the echo of which rang with the pound of metal against wooden floors and a strangled, disarticulate sobbing.

...

~ I'm going to kill you. ~

...

She avoided him. It wasn't like he could chase her down- the doctors wouldn't let him leave, going so far as to threaten to sedate him if he refused. He was still too sick, they said, and they didn't want him either moving around or infecting others.

But she didn't come to visit and she tried so hard to keep away that she refused to talk to either Kankuro or Temari and as far as Gaara could tell, Mai.

...

~ Instead of acting on it- although the sand particles in his field of vision were starting to swirl- Gaara took a deep breath. Either Joseki somehow didn't hear the sand hissing about in the gourd by his feet, or he was choosing to ignore it. ~

...

It was driving him insane. He knew- Gaara knew she had been there while he was sick, he could remember her voice and her turpentine smell and her feathery touch, which meant that she hadn't not wanted to see him, but now she was just gone, and Gaara had no idea what that meant.

...

Gaara was willing to bet money on the latter. ~

...

His eyes.

Gaara trusted her.

She streaked paint like she was slashing pieces out of the canvas. There was red, and there was black, and there was blue.

...

~ "I would advise you to be more cautious with your words," he said. ~

...

When they finally let him out of the hospital, Temari intercepted him before he ever got the chance to go searching.

"I need your help," she said. "I'm going crazy trying to figure out your job. I have no clue how Fumiko did it while you were gone."

...

~ Joseki flushed. "I meant no offense, Kazekage-sama." ~

...

It took a while to get everything put down into the ground, but Lee helped. Actually he seemed kind of excited by the prospect of finding a way to make a training ground in the backyard behind her studio. Well, it wasn't really a backyard, more like a ten by ten yard or so space between the hourglass buildings around it.

It was just a few mannequin dummies on sticks like sand and newspaper reinforced scarecrows, along with one practice pillar wrapped with protective stuffed fabric Lee had gotten from who-knows-where.

He beamed. "All finished!" he said cheerily.

"Th-thank you, Lee," Fumiko said.

Lee paused at the husky emptiness that was her voice.

"You know," he said uncertainly, "I really do think you should talk to Gaara."

"I just want to train now, Lee," she said quietly, and after a moment's hesitation, Lee nodded.

"Yes."

...

~ "I'm sure you did not." Gaara's tone could be described by some as acidic, but the council member standing in front of him didn't know him nearly enough to hear anything other than a slight growl. ~

...

Gaara had been expecting to come back to a desk stuffed full with crap.

But this was not the case.

Sure, there was a lot of stuff. Fumiko most likely hadn't been here much longer than a week or so of the entire month. But there were traces of her organization in the piles and the placement of the piles- Temari must have seen it and followed it.

He'd wondered before if she would even be able to do it. Naming her second meant that if he ever died or was incapacitated then she would take over, at least for a short while. Gaara had had a hunch that Fumiko either would have been perfectly fine, or wrecked- much like she was now.

But this was good- he knew where everything sat, he could slip through it easily enough. There were still a few papers here and there with her signature on it, as well as Temari's, where perhaps the system of coming and going was clogged.

His things had been put away neatly- his hat and his robes. He didn't don them yet- no, Gaara still wore mourning clothes, not just for Chiyo but for the many who had died in the attack altogether.

He didn't know who they were. That was something Fumiko already would have filtered through, signed off on, and arranged burials for. Or burnings, he supposed, for any ANBU lost. From her perspective that must have been uncomfortable- giving permission to cremate ANBU and leave the families wondering where the ninja had gone forever.

...

~ "Forgive me my disrespect," Joseki said, but the look on his face suggested otherwise, like the words were distasteful. "However, I must insist that you at least consider-" ~

...

Gaara finally caught her- by accident no less- but when he did, he wasn't expecting not to know what to say.

His head was whirling with questions and concerns and words and letters and entire paragraphs of rehearsed conversation- but he wasn't expecting to see her and when he did every word died on his tongue.

He had just gone back to his- their- bedroom to try and rest or perhaps meditate for a while. Not that he really needed to- the doctors had said he could sleep just fine now that Shukaku was out of him. But sleeping was taboo, so had Gaara decided he wouldn't do so until he absolutely had to.

Fumiko was peeling off the long-sleeved black shirt. She was turned away from him, so Gaara didn't see anything but her back, but that was fine, he'd seen her without a shirt many times walking through his room to grab another, and this time it wasn't even relevant because of the wrappings.

He opened his mouth.

This was the part where his words died.

She really did have bandages around her entire torso- her arms, her chest, her ribs, her neck, although her hands were completely free, like it was merely a second shirt. But now they were ragged and dotted with blood or rips. Where some was torn nearly in half along her ribs he could see bruises in the outline of-

What was that?

What had happened? He hadn't yet gotten the chance to ask. He understood the hunger-look and the sleepless-look but why was she hurt all over?

The shirt itself was practically shredded, but instead of throwing it out, Fumiko wandered into the bathroom with it, probably to throw it in the clothes bin. When she walked back out, she saw him and he saw her.

Alarm bells instantly shrieked in his head. Her face was a light motley of bruises- the kind that would disappear in a week or less- swirled with darker ones, like she had been in some kind of street fight, with a split lip. It was hard to tell if she had any black eyes; she still had circles.

Her eyes quickly darted away and she calmly walked back to her dresser to get another sleep-shirt. As she did Gaara realized her knuckles were split and raw and bleeding.

She pulled the new shirt over her head.

Instinctively, Gaara reached to try and hold her. Touching was important. He had never really instigated contact between them unless he was sleeping and having terrors or she was injured. He didn't know why- something like mine and something like there and something like real.

Fumiko ducked his arm, said, very softly, "I need to go," and then left, not bothering to close the door behind her.

...

~ "Joseki-san, we have gone over this over and over before. I'm getting rather tired of it." ~

...

"Holy First," were the first words out of Mai's mouth the first time she went looking for Fumiko.

Fumiko paused in her rhythmic left-right-left-right against the training post, although Lee didn't stop yelling for a good few more seconds.

"Hi, Mai," Fumiko said.

She was drenched in sweat and felt sticky. She could only assume that her ribs had healed fully because they barely protested with her new daily routines. Her ankle was completely fine now. The only steadily growing problem was her prosthetic- eventually Fumiko knew she would have to stop and stay in bed for a long time to let the pressure-bruises fade away.

The more physical problems were okay- she trained and sparred with Lee, how was she not going to get bruised like a peach? Her knuckles, well, she could deal. She treated them fine with salves and antiseptics and bandages and very mild painkillers.

On her back she wore an archer's sheath- the thing that held all of their arrows, she wasn't exactly sure what it was called- only it had been emptied of arrows. Now it was used to hold her modified Bo Staff- her Bakuryou.

The next word out of Mai's mouth Fumiko didn't want to repeat.

"Hello, Mai," Lee greeted.

"Shit, Fumiko," Mai said, putting her hands on her hips. "This isn't what I meant!"

"This is how you train."

"Not nonstop!" she paused. "No, that's a lie. But seriously, there's a difference between training through the pain and knowing when your body's kaput!"

"Is it? I feel fine."

"No, you don't, and I'm starting to think that's the problem." Mai said the words with a dead kind of finality. "Oh come on, don't give me that life is just sugar and rainbows look, Fumiko! Trust me, it's no secret that you look like absolute hell. Oh, yeah, and you're avoiding Gaara!"

"Fumiko," Lee said, "I am going to get us more bottled water."

And that's when Fumiko realized how uncomfortable Lee really was playing along with her issues. He left them alone, practically skidding through the back door of Fumiko's studio.

"Mai-"

"Don't wanna hear it. Spar with me."

"What?"

"Spar with me."

"But you just said-"

Mai gave an irritated groan. "Just pull out your weapon thingie and attack me, jeez."

Mai waited. When Fumiko did no such thing, she shrugged. "Fine. Well at least defend yourself."

"Wha-"

She was on the ground with a simple little fwip of sand. "Come on, you can do better than that."

Fumiko could feel her face twist. That she hadn't seen or heard that coming at all was unacceptable. She struggled back up to her feet. Mai had simply hit her hard in the chest with her arm in shunshin, she realized.

Mai tried it again, only this time Fumiko anticipated it and dodged to the left, reaching back and pulling her staff instinctively, pointed end forward.

"Agility training, huh?" Mai turned back around. "You know, I never did think I'd be able to spar with you, ever."

Again, only this time Fumiko jerked her arms and caught Mai's fingers on her staff and pivoted, stabbing the tip into the sand, and it was like grabbing a pole at top speed. Mai careened around her back, twisting over her discorded feet and hitting the sand hard with a yelp.

Fumiko felt just as stunned as Mai looked as she pulled herself up off the ground. Fumiko spared a quick, surprised glace at her weapon.

And then she smiled, just a little bit.

Of course Mai wasn't actually fighting her- if she was her swords would be out or Fumiko would have a few body parts puttering with fire. If Fumiko knew her sister at all, Mai was trying to figure something out. But what?

Still, the fact that she had caught Mai off guard… it was leagues above what she had ever hoped to do through the course of her life. Maybe Mai wasn't the strongest ninja in Suna- actually, she most certainly wasn't- but she was formidable.

"Okay, wow," Mai said, back on her feet again. "That-"

Heady and prepared, Fumiko slipped into a Body Flicker herself, kicking up sand as she went. Mai reacted instinctively, lips curled in shock, grabbing Fumiko's pelting forearm and elbow braced with her Bakuryou.

"Whoa, I-"

And Fumiko twisted, kicking her good foot back toward her and clipping out Mai's foot. Her sister went down with a surprised squeal, lashing out with her foot and beginning to duck into a roll at the same time.

Fumiko, caught off guard, had time to think Kami this is going to hurt-

She sprawled, trying and failing to use the momentum of the kick to roll back up like Lee was teaching her to.

"Ow," Fumiko muttered. "My ribs."

Mai had somersaulted backwards and sprung back to her feet, almost grinning. Fumiko stabbed her Bakuryou into the ground and used it to lever herself back into a standing position. Her side screamed, a good, well-aimed clip on Mai's part-

And then Mai was behind her, arms slithering around her neck like she was going to chokehold-

Fumiko yanked up her Bakuryou without really thinking about it, swirled it in her fingers so that the pointed end was facing forward, and slammed the weighted end backwards.

There was a very audible thumping sound of metal on flesh. Mai's air puffed out besides Fumiko's ear, and the grip around her neck started to loosen, and she whipped around to try and clip her head and knock her out-

Heaving still, Mai ducked, and Fumiko's swing went wild, throwing off her balance. As she fell into a crouch Mai snaked out her foot, catching Fumiko's prosthetic and sending her crashing to the ground. Fumiko's air left her lungs.

Mai was on her in a flash, digging her knees into the sand on either side of her, hands pinning Fumiko's shoulders to the sand. Panting, Mai wheezed, "You're actually trying to-"

Fumiko grunted, pulling her knees up and sideways at the same time as she dropped her Bakuryou and brought up both arms, grabbing Mai's forearms, and rolled with her weight to the right. They rolled, and Fumiko ended up on top for a second, sand puffing into a cloud around them.

Then Mai retaliated, spinning them again so that she was back on top and this time pushing her forearm against Fumiko's throat to keep her down.

Fumiko writhed, and, finding no other escape, sent out her chakra.

"Yeah, okay," Mai said inside of the Genjutsu. "I was wondering when you were gonna do that."

"What?"

In her shock, Fumiko released the Genjutsu, and then it was just them, panting and sweaty, Mai's arm still shoved against her neck. Fumiko was completely spent- she'd already been training when Mai got there, and now she was just tired beyond belief.

"How- did you-"

"Not important," Mai said, and she seemed to have gotten her air back. "You were actually trying to win that." She paused. "Goddamn."

"Wasn't that the point?"

"The point? No, the point is that you were fighting me like I was an enemy. No biggie, that's definitely a good thing. But why?"

"You were attacking me!"

"No," Mai said, shaking her head. She loosened her arm, pulling back slightly. Fumiko, acknowledging that she had lost, let her slide off, and took her sister's proffered hand to heave herself back up. "Were you actually fighting me?"

Fumiko froze.

And then everything finally spilled out.

...

~ "Kazekage-sama, as a council member, it is my job to point out that which might not be necessarily pleasing to you. But rest assured, my intentions are only for the well being of this village." ~

...

"Oh my Kami," Mai blurted when she was done, pointing a finger into her face. "You have PTSD!"

Fumiko gently pushed the hand away. "What?"

"The guilt, the visions, the drive to fix something you can't fix to the point of pulling yourself to pieces…" Mai pursed her lips, counting them off on one hand as she went. They were both sitting down now, crisscrossed in the sand. "It's one of the things I know about. Something ninja need to be really careful about noticing."

"Don't tell Gaara," Fumiko said. "He'll hate me."

"For not saving him, or for saving yourself? Gaara isn't capable of even being irritated at you, let alone hate you."

"Please."

"You don't think I could convince you to take a Psyche, do you? 'Cause I'm no doctor, and-"

"No."

Mai sighed. "I didn't think so."

...

~ "Not pleasing to me?" In his surprise, Gaara almost dropped the brush. His father had to have dealt with this as well. Which, thinking back, might explain a few things. "Having a child and being married should not be of a political matter alone, Joseki-san." ~

...

Gaara was getting more and more concerned.

As time wore on- maybe three or four days since he saw Fumiko in the bedroom- he didn't catch her, although Fumiko continued to put ruined clothes in the hamper. Which was disturbing because that meant she wasn't sleeping.

At all.

...

~ "Unfortunately, Lord Kazekage, sometimes should and are can be two drastically different things." ~

...

Deep breath in, long breath out.

Deep breath in, long breath out.

Deep breath in-

Fumiko curled and undulated her chakra like bulbous tentacles, and it bubbled and cooled like magma coming out of the ground, slow and unstoppable.

Long breath out.

Her own chakra's color was hard to explain. As an artist, she knew a bit more about colors than the average person. And there were a thousand shades that almost correctly described it- blue, brown, aqua, teal, pastel brown, cobalt, lapis, field drab, sapphire, azure, aegean... but none of them quite fit.

Her chakra was… a dark, soft, earthy blue, like a shaded stream with a muddy bottom, cool and tinkling and calming. Which was funny, in a way, because chakra as a thing was extremely warm.

Practicing Genjutsu was hard unless you had someone to practice it on. She could randomly cast it on random people walking by her shop, and she did sometimes, but there was still that little wiggle from pre-Deidara- That's rude.

Well, not quite as dramatic as pre-Deidara, but something had shifted- priorities, maybe. She still painted but those… those weren't on her gallery wall.

And she was beginning to notice another problem as well.

...

~ He was serious. His tone was deadly serious and final. Gaara pondered between using his sand and bothering to actually stand up and punch him, but picked option c and merely dipped his brush in ink again. ~

...

Usually people noticed when Gaara was fed up with something.

And usually they tended to stay out of his way.

Which was exactly what was happening now, as he practically stormed out of his bedroom on the fifth morning since he had seen Fumiko last. There were more torn clothes in the bin. Clothes that hadn't been there when he'd laid down to rest.

Enough is enough.

The only two places he had ever been positive she was in were usually either the Tower or her gallery. Or her previous apartment house, but Gaara got the feeling that if anyone were to nag Fumiko to speak to him again it would be her mother, so she wouldn't be there.

She obviously wasn't in the Tower. That much was a given.

So she had to be in her studio.

He didn't get very far before he ran into Mai and Lee with their heads down, talking to each other like co-conspirators. They were maybe a ten minute's walk from Fumiko's studio.

"Mai," Gaara called. "Mai, I need to talk to you."

She startled, glancing up at him like she'd been caught skipping class. Lee blinked at him with his big, round eyes, like a curious deer. Gaara braced himself for the fit of excited yelling but it never came.

"Mai, I need to check in with Gai-sensei. We're leaving today. We have to catch up with team Kakashi."

"Right, right. See ya, bowl-cut."

Lee nodded, then jumped straight up the wall of a building.

Mai sighed.

"Mai-"

"Why?"

Gaara didn't say anything for a second. "You know why."

Mai scoffed and looked away, hands on her hips. They were standing in the middle of the street; amidst the throng of vendors and pulse of people. Gaara had to step closer to hear her. He realized as he did so how tall she was getting.

"I can't, Gaara. Con-fi-damn-dential."

At that she started to turn away, but Gaara grabbed her arm. She stopped but didn't turn back.

"Is she mad at me?"

Mai seemed to consider this. "No."

"Is it that I broke my promise?" Mai jerked, head slinging around. Her eyes were surprised, and in depth, a little impressed. "I swore," he said as explanation. "that I would never lie to her again and I did."

"That," Mai said, "is sort of a part of the problem, but she isn't mad at you for breaking it. It's that you broke it at all."

Gaara blinked slowly. "So she is mad at me?"

"No! Ah, hell, Gaara, none of this is your fault."

"Mai," Gaara pleaded. Her skin was warm against his hand. "Please."

Mai stared at him for a long, long minute, the traffic of rush hour flowing around them like water around a rock. Then she sighed.

"Alright, Gaara. I barely understand it myself. But it's like Fumiko realized you can be beaten. That you can die. And the promise thing is a part of it, sure, but it's more that she knows now that your word isn't law, you know? Shit happens. Bad shit." Mai's face was grave. "But she just didn't realize that until now."

The gravity of those words hit Gaara like a ton of bricks.

Fumiko was Fumiko because of her strange glow. The fact that she knew bad things were bad things, and still saw the world as pure and good and bright. That she slid through bad times like oil, thinking she was swimming, and enjoying it.

What if she didn't think like that anymore?

"But why does she run from me?" Gaara's grip tightened against Mai's elbow almost against his will, too tight, but Mai didn't seem to notice or care.

"She's scared, Gaara."

"Scared of what?"

"Of getting you back. Of her second chance. Of screwing it up again. It's- uh-" Mai's eyebrows scrunched together. "Ech, I'm no good at this stuff- it's that her head is spinning, Gaara, and she thinks it's her fault. Her whole world just got rocked."

This didn't make any sense.

"What?"

"You, Gaara," Mai snapped at last. All of her muscles tensed like coiled wires, like she was just hearing her own words for the first time. "She's scared to love you."

With those final words, looking disturbed and angry, she tore away out of his grasp and stalked off into the crowd. Gaara let her, too stunned, really, to do anything but stand there.

Scared to… Love him?

No.

...

~ "I do not think, Joseki-san, that you would approve of any child of mine moreso than you would me." ~

...

The studio smelled as it always had. Paints and new canvas and the lavender smell of the incense burner beside the cashbox.

There were freshly painted and older canvases everywhere- every easel was in use, along with the floor, the floor was scattered with half-finished and completed paintings. They were similar and different at the same time- ragged dark slashes of colors that mixed into ugly shades of brown or black. Some made things like clouds or birds or some kind of metal puppet piece, a lot of black and red, and some yellow.

There were a lot of clear images he wasn't sure he wanted to see. Two or three of them, for instance, were of his own dead body, in one blurred and indistinct, in the other two razor sharp at different angles. One of the sharp ones was merely his face. The other was of a piece of his torso, it looked like, from the clothes and the limp hand beside them in the grassy area where he had woken up.

Some flamed with explosions. Others were of dusty, sandy horizons from a strange upwards perspective like she had been very high up. They shimmered with mirage heat. Gaara touched one of these dry ones with his fingertips, moving slowly through the easels, careful not to trod on any artworks.

One- and this one he paused at- was of a girl with dark red hair like his own, almost onyx eyes, pale skin. She was wearing an expression he couldn't quite decipher, like pity and pain, like giving up, like bittersweet anger.

The girl from before; the one that had disappeared into darkness after breaking into the studio. Gaara couldn't remember her name. Why had Fumiko painted her likeness in such a way?

The incense burner was going strong, not quite managing to diffuse the turpentine smell that followed Fumiko around in clouds. Which was strange, considering there was no one in here. Well, the light was on, so someone was here, just outside, perhaps?

Gaara stepped up to blow it out, but his eyes were caught away from it to the counter it sat on.

Paper. There was paper all over it, scraps of paper, notebook paper, rips of canvas, copy paper for typewriters. They were all covered in different kinds of colors: calligraphy ink, oil, watercolor, acrylic, pencil, wax crayon.

Gaara picked one up. Black and white and gray from pencil shading, it was clouds- the Suna sky, from the view of a rooftop, it looked like, with a sky so dark the wispy Suna clouds looked bright. Gaara held it to the side, comparing it to the others, and realized they were all the same thing- the sky, from different perspectives and times of day. Morning, night, midday, clouds stained with sunrise or sunset or just plain sun, sometimes no clouds at all, and sometimes all it was was clouds- rainclouds.

Gaara flipped and brushed through them, and realized that doodled in pencil and marker across the counter were more little sketches- the moon, the sun, clouds, sometimes birds.

"What…" Gaara murmured to himself, carefully placing the papers back on the counters. He looked back over his shoulder again, surveying the mess of colors and twisted scenes. "What is all this?"

He was distracted again as he finally put an image to the sound blinking along the entire time he had been in there. A soft thumping sound, one that would be unheard to a civilian or even a Genin. Even to him it was just a small, bothersome white noise.

A punching sound. Like hitting a bag or a dummy.

He blew out the incense light before following the sound to the back entrance. Opening it, Gaara blinked against the bright Suna midday sun.

He meant to close the door behind him, but the thought completely escaped his mind when he finally took a glance around.

It was a miniature training area.

And there was Fumiko, pounding away at a training post, not just using her fists but her palms and her forearms and her elbows, much like you were taught to do in the Academy. There was a careful, rickety center of balance to her stance, with her legs spread weirdly to allow her to twist her upper body around without falling. Against her back was some kind of archer's sheath. A Bo staff with a metal tip clanged about inside it.

Gaara thought, now, about running into Mai and Lee, both of whom had hit marks and slivers of cuts on their faces and arms.

She was sparring. That was how she kept ruining her clothes. Sparring and training.

But it looked like she was dying. Between the bruises and the sleepless, haunted look and the way she was swaying, Gaara realized that she still hadn't probably eaten anything solid.

In how long? More than a month? Had she slept at all? That was beyond dangerous and unhealthy, and now she was training taijutsu with Lee?

"Fumiko!"

It almost hurt to see her, and he realized that sounded in his voice.

Fumiko nearly jumped out of her skin. As it was she stumbled backward with a startled yelp and started to fall.

Kami, hadn't this happened a thousand times? Gaara barely thought about the sand that jumped up just behind her, a little cyclone that only solidified after she'd hit it to prevent impact pain.

Fumiko made no sounds as the sand tilted her back upright and sunk back into the ground, just avoided his eyes and brushed the sand out of her hair. There was paint on her hands and her bandages, which was new, or maybe she had just always changed them before.

He realized she was eyeing the open door behind him like an escape hatch. Something pulled out of his throat, like a whine or a groan. "Please don't run away from me again."

"I'm not running away," she said.

"Then look at me," he demanded.

She did. Fumiko looked so tired it was like she would fall over any second.

Then Gaara ran out of words to say. He wasn't angry, and he wasn't begging, he was just confused, and alone, and he had just died a few weeks ago; sometimes it didn't seem like his brain had quite recovered.

"I want to," Fumiko said quietly. "But I…"

"What?"

"I don't know," she said, raising up her hands in defeat, like a wide shrug. She gnawed on her bottom lip in between words. "I don't know."

"I- are you angry with me?"

"No. Yes." Fumiko paused, face morphing like she might cry. "No. No."

She was standing almost six yards away, but when he tried to step closer she backed away, grabbing onto the training post like she was going to try and hide behind it. "Then why are you-"

"I can't," she spluttered.

"Can't what?"

"Can't- I can't- ugh." She shook her head, but in her state, Gaara couldn't tell if she was in denial or trying not to faint. "I can't-"

"You, Gaara," Mai snapped at last. All of her muscles tensed like coiled wires, like she was just hearing her own words for the first time. "She's scared to love you."

"Please," Gaara said. "Please don't push me away. Please don't leave me alone. Please don't make me do this without you."

Now she really did duck away behind the post, her back to the cloth. Gaara could see two fingers of her right hand. "Don't say that," Fumiko said, so softly and squishy that Gaara barely heard it. "Don't sound like that."

"I can't," Gaara said, frustrated.

Fumiko said nothing.

Gaara took a few steps closer, but maybe Fumiko felt better hiding with the post between them, because she didn't shuffle away. He was still a ways away when he stopped, feet kicking up tiny storms of sand that didni't quite settle, rustling about minutely to his turmoil like dogs.

"I'm sorry I died." Gaara wasn't quite sure what to do with his hands, rubbing the back of his neck, crossing them across his chest, so he left them hanging at his sides. "I'm sorry I lost."

Nothing.

"But I'm here now. We're together again."

Nothing still from behind the post. Her fingers slipped away from the edge. Now he couldn't see her at all, but there was blood on the fabric of the post, and morbid as it sounded, he looked at that while he spoke.

"We can play," he said, "Or look at the stars. I'm not dead. None of it is your fault. I- I won't lie again. But you have to eat. You have to sleep. Please, you're hurting me, too, and I-"

"What am I supposed to do if you die again?" she snapped, more viciously than Gaara had ever thought her capable of. She didn't come out of her hiding place, which made it hard to put a face to the biting tone from behind the post. "What am I supposed to do, Gaara?"

"I don't know."

"How do you not know? You're a shinobi! You're supposed to know everything! I don't know if you'll die again and I don't want to not know what to do!"

Gaara stopped cold. He spread his hands helplessly. "I don't know."

"Stop saying you don't know and just answer me!"

"I don't know!" he snapped back angrily. Then he forced himself to take a breath. When he spoke again his voice was quieter, not controlled exactly, but quiet. "Only you know."

"But-" A sob. Her voice was quieter now as well. "But I don't know."

"Then I guess no one does."

There was a long few seconds of absolutely nothing before there was a shaky, sighing breath, and then Fumiko carefully stepped out from behind the post, staring at him like someone would from behind a corner, then all the way.

"Gaara…" she said. "Gaara… how do I know you won't leave me again?"

There were a thousand things he wanted to say. A thousand things he probably should have said. But she had never asked him that before. And saying that he wouldn't would be almost a lie. Saying that he would try not to seemed too much and too little, too late.

So he just said, very, very softly, "You don't."

Her face crumpled and then she ran to him, sobbing, and hit him so hard he almost fell over, burying her face in the collar of his neck. Her tiny body heaved with tears. After a second's delay Gaara held her back, gripping her so tightly he knew it probably hurt, but she didn't move, so neither did he.

"Love you," she snuffled into his clothes.

"You too," he said back. That response was virtually instinct by now, but she relaxed in his arms, satisfied.

...

Joseki flinched. "Kazekage-sama, we are surely not trying to replace you!" ~

...

Fumiko spent a long time in the bath, wishing she was capable of taking a normal shower. She wanted to feel it against her face, not wallow about in water so hot it was like soup.

So she turned the heat on all the way and turned on the shower head, standing up on her knees, sort of. She shoved her fingers through her knotted hair. She'd washed it three times already, and was washing it a fourth. She supposed that having hair tangle and knot for over a month would want to stay tangled and knotted. It made her injured knuckles smart and sting, along with a few tiny scrapes and scratches.

But she didn't mind. She liked the feel of the water pounding against her back and shoulders. It was also the first time in a while she'd had her bandages off longer than it took to wind new ones in their place, and now that she really let herself look at them, she cringed.

They weren't pitch black like they had been in the beginning. Now it was a motley of light green-yellow, dark green, and fading green-purple in various stages of healing. Some would be gone within the week. Some wouldn't fade for perhaps another full month.

Her ribs were colorful as well, although they were much lighter: her chest and ribcage had sustained less pressure than her arms, especially her left arm, which had been caught completely. Her right arm had been partly free from the elbow down, so there were no real bruises on her right forearm, but the rest of it was just as bruised as the right.

Well, aside from the bruises and tiny scrapes she had from training. At least her voice was better now- she didn't have to stutter through her words anymore to swallow. It still sounded funny, but was almost normal again.

From what she had seen in the mirror, the darkest part of her now was a contest between her eyes and the blotch of darkness the size of a small child's fist on her throat.

She felt that now, bringing her hands down from her detangling hair. It hurt to touch.

It felt nice to be clean again. To be full again- Gaara had gently poked and prodded her to eat food until she agreed, then pulling leftovers from the refrigerator and cookies from the pantry.

She'd told him that after so long with only liquid and artificial foods, cookies probably wasn't the healthiest option.

He'd responded fiercely that he really didn't give a damn as long as she ate them.

The shower smelled like clean steam and lavender soap; lavender hair conditioner. She hadn't realized how much of the stuff the Tower supplied them with was lavender scented until she really thought about it, the smell of lavender in the hot clouds of mist.

When she finished, her hair was still a little messy, but she didn't care, toweling it off and grabbing a hairbrush to bring with her. Gaara hid his face in a pillow as she put on sleep-clothes, a long sleeved black shirt and dark blue fluffy pj pants. The only reason she decided to wear a bra to bed was because the pressure felt nice on the tips of her ribcage.

Fumiko didn't wrap her bruises. There was no need to. Before it had just been a matter of hiding them- it wasn't like they could get infected or anything. So she dumped the old ones into the trash and left it at that- and it felt much nicer without them on, more free.

She sat carefully on the bed, leaning down to pull of her prosthetic and peel away the sock, which acted like a kind of cue. Gaara rolled over. He watched her silently for a few minutes. Fumiko could feel it on her back, but she didn't mind it anymore. She propped them up against the side of the bed. When she straightened, she tugged the brush through her hair.

There was still that guilt, that I let you die.

But Gaara was right. She was wasting her- their- time with what-ifs. What-ifs that might or might not happen at all. Maybe she wouldn't be able to deal with it if it happened. But it wasn't happening. Nothing was certain.

She found it easier to wear herself like she used to. There were differences in it, but it was achingly close to how she had been- slower. More sad. But he was still- there, and so was she, and they were they, now, in the present.

Fumiko started as she felt fingers on her hand. Cool, no fever, no coldness. So it hadn't been Shukaku at all. It had always been Gaara. The fingers pulled gently at her hair and took up the brush. Fumiko's own hands folded into her lap. She tilted her head back slightly, not fighting the tiny content smile that tugged her lips.

"Thank you," she murmured.

Gaara didn't say anything, lifting locks of her hair up from her neck and combing through them with the brush methodically, piece by piece.

One thing she had always thought was strange about them was his careful, precise approach to everything- yet he was messy with his things, with his desks and rooms. Fumiko herself was more careless and did everything on a whim, yet she was almost professional with her neatness. Aside from having sand on her floors, she liked having things where they were supposed to be.

He could see the back of her head where she hadn't been able to, and so it worked faster than it would have had she continued to work with it.

"Are you going to sleep?" he asked.

"Maybe. I don't know."

"I'll stay with you." A pause. "You did a good job of taking care of Sunagakure, by the way."

"Yeah?"

"Yes." He didn't pause, but there was a short silence between those words and the next. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about posting you as second… honestly I forgot all about it-"

"It's no problem. It… gave me something to focus on."

Fumiko could sense Gaara's relaxed smile. "Good."

More silence.

"Gaara?"

"Yes?"

"I think me and Yoshiki had a fight."

"You did?" There was a tug on her hair, a surprised movement. "When?"

"I'm not sure. Before…" she hesitated. "Before Kankuro and the others headed out after you."

"Oh." Gaara was almost done brushing, she could feel against her neck how much less tangled her hair was. Fumiko had flat hair by nature; flat, straight hair that was usually really easy to brush as long as she took a shower every day or two. "What about?"

"He…" Fumiko mulled it over in her head for a second, frowning in thought. "I dunno. I'm not sure exactly. But he thought you were dead. I didn't. And then…"

"Oh." The fingers left her hair. There was a soft clinking sound and a creak as Gaara leaned back on the bed to put the hairbrush on the nightstand closest to the windows.

"I've never fought with him before."

Gaara chuckled, an amused, aborted snicker. "I don't think you've fought with anyone before. Argued, yes. But not fought."

Haven't I?

"I don't know how to feel about it. Honestly I completely forgot about the whole thing until just now. Now I kinda feel bad…"

"Don't. I'm sure it was his fault, but even so, we can find him tomorrow, if you want to."

Fumiko relaxed. "I think I'll sleep."

"Alright."

They settled back into the blankets. Fumiko didn't really care that her hair was still wet. Gaara flicked off the light on his nightstand.

To her complete surprise, Gaara put his arms around her when they finally settled, pulling her close so that her back was against him. But it felt good, and it felt right, so she closed her eyes, yawned, stretched, and fell instantly asleep for the first time in a month and a half.

...

~ "There is no need for any of what you suggest. However, I suggest that you leave me to my work." ~

...

Gaara's body was pale white, face fractured beyond repair, like a broken china doll. Blood seeped out from under him, and the blindingly bright, cracked, dry sand sucked it up, feeding the parched earth. The desert was turning red with it, absorbing him. The color slowly expanded like he was there to nourish the sand and dust surrounding him forever in every direction.

"Gaara!" Fumiko screamed from atop her bird. She dove down in a spiral straight to him, desperately trying to get him out of the desert before it killed him completely. Her heart pounded, and the wind swished her hair not into her eyes, but fanning out into the air behind her. The bird's wings seemed to send vibrations into the air around them, distorting the color, and the world rippled.

Halfway down, the bird turned it's head back around, staring right at her with hollow eyes, and screeched. Fumiko screamed and fell back, but before she could tumble off the bird, its tail wrapped around her body. Fumiko's scream was choked off suddenly. In her terror she realized that her own ears were silent- no blood rushed or pounded. Fumiko had no heartbeat.

She was frozen, unable to move, and her yelps rang only through her head, silent. There was a soft tuf as the bird landed, flapping it's wings and stirring up the starving sand. Once its taloned feet touched the ground, the bird melted like candle wax in the intense heat, slipping and sliding over her skin. It drained into the cracks in the earth as the desert claimed it as well.

Fumiko fell with no sound, and strangely enough, she didn't feel it. Her body was still rigid, her joints stiff. She couldn't move her fingers. She stared up into the night, and in the light of the moon, bloodred clouds that looked sewn into the air drifted aimlessly across the black velvet skies.

When her eyes finally flicked to her right, Fumiko realized that she had been dropped next to Gaara's still form. His eyes were closed, eyelids as dark as the night above them. She realized with a squirmish nausea that the sand underneath her was damp.

Gaara? she asked, then paused, frowning. Gaara, wake up!

He didn't stir.

Red sand crawled up her arms, wet and slippery, and Fumiko shrieked in her head. The sand was getting hotter, bubbling around her, and she realized with no small amount of horror that it was rising around her and Gaara.

No, not rising! she sobbed. We're sinking!

Footsteps squished through the hungry sand, and Fumiko's visible eye- that and half of her mouth were the only parts of her face still above the feeding desert- caught a glimpse of blond hair and a knowing smirk.

Deidara reached down with one hand- the other was wrapped tightly in clean yellow sand, not the red, satanic monster eating them. Fumiko realized that Gaara was still trying to protect her; but wasn't he dead? Deidara didn't flinch when his arm imploded from sand coffin. The blood splattered over the sand, which absorbed it.

Deidara picked Gaara up and tucked him under his remaining arm as if his prisoner weighed no more than a duffel bag. Gaara hung limp like a rag doll, but when Fumiko looked at his face in a panic, she saw that his eyes were open and glassed over like polished marble. He stared.

Put him down! Fumiko howled, and choked when sand forced it's way into her open mouth and down her throat. It tasted like dust and iron, the desert and blood, Gaara and death, and it was grossly warm.

She coughed, gagging. Fumiko couldn't breathe. The sand was everywhere, and Deidara just smirked at her and turned to leave. Fumiko didn't know if Gaara was dead or not. Her vision was cloaked in red as the sand claimed her completely.

...

~ Joseki pondered this. Perhaps he was weighing how badly he wanted to say something futile with the quickly shortening tone of his Kazekage. Whatever the case, he straightened, gave a stiff bow, and turned, stalking out of his door. ~

...

Fumiko screamed and shot up, gagging on air and gasping as she tried to spit out the bloody sand.

Her forehead connected with something hard, and Fumiko yelled in pain and thumped back down. Her heart was jack rabbiting in her chest and her breathing was erratic, and she looked around wildly as her eyes cleared. She wasn't in her room, but this one was easily just as familiar.

Sand coated the floor, and a familiar voice cursed somewhere nearby. Fumiko looked to the other side of the bed and saw Gaara rubbing his forehead. Nothing connected for a minute- Gaara was alive, why were they in his room, the sand was going to kill her, Akatsuki! But after a second, the adrenaline began to wear off. Gaara, during that second, looked up at her, hand still in his hair.

Fumiko sobbed and threw herself at him, wrapping his arms around his neck. He flinched and slammed his hand down on the bed to keep from falling. His other arm carefully wound around her back.

"Fumiko, what's wrong? You wouldn't wake up..."

She didn't answer and just cried into Gaara's neck, breathing in his smell of desert and something else that wasn't blood, something more subtle. His skin was cool, but not cold like it had been before. Fumiko was hit with a sense of deja vu as he murmured sweet nothings into her ear and rubbed her back.

Just like all those years ago when Shukaku had made him cry, and Fumiko had held him and rubbed his back and told him things that didn't mean anything besides companionship. Now, the roles were reversed, and Fumiko was crying. This realization shocked her tears away, and she just sniffled and reminded herself that he was alive.

After a few lifetimes of just sitting in an awkward position and clutching him, Gaara ventured, "... what were you dreaming about?"

"You were dead," Fumiko said first, because that was the most important part. "or dying. I'm... not sure. I was stuck, I couldn't move, and the sand was all bloody and the sky had Akatsuki clouds and and then Deidara came and-"

"Calm down," Gaara said when Fumiko's voice began to rise hysterically.

"Th-the next time I see those freaks I'm gonna-"

"Fumiko," Gaara said firmly. "Calm down."

Fumiko sighed, a long, drawn out breath of air that seemed to drain away the nightmare and replace it with exhaustion. Fumiko's stomach still writhed with leftover fear and sadness from the day's events and her body shook slightly with the effects of adrenaline, but the knot of tension in her gut she'd had since Gaara was taken finally unraveled.

"I know..." she said.

"Know what?" he asked, and pulled back to look at her, keeping his hands on her shoulders. Fumiko realized he had been sleeping- actually sleeping this time, not just lying in bed and staring at the ceiling. His eyes blinked away sleep and his hair was tousled. Suddenly she felt terrible. The shukaku was gone, the only thing he'd ever wanted, and here she was acting depressed.

"I know you're alive." she said shakily, even though her heart wasn't so sure. Gifts like Gaara didn't just fall from the sky, after all, and Fumiko didn't want to let herself believe she'd taken him for granted. She hadn't known what she had until it was gone- she'd always just accepted that he would be there. Now that she had gotten him back, her entire being rebelled the thought of it ever happening again. "I know I can't take on Deidara. I know I'm being bitter. I also know that I just woke you up."

"That's fine," he said, squinting in thought. "Sleeping with no dreams is... unsettling." He smiled, small and amused. "And I think you'd give Deidara a run for his money."

"Yeah," she said. "I'll tear him to bits."

"That doesn't sound like you," Gaara observed. His light smirk vanished. "Are you okay?"

"What if they had taken me, instead of just going after you?" Fumiko said, slipping out from under his hands and shifting so that she could lean up against Gaara instead. She looked up at his face. "What if he had managed to blow up the village? What if I had died?"

Gaara's mouth twitched. Fumiko couldn't see, but the blankets moved like he was clenching them. His body tensed. Fumiko knew the feeling- she'd broken a few things before she made use of herself while Kankuro was recovering. "They won't ever get you."

"That," Fumiko said. "Now take that and multiply it by a thousand because you actually were taken and you did die."

Fumiko knew what he would have said a couple of years ago, back when it was him and her against the world, before Uzumaki Naruto and becoming a kazekage and discovering love. Back then, he would have said things like I'm not as important or That's not the same thing or You would be better off without me, not the other way around.

Now, though, he didn't try to disprove what she said. He knew that she loved him as much as he loved her, and she knew that he loved her as much as she loved him. It was a given.

"Oh."

"Oh," Fumiko echoed. "I'm definitely not okay yet."

"But there's nothing wrong now," Gaara said. "Everything's okay."

"I just keep thinking..." Fumiko murmured, staring at her hands. They rested in her lap, and seemed monotone without the paint she hadn't used in weeks. In her mind's eye, she saw again the bright blue light, and the moment when Gaara came back to life. "What if Granny Chiyo hadn't been there? What if Uzumaki Naruto hadn't changed her like he did, or she was defeated by Sasori?"

Gaara was silent.

"What if Uzumaki Naruto hadn't known he could give her chakra?" Fumiko demanded. "Or if it hadn't worked? That resurrection jutsu was only a theory. What if-"

"What ifs are useless now," Gaara said in his gravelly voice.

Fumiko wanted to believe it. She really did. But she couldn't. That fear rushed through her veins like hot blood, painful and present. The fear of the pain she had felt, fear of losing him again and this time not getting him back.

"This one isn't," Fumiko shot back. "What if they come back? Gaara, what if we have to fight them again?"

"Why would they? They removed the tailed beast."

"They didn't steal Shukaku just out of the goodness of their hearts. Something big is gonna happen. And I heard the story from Uzumaki Naruto, Sakura, and Kakashi," Fumiko said. "I asked them all. Deidara was itching to test himself against the jinchuriki. He didn't win against you, Gaara. He beat you but he didn't win... I'm afraid. Besides, they want to kill Uzumaki Naruto."

There was a long pause. Fumiko held her breath.

"... he caught me off guard," Gaara said at last. "It won't happen again."

"What won't happen again?" Fumiko cried. She shifted again so that now she was lying on her back on the bed. She did what they did when they ever needed to clear their heads when they were young, and stared up at the kaleidoscope of paintings on the ceiling. "You won't defend the village? Because that's how he got you the first time."

She rubbed her face. Fumiko knew that this probably wasn't the best way to vent her confusion, but sugar be damned, she had just woken up from her first ever nightmare after the worst couple weeks of her life. Fumiko was going to ask every question until her body settled on being either happy again or terrified.

Gaara seemed shaken by her negative attitude. She couldn't really blame him- she'd been genuinely positive her entire life. But right now, in this moment, she was vulnerable. For the first time, her filter didn't reshape the situation, only magnified it until Fumiko's breath caught.

"Next time, I'll kill him," he vowed. "He won't be able to threaten the village."

Sand blew steadily outside the window. Fumiko just stared at a shooting star she'd painted when she was twelve, and realized that she hadn't seen one for so many years that she had forgotten what it looked like. With all the craziness that had been happening for the past few months, Fumiko hadn't really looked at the night sky in far too long.

She started when a hand hovered into her vision, but then realized it was Gaara's. His palm touched her face, and he covered her eyes.

"Gaara?"

"Don't look at that." he said quietly.

She didn't ask why. Gaara had his own way of doing things, and this was just his way of blocking out the bad. And besides, his hand was cool and worked wonders on her forming headache, and she just wanted the touch. They stayed like that for a while, Gaara sitting and Fumiko lying down and resting in the temporary darkness.

"Gaara," she mumbled after a long time.

"Yes?"

"I didn't tell you something." she confessed. I didn't save you.

"What?"

Fumiko kept her eyes open. If she closed them, that would be a bad blackness filled with images, but if she left them open, it was a Gaara-made darkness that was soft and gentle. It was better than looking at the paintings.

"After they... took you, Kankuro and I went after them."

"You what?"

He didn't remove his hand, but Fumiko felt his fingers twitch.

"We followed Deidara and found him and Sasori out a couple miles from Suna. You weren't dead, just unconscious and I... I tried, Gaara. I really did. I held him in a Genjutsu for as long as I could, but Kankuro couldn't fight him. Sasori stopped him. Then tried to stop me. Kankuro protected me, but I just... it wasn't enough and he almost got me, then Deidara got away."

"They could have killed you! Both of you!"

"They almost did. I don't know what Kankuro told you, but he was struck by a poisoned blade. I got whacked around a little, but I managed... I got away."

Coward.

Fumiko could almost hear Gaara trying to calm down.

"Some people came out and got us, I think. I don't really remember. Suna had sent out a letter to Konoha by the time I woke up, like Temari told you earlier. Temari also told you it took three days for them to get here and then go find you. But she didn't... Kankuro almost died. The poison would have killed him had Sakura got here any later."

"Kankuro didn't..."

"While he was recovering, when I wasn't taking care of things here, I spent a lot of time on Suna's borders, waiting for... I don't know. I guess I thought that Uzumaki Naruto was going to save you and bring you right back home after killing the Akatsuki." Her smile wasn't really a smile. "I stayed by the pile of sand you used to save us and I just kept waiting... I tried to summon Shaapu and make him listen to me."

"Is that how you found us? Out in the middle of nowhere?"

"Yeah. It took a long time. Shaapu was irritable the whole time and tried to throw me off once or twice. But... I think he understood."

More pressure pressed into her face, and Fumiko realized that he had put his other hand on her eyes. From they way the bed shifted and creaked, she knew he was bowing his head over hers, probably bent with the rushing weight of what if's and what could've been's.

"Did you know... you could have died?" he said.

"I didn't really know anything then," she said. "Honestly, I was just pissed off."

Gaara snorted.

Slowly, Fumiko moved her hands up from her sides to rest on his. After a second she spent bracing herself, she gently pulled his hands down from her eyes. Fumiko found that she was right, because Gaara's face was right in front of hers. His cerulean eyes were stormy and shifting.

She kissed him.

...

~ When he was finally gone, Gaara dropped the brush onto the desk and groaned, burying his face into his hands. ~

...

Fumiko wasn't sure exactly when the mood changed. She only knew that she had kissed him to burn out the fear and the guilt in her stomach and replace it with happiness again. She hadn't broken away when she usually did and neither had he, and pretty soon some invisible barrier had been erased. Something had been tread across, something they'd touched upon but never explored- until now.

Gaara kissed her hard and tangled her hair in his hands, and she put her hands on his chest for support. They were dancing together, slowly, softly, the red with the brown, somber with smile, both fevered and possessed with the need to prove something, but timeless in the way that they did so. Fumiko, that he was there, Gaara, that he existed for her. Dancing, tongue in tongue, skin on skin.

Something dormant inside of her flared brightly, drowning out the terror and the sadness and the fear, lighting her up and burning away what little common sense Fumiko had in her head. She filled up with love and something hot, something dangerous, something happy.

When Fumiko felt cool fingers tugging at the hem of her shirt, she smiled against his lips and helped him to tug it off. Gaara barely seemed to hesitate at the sorry sight of her skin, thumbing his fingers across her arms softly. In a moment of complete unexpected confidence- no awkward teenager in sight- Gaara reached behind her and twisted at the strap of her bra. From the tearing sound, she knew he'd only managed to rip it off, but she didn't care.

Their kiss broke for just a second and Fumiko used that second to tug on his pants until he got the message and helped her kick them off. Another pair of PJ pants later, Fumiko realized that a lot of things were about to change, but then he pulled his shirt off and the thought disintegrated.

Everything was quickly turning to fire. He knew it, she knew it, they lived off it and accepted it and embraced it with a passion previously untapped. They loved, and the pair had no regrets.

During the night, many Love you's and you too's were said and sworn, life was proven and death driven off. A girl found her smile again and a boy finally proved his existence to himself. They cried each other and forgot about ninja and paint and the meaning of sorrow, and all of the words were true.

...

~ But it was such a strange, strange thought. ~

...

AHHHH OHMYGOD I'M SO EMBARASSED AIIIEEE

T.T T.T T.T ;/./;

Ugh... and the funny thing is that I've read worse and it's barely even explicit... ehh... ehhhhhh...

Anyway! Chapter is of course dedicated to GaaratheFifthKazekage who (accidentally) gave me this idea in the first place. I've actually had this scene written for a while. (THREE GUESSES WHICH ONE I'M TALKING ABOUT). I wrote it after a conversation with Yuuki about Fumiko/Gaara babies. Anyway, I've not written this kind of stuff before as you can probably tell. T.T I just suddenly realized that, crap, I want them to have kids... also wanted it to be kind of sudden and kind of sweet and kind of desperate (ie, the above paragraph)

I'M SORRY IF I OFFENDED ANY OF YOU GAH

The rest of the chapter I am very much in love with, although I'm sure more of you are mad at me for the feels in it XP It was easy to write, which is always a good thing, because it means it's a flowing development, like what she's actually feeling and not what I had planned ahead of time. You guys have no idea how many scenes I've written that I couldn't put in the story because it no longer fit the development...

This is a 17,414 chapter long story. This should be enough reason to make up short chapters in the future. About murdered myself writing and editing it in three days, but still.

Something tells me I'm going to get a lot of reviews... *blushing uncontrollably as she posts*