A/N: Forgive me for any typos, my proof-reading today was more of a skim-reading, so there may be a couple of silly errors here and there. Also, I changed the summary, yay! Okay, sorry, please carry on – have fun reading!

As the leader of a large, thriving village, Tsunade couldn't boast having the most relaxed of mornings. Her daily schedule began with an obnoxious alarm which tore her away from the luxury of sleep just before the crack of dawn, followed by a hail-storm of ice-cold water to really wake her up, and then a quick bite of a cold leftovers from the fridge before she was off to her office, leaving in her wake an untidy apartment which, rather than clean itself, would only wait for her return in the evening.

Things had only grown more hectic for the Hokage when her unexpected houseguest had popped up out of nowhere, and then there was one more person to care for in her home, which essentially increased her workload, and led to the doubling of the effort she put into keeping her home presentable. Luckily for her, Gaara was as respectful a roommate as she could've hoped for; he cleaned up after himself, he always did his share of the work and even more without a single complaint, and he never complained about the lack of diversity in their meals – she couldn't have asked for anyone better. They were a good team. So good, in fact, that their dedication had turned what was once nothing more than a simple cover story into an actual proposal, a proposition which caught the ear of almost every official in both villages.

Yet even though he was a wonderful houseguest, and deserved all of his privacy, she simply did not want to let him have it. After getting to know him, and developing an unexpected friendship with him, she realised wanted to help him! It wasn't simply curiosity anymore. She didn't think it was right to mind her own business, that letting him stay with her was enough; she wanted to do more. All she needed to do was get Temari's blessing, along with the extra details she required. But two days had passed since she'd sent her letter to Temari, and she hadn't received a word in response. It had definitely arrived in Suna, so she could only assume the girl was taking her sweet time replying. The whole situation vexed her to no end, but there was nothing she could do except wait. And luckily for her, today she had forbidden herself to think about anything that could bring her stress.

At least today it would be the only thing she'd worry over. Over the last two days she and Gaara and worked hours into the night and even longer in the in the day just so that when this day came they could relax and go along their separate ways, and just enjoy the day as it when by. Both of them had wanted an entire day free to themselves, and now they had it. Tsunade had been looking forward to it so much that she'd already compiled a list of things she wanted a do; a wonderfully, nearly completely empty list. The first half of her day would consist of nothing but a sweet, dream-filled sleep, following by a delightful tea with Shizune, and of course, her favourite pastime; a bit of gambling between friends. That could go on for hours, depending on whether or not she could convince her darling friend to forget about any obligations she may or may not have for the rest of the day. But what she'd been looking forward to most of all was the deep, thoughtless slumber that awaited her.

It was going to be a lovely morning.

At least, that had been the intention.

When your body's clock is accustomed to a certain schedule, no amount of willpower can change it. Tsunade learned this the hard way, when she awoke long before the crack of dawn, with heavy, aching eyelids and a blurry conscience. Her instant reaction was to turn over, shut her eyes, and block out the world once again.

It didn't work.

No matter what position she lay in, how many pillows she had, nor even how delightfully comfortable her mattress was, nothing could get her back to sleep. She was a lost cause.

...I should've known this would happen.

With a frustrated groan, she kicked her blankets off irritably and shuffled out of her room, unwillingly dragging her feet forward. Letting out a large yawn, she stopped midway to stretch her arms above her head, loosening her tight and unhappy muscles. I'll make some coffee, she sighed inwardly, sluggishly continuing on her way to prepare the drink. Sake would've been a nice option too, but with the dark mood she was in, it was smarter to avoid alcohol.

A couple of minutes later she was leaning against the sink, holding a steaming cup of coffee to her lips and enjoying the heat which spread through her with every sip. The sensation lifted her mood, along with clearing her head. And now that she could think, she could focus on the positive aspects of being awake rather than the negative; free time, free time, and more free time. For now, it was enough just to be here, enjoying the tranquillity of the morning –

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAH!"

Complimented by the shatter of porcelain, the scream rang throughout her entire apartment, an ear-splitting cry that sent tremors down her spine.

"What the hell was that?!"

It went on for no longer than a few seconds, but to her, it was endless; as she leapt over the mess by her feet and ran down the hall, searching for the source, it continued to sound in her ears, an unwelcome siren echoing in her head. Was it Gaara? What's happening?!

Without a moment's hesitation she burst into his bedroom, unaware of what she was walking into.

What she saw certainly wasn't near the level of what she had been anticipating.

Illuminated by the rays of light shining through the doorway, Gaara sat hunched over in the middle of his bed, his face lowered and hidden from view by his hair, locks of which he held tightly within clenched fists, sticking out in bright red tufts between his fingers. Her eyes swivelled over the room - there were no monsters, no chaos, nothing out of the ordinary. Only the Kazekage...so why had he been screaming?

"Gaara-sama?" she called out. He didn't respond, so she took the initiative to move in closer, and kept on going until she was right beside him. "Hey. Gaara." Dropping all formalities, she crouched down beside his bed and placed a hand on his shoulder. He barely registered her presence.

His breathing is pretty shaky, she thought, frowning. And he's trembling. But other than that, he looks okay.

"Gaara," she tried again, gently shaking him.

"Huh?"

Releasing his hair from his grip, he slowly lifted his head and stared at her blankly. She waited for a spark of recognition to appear in his eyes, and when it did, it materialised along with bewilderment and a hint of embarrassment.

"T-Tsunade-sama," he stammered, fidgeting with his hands, unsure of what to do with them. "You..."

"Come with me," she commanded, standing up straight. She left it to blind faith that he would follow her orders and left the room, heading straight back to the kitchen. Avoiding the broken cup on the floor, she picked up a glass and filled it to the brim with water from the tap, finishing just as Gaara arrived. "Sit." She pointed at a nearby stool and did as he was told. Next was the water. Wordlessly, she held it out to him, and he tentatively accepted it and took a small sip.

"Let's cut right to it, shall we?" she said, taking a seat beside him. "Why were you screaming?"

"S...Screaming?"

"Don't try to act dumb. You scared the living hell out of me! What's wrong?"

"I...um...I...I..."

He couldn't even speak. He was reaching out for the right words, but they were hard to grasp. That, or he was reaching out for a lie.

"Well? Spit it out!"

"It...was just a nightmare," he said, taking a large swig from his glass.

"That must have been one hell of a nightmare," she said.

"I guess it really got to me," he laughed weakly.

Is he trying to blow this off as nothing more than just a nightmare? she wondered incredulously. The way he's talking makes it sound like it's something he's used to. What if it was?

"Do you have them often?"

"Huh?"

"Nightmares."

Her question was met by an instant response; "Not at all – it rarely happens."

This was all too familiar; the monotone, the way he shrugged off her inquiries and acted as though the matter was minor, completely inconsequential. Not to mention he refused to look her in the eye; he searched to her right, to her left, to the ground, but never once did his eyes meet her. The actions he'd once trusted to conceal his true emotions were now betraying him.

He was lying.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she inquired.

"It's alright. I've completely forgotten it now."

With one polite response he'd blocked her out completely, all the while confirming that the subject matter of his dream was something he didn't want her to know. What could he have dreamt about to make him scream like that?

Maybe it had something to do with his 'drunken' hallucination the other night.

Taking a deep breath, she exhaled and bent down, figuring she might as well clean up the broken cup. This is absolutely pointless, she thought, pulling out a dustpan and tiny brush. If I don't know anything, I can't put any of it together. Her frustration seeped into her brush strokes, and she mercilessly swept the shards into the dustpan. What am I supposed to do?

"When did that break?" Gaara asked, raising his head to get a look at it.

"When I dropped it."

"Oh."

"Yup."

If he could be cryptic, so could she.

"Do you know what time it is?" he asked, still watching as she tossed everything into the trash and put her brush away.

"It should be close to six," she answered. "But that's just going by my body clock." A quick peek through the curtains revealed that she was right. "The sun will be up pretty soon."

"Really? It's that late?"

"Late?" she repeated, puzzled by his words. "It's six in the morning."

"No, it's just, I mean, I hadn't realised I'd slept for so long."

It was strange how genuinely troubled he looked by this information, but his response troubled her even more. He hadn't realised he'd slept for so long? It was six! Not to mention she knew he hadn't slept that early; she'd still been awake a little before midnight, and that was when he retired to his room. Just how much sleep did he get at night, anyway? She'd never really wondered about it until now. He would always go into his room, but what then? Did he actually sleep? Or did he have more nightmares?

Tsunade wanted to press him for details, but the obvious futility of it dissuaded her completely. Instead she watched quietly as he absentmindedly ran his fingers along the rim of the glass, staring vacantly across the room. What could he see that she couldn't? Something lurked beneath his impassive air, but it made her head pound trying to figure it out.

I give up, she thought, rubbing her temples. There's nothing I can do here, not unless I get the truth. But I'm not going to get it from him. The only person who could shed some light onto the situation was Temari, and she still hadn't deigned to respond to the letter. If I don't receive anything today, I'll just have to send her another, and another, and another until I hear back from them.

"I think I'm going to go take a shower," she told him, getting up from her chair. "Unless you want to go first. You're going out with Hinata today, aren't you?"

"Yeah, that's right." A small smile appeared on his face, only to vanish a second later. "But it's not until much later today. I'm in no rush."

"Alright, then. Get yourself something to eat. Drink some more water."

"I will."

"And please try to get some more rest, too. Take a nap or something. It's not healthy to sleep so little."

"...Okay."

For the first time in her life, Hinata didn't know what to wear.

She hovered in front of her wardrobe clad in nothing but a towel, and her hair hung from her head in a high, messy and dripping ponytail. She'd been standing here for some time now, and occasionally she would pull out something pretty, scowl at it, and then toss it aside in favour if the next thing to catch her eye.

Ordinarily her attire took very little effort to put together. She would wake up, shower, and then literally just throw something together. It was a very simple process, one that got her through her every day activities without any trouble. However, today was different. Today she was going on a date. Her first date. Ever. Her cheeks betrayed her excitement, reddening as a million different scenarios of how the day would go played out in her head.

"Focus!" she ordered herself, snapping out of her daydream to scour through each and every article of clothing she owned, trying to find something, anything she could wear on her... her date. The corners of her lips twitched, but upon casting her faze of the pile of rejected clothing by her feet, her mouth twisted into an exasperated grimace. She pulled out a sweater, a purple and white sweater, her favourite sweater, but the sight of it only dismayed her further. How could her most beloved article of clothing suddenly have no appeal to her?

A quick glance at the clock on her wall told her she was running out of time. She'd promised to meet him at the compound's gates around noon, and she wasn't even dressed yet! She should have anticipated something like this happening. Why hadn't she just prepared an outfit the night before? Damn it. Biting down her lip, she scanned the pile of clothes once again, hoping that something would jump out at her screaming "Pick me! You want to wear me!"

Nothing did. Agh, forget it! she screamed at herself, there's no time for this! With a new, frenzied edge to her movements, she dove into her wardrobe once again, her objective revised to going along with her usual strategy of grabbing whatever she found first. This time she emerged successful, with a pair of slim, pale blue jeans, a black tank top and on oversized gray sweater. Well, it was better than nothing. First the general necessities were addressed; her bra, underwear, another glance at the clock, another miniature panic attack, and a second wasted on getting her breathing back to normal. Once she had calmed herself, all the rest came on. Within record time she was completely dressed and twirling in front of her mirror, tugging and pulling at her clothes; her sweater would occasionally slip down her shoulder, revealing the strap of the tank top beneath, and it took a while of adjustment before she was happy with it. Brushing her fringe out of her eyes, she inspected her hair; should she let it down, or leave it up?

What about make-up? Hinata wondered, leering at her reflection. Should I put some on? This new matter at hand completely distracted her from the old. One the one hand, there was a desire in her to look as pretty as possible, but on the other hand, she'd never actually applied make-up on her own; it was only during the events she'd been allowed to attend that she'd ever used any, and even then it had never been by her own hands, it was always the servants who painted it on for her. She would've deliberated on it longer, but all of a sudden she became aware of the familiar tick-tock of her clock, and with a start she realised that somewhere along her deliberations she'd lost track of time once again, and she had only another minute to go before he would be here.

"One minute?!" she exclaimed. "I haven't even put my shoes on yet!" Slipping into the first pair her eyes landed on – the black sneakers she normally wore during her jogs – and bounded out of her room. Gaily skipping down the stairs and nearly tripping at the last two, she would've sprinted right out of that house had it not been for the figure beside the staircase.

"Where are you going?"

Her father's inquiry stopped her in her tracks. Hiashi stood behind the banister, wearing an impassive expression. She'd gone right past him without even noticing that he was there. Crap.

"Well?" he asked, tapping his finger against his forearm impatiently.

"I'm going to have lunch with Gaara-sama."

"Oh, really? And when did you arrange this?"

Wait – hadn't she told him about it? She'd definitely told Neji, but surely at some point during the past two days she'd mentioned it to her father. Right? Hadn't she?! No. Oh no. Crap. Crap crap crap! She hadn't told him a thing! How would he react? Was he angry? She couldn't see anything past the indifferent gaze he bestowed upon her.

"I ran into him the other day. He wanted to thank me for the tour of the village, and we made arrangements to meet today."

"Hm." He didn't seem displeased, but then again, she'd never been able to read beneath his mask. "And what about your training?"

"I-I have a make-up session with Neji tomorrow," she said.

"Good. It seems that you're not doing a bad job. However, in the future I expect to be promptly informed of any and all arrangements with him. Is that understood?"

"U-understood."

Satisfied, he turned around and walked away, leaving her to deal with her mixed feelings. On the one hand, she was elated; her father had actually just praised her! But on the other hand, their abrupt conversation had unnerved her. Was I...supposed to tell him it was a date? That wasn't necessary, was it? All he was interested in was her developing connections with the Kazekage; it didn't necessarily matter what kind of relations were being developed, did it? If I really have to, I can tell him when I get home and...oh crap, I'm late!

Just don't think about it. Don't think about it. Don't you dare think about it.

With every stop he took, these words echoed in Gaara's head, a warning against any sort of reminiscence of the night before, and, ironically, an unfriendly reminder of what he was so desperately trying to forget.

But it was there, lurking and writhing in the back of his mind, demanding it have his utmost attention. Every time he felt it creeping forward he would focus on something else; the scuff of his sneakers against the road; the light thump of the small pouch of sand against his hip; the weightlessness of his body without his official robes and gourd, and how odd it felt to be wearing clothing as casual and light as a crimson shirt and beige trousers. He tried to concentrate on the chatter of passersby, on which buildings they may enter, on what they might be doing there, what they might be thinking...he came up with a million possibilities of the things he could actually allow himself to think about.

More than anything he tried not to think about her.

Don't you think that's a bit redundant? Shukaku asked in a derisive tone. You're going to be spending your entire day with her.

If you know what's good for you, you won't speak, Gaara said, already growing tired of the voice's presence.

Or you'll do what? It replied eagerly. Tell me, will you? I really want to hear this.

Its cockiness drove him crazy, but at the same time, way deep down in the rational part of himself which he loathed the most, he knew Shukaku was right. At the most, all he would be able to do was suppress it, but even that had a tendency to fail miserable.

He had no strategy, no game plan, nothing to get him through this day in peace. He didn't want to be dreading it; he wanted nothing more than to be willing, impatient, raring to go, but after last night he simply didn't have the energy.

Even now, as he walked along these perfectly intact streets and their perfectly intact people, the image felt as though it were nothing more than a fragile illusion – one wrong move and it was sure to shatter. Thank god the place where...the place where she had...stabbed...that place...that horrible place...it wasn't real. It wasn't any real place. It didn't exist at all, and so he was safe from it.

You have to see her, though. Think you can handle that, o mighty Kazekage?

...

He couldn't answer. The question had been rhetorical, intended simply to ridicule, yet it hit him hard all the same. Could he handle it?

If he was with her, would he be sucked back into the nightmare once again? He couldn't go through that. He didn't want to see what his dream-self had done to her, to her friends and her home. He didn't want to relive those few seconds where the blade slipped neatly into her stomach, and a tiny trickle of blood seeped out from the corner of her mouth. Those few seconds where she'd taken her own life. All because of him.

He'd been powerless. He couldn't stop it. But it was a dream. Just a dream. No matter how terrible it was, it was nothing more than a fantasy of Shukaku's.

Are you so confident you can resist me? The voice asked. Sooner or later you're just going to have to accept the fact that you're still the same bloodthirsty monster you were three years ago. I'm only here to help you see that. And she's the perfect way to show you.

I won't let anything happen to her, Gaara thought determinedly, hoping the sheer force of these words would make up for the fear he hid beneath it. He knew that being with her today would be hard. No matter how strongly he tried to keep the images down, they would all bubble to the surface eventually; her terrified stare, his cruel destruction, her untimely demise – nothing would be left out. He would have to relive every single minute of his nightmare.

"Gaara-sama!"

Blinking rapidly, he realised that he'd reached the gates of the Hyuuga compound, and Hinata was jogging out from her house and waving at him, carrying with her a bright and cheerful aura that completely diminished his own despondent air.

It was in that exact moment that he realised he wouldn't have a problem today. There was a reason he so enjoyed spending time with her. Even with the voice whispering away in his head, she had a way of distracting him from everything.

Hinata made him forget.