I'm sorry I have not updated for a couple months now. I seriously wanted to, and it had been my intention to, but as I stated on my profile my life got very complicated for the simplest of reasons that made things get very difficult and very time-consuming.

I had shit that needed to be dealt with.

I will still be writing, but not nearly as frequently as I had hoped to. I thank all my supporters and readers for their reviews and their enjoyment of what I have written/will write. For those of you that stuck with me, waited, and sent me messages of your encouragement…

This one is dedicated to you.

SAKURA'S POV

"Where is he!" I demand, slamming a hand down on the counter in anger at the silence of the woman in front of me; a hand that isn't my hand, a voice that isn't my voice…

My head is swimming, filled with thoughts and doubts unimaginable to me, appearing only as an ache of emotion so strong that my fingers have become numb and my vision starts to turn black. I have no doubt that I would have passed out moments ago if it my sheer anger-filled desperation had not kept me awake to find answers. To find out that there had been a mistake, that no one was physically capable of hurting Sai…

Hurting Sai…

The very thought that someone tried to kill him, to take him away from me, makes me so hostile and dark that the woman behind the counter starts to wheel her chair as far away from me as she can. But the woman isn't free of my hostility; I won't let her go. How dare she refuse to tell me what room he's in due to "confidential" family-only regulations! That fat, ugly, stupid, bitch was going to regret the day she ever picked up Sai's phone to contact me and not give me the answers I asked for when I asked for them! I AM SAKURA "LIONHEART" HARUNO GIOVANNI!

"You called me! Now tell me, before I have to start break your fingers," I hiss coldly, my eyes filling with a glare so threatening that the woman's very breathing stops, "where the fuck is Sai!"

The woman is shaking fearfully, and the beats of the boots of security guards against the tiled floor is like the sound of a stampede in my ears, but for some strange reason I am numb to the danger I'm putting myself in. The danger of exposure, of attention, of jail, of a record, of Uncle's intervention, of killing someone in my anger…

After years of being hunted like an animal, self preservation instincts take over, and my eyes leave the working woman's in order to do a quick 360 around all that's visible on this floor of the hospital.

Twelve o'clock, directly behind the woman that trembles so greatly, reveals a security guard talking into a walkie-talkie, no doubt calling for reinforcements about a "disturbance." Three o'clock has a large exit door that warns of a siren if opened, though Seven tells of a silent exit through a large and open window in a patient's room. The thudding of the boots closing in on me is coming from Six o'clock, directly behind. Should I turn, they'll notice, so for now I guesstimate that there are two guards running toward me due to the frequency of the smacks of heels against the floor… But if there are two guards running toward me, another calling for back up, why is there an extra doing nothing at Nine? He's a big man, strong and muscled, not a run-of-the-mill Rent-a-Cop.

I find it odd that such a superior in security would be doing nothing instead of trying to stop a rowdy and emotional person threatening violence against the staff…

Only, he's not doing nothing, I realize.

The big, bad, somewhat dangerous man is standing perfectly still, his arms crossed over his chest, yet tensed for action need he draw a weapon. He isn't just a security guard, but a guard, guard. And who, out of anyone in the hospital, would need protection? Most likely, someone that had been shot... When guns are not readily available to the citizens, and no one had claimed to do the shooting... No doubt, either the cops or the yakuza were after whoever was inside. It was logic.

Craning my neck in order to peer painfully into the room behind the guard, my eyes lock onto a mass hidden beneath layers of white blankets and sheets. A mass that's the figure of a person. More pain on my behalf reveal a face of deathly white pale, almost like that of the sheets, obscured mostly by an oxygen mask and a wave deep black hair shaggily spread around a pillow. Shaggy hair that still retains the gleam of good grooming…

I'd recognize those OCD locks and that pasty complexion anywhere!

"SAI!" I scream, relief overrun with concern flooding my voice and every pore.

Bolting over the counter, scaring the shit out of the woman behind it no doubt, I barely escape the grasping arms of the two guards that were coming at me from behind. I take off, running through any open space I can find in order to get to the room, no matter who I have to shove, or what I have to push out of my way. It would have been so easy, so easy just to calmly walk over to the glass and look inside, knowing that my being here wouldn't be able to change Sai's condition, but my eyes are blurry from tears, either from the overwhelming stench of chemicals or from my relief, so my vision is erratic.

I'm met with the sounds and protests of those I shove out of my way, and again chased by the beating of the feet of security hot on my trial, but nothing seems to be real to me. Not the scene I'm making, not the dizziness in my head, not the stench of the hospital, nothing!

Sai! I want to hold you! I want to stroke your face! I want to be there when you wake up! I want you to look at me with those dark eyes of yours and listen when I say you're going to be alright! I want you to believe me! I want to believe myself! Sai! I want to see you! Please! Sai! I need you! SAI!

"Where do you think you're going?" the monstrous man in front of Sai's door growls. Before my overly emotional mind can process that he's talking to me, his arms are around me and I'm lifted off the ground. I squirm, fight, try to force my way through his barrier and into Sai's room, but I'm caged by the sheer density of his arms!

"Let me go! I have to see him! LET GO OF ME!" I shriek, his other arm shifting to cage my kicking legs as well. He has me in a position that threatens to have me thrown painfully over his shoulder and mercilessly to the floor, but I don't have enough left in me to care.

"GET THE FUCK OFF ME!"

"Calm down, Girlie," he grunts, trying to sound as calm as he wants me to be, even though my nails are digging into his skin as I try to claw my way away from him. Even though my knee has planted itself into his stomach so ferociously, and even though my elbow has sent him a kidney shot that will have him pissing blood for the next week, he attempts to keep a straight face.

"Sai, please, I just need to see Sai! I'm family! I'm family! HE'S THE ONLY FAMILY I'VE GOT! I NEED TO SEE HIM! LET. GO. OF. MEEEE!"

And then I scream.

Not because I'm in pain, or because the guard has hurt me, but because I cannot escape his iron grasp. I'm helpless. I'm weak. I'm incapable of doing anything to keep Sai alive, and I was incapable of protecting him in the first place. Guilt, anger, self-loathing, they take hold of me so deeply that I scream again, only this one is drown out by the dam of tears breaking and flooding down my face, my lack of breathing as I try to take a breath, and a convulsing body that tries to retain its pride in a time when all it wants to do is curl into a ball, vomit, and cry.

"It is alright, Mr. Tokihana. Put her down."

I don't even turn to see the owner of the voice, all I can do is stare past the glass and at Sai… broken Sai.

"Are you sure, Dr. Sakamoto?" my captor asks, his words are hesitant, but his reasoning is numb to my ears. Everything seems so very numb, so very cold, so very scary. Sai was shot. Sai was defeated. Everything is so very scary…

"Put her down," the man repeats more gently.

Mr. Tokihana obliges, and my feet are placed softly onto the floor, but the moment he lets go my legs turn to jelly, and I fall unceremoniously to the ground, like a heap; like useless trash.

I'm still trembling.

"Would you give us a moment, Mr. Tokihana?" the doctor asks, his voice smooth. It's very relaxing, his voice, like sleeping on velvet. It seems to make the numbness go away, and the ringing.

There is a faint patter as the guard walks away, keeping a close distance, no doubt, but away.

"I am Dr. Sakamoto. I am in charge of your friend's care. What is your name?" the warm voice asks me. It's so very warm, and very nice. I don't seem to be cold anymore, for my trembling has stopped. Was that why I was trembling? Because I was cold?

"Sakura. That is a beautiful name."

How did he know my name? Had I spoken? I didn't hear my voice. I didn't even feel my lips move.

"Sai's condition is very serious, Miss Haruno,"

The mention of Sai's name from someone else's lips seems to wake me from my trance.

"I know that!" I snap, my tone more out of fear of the coming truths than from anger, "He wouldn't be in the fucking Intensive Care Unit if it wasn't fucking serious! But you've got him in the hospital now, so fix him!"

Fix him so that I can hear his voice again. Fix him so that he can call me Ugly again, so that I can punch him again, so that I can look into his eyes again as he teaches me how to fight better, so that I can get mad at him for staining my carpet in blood again after one of his missions, so that I can tell him how glad I am that he isn't dead; how much he means to me and how important he is to me… How important he has always been to me.

Fix him so that I have a reason to live!

"Miss Haruno, I am aware how hard this is for you, so I will tell you the facts as they are." He pauses for a moment and helps me stand again, keeping a fluttery hand by my shoulder should I fall again, but I shake him off. He takes my actions with no disgruntlement, and merely stands before me, his face serious. Dr. Sakamoto is a young doctor, with a young face, an attractive face that would make him a heart-throb, but it's filled with such expertise that it would make me wonder if he graduated at the top of his class and was an expert surgeon. However, I'm not thinking of his past, or his handsome face, or his youth. I merely look at him, and wait for him to tell me about Sai. "Whoever shot him was aiming for his heart. They missed, but the bullet is very close to his heart at the moment. Surgically removing it is possible, but there is a very small margin of chance that he will survive the operation."

Oh God!

The swimming returns even thicker than before, and the taste of vomit is near the back of my throat.

"If the surgery will kill him, can't you just leave the bullet in?" I gasp, my voice quivering as I hyperventilate. The fluttering hand becomes a pillar of support on my shoulder. I focus on it, the feeling of its firm grip, and slowly the dizziness fades.

"No. That would not be possible," Dr. Sakamoto says, his voice very grim. "The vicinity of the bullet is far too close to the heart. Any movement made by him could cause it to lodge into the heart, and he will die. Right now he is in a drug-induced coma, in order to prevent him from moving and causing the bullet to stir, however such is not a long-term option."

"So he needs the operation," I breathe, my words so soft that I doubt Dr. Sakamoto even hears them. "Even if it kills him."

"I am going to be very honest with you, Miss Haruno. It is very probable that Sai will not be able to survive the transportation to the operation room. The very action of moving him to the room for surgery could cause the bullet to move, and it will kill him if it moves any closer to his heart."

"What are you saying?"

"You will not be allowed to see him, for the sake of the young man's life."

"What are you saying I should do?"

Dr. Sakamoto takes a small inhale of breathe, holds it, then slowly lets it out, his eyes closing with the exhale. They stay shut.

"Pray."

With that single word, the hand on my shoulder gives me one last reassuring squeeze, then is taken from me. With that one word, I am told everything I am allowed to do; which is nothing. With that one last word, Dr. Sakomoto walks away.

It never occurs to me that, had that particular man not been that particular sort of man, I may have killed him. At a time when I was so vulnerable, so defenseless and in a corner, I would have lashed out, if not out of anger than out of instinct. Yet that particular man had calmed me, told me devastating news, and had been able to keep me on my feet. The breath he took was one out of unwanted need. He did not like being the one to tell of bad news, yet he had done it, without white lies or faulty reassurance, but because it was simply needed. Dr. Sakamoto was a truly unique person; a genius within his field full of compassion for the families of his patients. It never would have occurred to me that only this man was capable of saving Sai's life, if Sai was able to be saved at all. Then again, I guess it never really occurs to anybody when they have met someone truly important.

I spend the next half hour or so just staring through the glass, looking at Sai; at how broken he is. He's much paler than usual, though I never though it possible before. He looks so weak, so frail, like if this glass isn't here protecting him he would shatter at my very touch. It's sad to see him like this. His breath coming out as fog against the mask on his face, the only reason he's able to continue living at the moment. Unable to move…

My hand reaches up, pressing against the glass that divides us. I know I can't go in. I want to, but I know that I shouldn't. If I truly desired it, I could break the glass with one strong punch, but the shards of glass would be broken and everywhere, just like Sai.

They would cut me.

How small they are, the ways we can express our love for someone. A kiss, a hug, a word or three, a hand pressed against glass, a forehead too… They never truly capture how important they are to us, the ones we love. And when they're gone, because they always go, and we are left with the regret that we did not say something, or do something, or express enough just how important they were.

Guilt.

It makes the blood run cold and the sweet taste vile.

It's a powerful thing.

I feel like a wuss for crying in public and in front of strangers, but they are people I don't know, people that don't know me, and my face is buried in my arms as I rock myself into calm.

I cry without holding back.

I had long since sat down, my legs too weak from standing, my body too tired to continue on. The bench by the security office isn't exactly comfortable, but as it is the only place to sit where I could be alone –save for the few mischievous, yet they keep their distance; they know a wreck when they see one– and it is here I let myself go. The one time I glanced at the clock there was only an hour until school was officially over, not that I cared when officially set dates came and went. Yet I had sat here for a while now, and a mere hour didn't seem like a long enough label to put on my break from reality.

I still didn't know what was real.

So I continue to rock, and I continue to cry, and I continue to wish that Sai would wake up; that this was all just a bad dream. How I want him to call me Ugly. How I long for a voice by my side to say, "Hello, Ugly." In his voice…

A hand is placed on my shoulder again. It's hesitant, as though it doesn't know what it's truly doing, or why it should be doing it. It's not Dr. Sakamoto's hand; his has no hesitance at all. However, this one is familiar for some reason. The scent is familiar to me, though I can't quite place it from the ache in my head from crying so much.

I had not heard the person sit down next to me; even through my blubbering I would have noticed such a thing,

And then the hand moves, running down between my shoulder blades and towards my lower back, then up slowly, and then back down. It's soothing, a small comfort. Right now, it's exactly what I need, and I lean into the touch, and into the person, and I let him hold me, and he lets me cry.

Gaara…

After all the shit I pulled on him, how badly I treated him, how stupid I was when thinking that I was perfectly fine on my own and tried to get rid of him, he's still here. Like a true bodyguard, he's there when I need him.

And I need him.

"What if I lose him?" I confide, leaning further into Gaara's muscled chest, he pulling me closer in return. My tears pour out even more now, soaking his shirt to the uncomfortable point, yet he says nothing, he doesn't tense, he doesn't pull away, and I'm thankful for it. My hands grip onto him like a lifeline, for he's the only solid in my life right now, the only stability. If I didn't have him here with me right now…

I'd die.

"What if I lose him, too? How am I supposed to…? What can I…? I don't know why I'd want to live anymore!" I wail, my words muffled by his shirt, chest, and my tears, though still powerful. I cling to him tighter, the weight on my own chest starting to dissipate, as though he was absorbing all my weaknesses into himself. God, and I ridiculed him! What a bitch I've been! To be so cruel, and stupid to him, only to sob into him whenever I feel like it! I'm the worst! Yet he sits here with me, and takes it! Saying nothing because I need silence and the patience of someone waiting for me to speak! What would I do without him! What if something were to happen to him, too? My parents, Sai, and Gaara! "I don't know what to do." I whimper, pressing myself against him, trying to curl up in his lap and absorb his warmth. To disappear within his stoic protection; his strength, his warm touch…

He adjusts, allowing my invasion of space for the first time since I met him, because it's what I need. His hand is still rubbing my back, and it's soothing, and it feels good, and I feel disgusting from my guilt, and I'm getting turned on, and my face is wet with tears, and my breathing is difficult, and Sai is dying, and I'm scared, and I feel like a slut, but I feel like this is what I want, but I don't know because-

"I'm so confused! Please, tell me what to do! I'm about to lose everything, and I don't know what I should do! I'm scared! Please, Gaara, what do you want me to do!"

His body tenses, so quickly that for a moment I think that I hurt him somehow, but before I can ask the hand rubbing my back stops moving, and the hand that had been running through my hair even though I didn't notice stops, too, and then he's trying to push me away, and I don't know why, and then I look up to ask what I did wrong, for I know I did something wrong, and I don't want Gaara angry at me, and I see-

"Sasuke!"

I'm on the floor, sprawled and dazed, completely confused why Gaara wasn't in front of me, staring at the dark haired, dark eyed, pale complexioned…

His resemblance is so close to Sai's that reality immediately snaps back.

Bullet wound, hospital, Sai, dying, surgery, Tokihana, guards, Dr. Sakomoto, crying, Gaara, Sasuke…

"I'm sorry," I blurt out embarrassed at my actions, lack of judgment, and failure of recognition.

I'm in front of Sasuke Uchiha, son of the lead detective after my uncle. I'm a Giovanni. I'm a mafian princess.

"W-What are you doing here?" I stutter with a hiccup, trying my best to regain my composure by running my hand across my eyes in order to wipe away any tears, as though by destroying the evidence he wouldn't comprehend that I had been crying, and crying on him. I stand up as casually as I can, as though I meant to be on the floor, as though I hadn't spazzed when I realized I was climbing into the lap of an Uchiha because I thought he was someone else.

I pause at the thought.

I climbed into his lap because I thought he was someone else… If he had been Gaara… What would I have done? Those feelings, still confusing and unclear, had undoubtedly been those kinds of feelings. Mixed with the fear, the anger, the guilt, the sadness, there had been the feelings of wanting Gaara, and wanting Gaara to want me. They wouldn't have been spur of the moment, at least I don't think so. So in order for me to have even thought of that, doesn't that mean that… for Gaara… I actually-

"My dad was called down to the hospital because one of the patients here is associated with crime," he mumbles without looking at me. "He didn't have time to drop me off at home, so I had to come with." Sasuke explains, shifting his positions in order to cross his legs to cover his lap, the presence of a blush known to both me and him, for he looks away ashamed. A pale hand runs through his hair as he tries to explain better. "I saw you over here, so I was going to say hi, but then I realized you were crying, and you were alone, and…" The Uchiha looks up now, his eyes clear of shame, instead filled with sincerity, staring into mine so intently that I can see my own reflection in the dark orbs. "I'm sorry about Sai."

I want to say something, to thank him for his words, or tell him that everything is fine, or that it's none of his business, but no sound makes its way out of my lips.

"My dad is going to want to talk to you," he mumbles, going back to his ashamed lack of eye contact, looking off to the side. I do the same, out of courtesy to him, trying not to bring any more attention to the momentary problem in his pants than I have to.

I owe him that much.

Plus, the momentary freedom allows me time to think about the situation I've gotten myself into. Security guards, witnesses, a shot crime-affiliated friend, a mafian princess, with a detective all in the same building.

Not good.

I'll need to find a way out of here as fast as I can, before the Sasuke's detective dad realizes where I am or who I'm with.

"Hey, look," Sasuke calls, his eyes locked on a group of people that just came from around the far corner, "there's my dad now."

Motherfuc-

My inner cussing is cut off by the immediate notice of a presence of someone standing around the corner just behind me. I turn, as casually as I can, yet terrified that there are people to catch me from behind. Instead, I'm met with a figure calculating the people in the crowd, staring at them with frozen jade eyes. A man who leans so casually against the wall, like he's just waiting for something, yet so skillfully that he's hidden within the turn of the corner, so those that do not know he's there cannot see him. His eyes lock on me now, his red hair blowing from the air from the vent as he moves.

A hand, so quick and tight against my wrist that I know not to protest, orders me to follow him.

"Cops. We need to go."

It's like his voice saying those words is the motivation I need to believe that the problem is serious.

We round the corner, as "normal" as possible, before seeking refuge from the shadows beyond it. Once unnoticed, we run down the corridor as fast as we can, ignoring all voices, including one that sounds like Sasuke. Instead of running all the way down the corridor, I'm met with Gaara's body crashing into me as he makes a hard left, forcing me with him, and we burst into a patient's room. There is no shocked surprise, no yelp for assistance, not even silence. There is only a steady repetitive beeping of monitors, and the sound of air being forced into someone's body by tubes.

I try not to look at the person lying on the bed as we run past, but I do anyway.

It's an old man, a very old man. His skin is sagging and wrinkled, covered with dark spots and scars. His skin clings to his bones, what doesn't sag, and he's so thin I can't help but feel my eyes tear up again at the sight of him. It's wrong to pity people, and degrading, but the sight is sad, and I am sad. So thin he is, and covered only by the paper thin blankets provided him. What if he's cold? Just because he can't say so or move to get his own covers, it doesn't mean that he isn't.

I'm so enveloped in the man that I do not feel Gaara let go of my hand. I cease to run, and no voice calls, so I don't answer.

Aren't there any warmer blankets for him? Isn't there any sort of comfort for him?

Looking around the room, with time I don't have, I see an absence. There are no flowers, no cards, no posters… The TV is off and appears to have a film of dust covering the screen. The remote is still on top of it, and even dustier than the TV. The pillows are from the hospital, as are the blankets and sheets. There is nothing of personal belonging in the room; not a suitcase, or a closet in which to hold clothes.

It's empty. So empty, that I feel if I blink the man will disappear, and I won't be any the wiser to it.

I hate hospitals. I hate them. The patients are people, yet they are treated like cattle. Get them recorded, labeled, and out as fast as you can so the next can come on. The smell wipes away everything about you that there is. Lost within the chemicals are so many things, so many scents. It's like they wash away what a person is, what they're like, and trap them in a white room until they say the person can leave, but only if they say so.

It's sad.

I don't know why, but I walk forward. It's as though my feet carry me to his side whether I want to or not. Gaara does not seem to notice my movement, for he's busy working on opening the window; our exit. The only sounds now are the beeping, the forced breathing, and the repetitive thud of Gaara's shoulder against the strong wooden shutters blocking the escape route.

I was always afraid of hospitals, ever since my parents died. Maybe even earlier. I guess I never really knew why. I just always found them terrifying, a place that would fix you but destroy what you were. They were cold to me, lacking warmth, and humanity, and comforts that were needed more than ever.

So when my hand reached out, I didn't stop it. Though he's a stranger, though he slightly sickens me, though I pity him, I want to give him comfort, even if it's small. I allow my fingers to reach out, to touch him, to rest my palm on his forehead, to stroke his skin as comforting as I can. I'm not doing this because I'm thinking of Sai, and how much I want to touch him. Sai never even crossed my mind since the moment I stepped forward toward the man.

I'm doing this out of compassion.

For someone who had no one to visit him, no one to comfort him, no one to give him flowers, or to wish him well…

I want to be that person for him. Even if it's just for the moment.

"Sakura," Gaara calls, his voice quiet. He's probably confused, or upset at the time I'm wasting, but I don't seem to care. It takes the second call of my name to break me away from the old man. My gaze turns to the red haired figure, and I have no idea what kind of expression must be on my face, but it's strange, for when Gaara looks at me, his eyes become soft.

"We need to go," he speaks quietly, extending his hands slowly toward me from his perch on the sill of the open window.

I nod, taking his hands, noticing how delicate his grip is, how affectionate…

"Hang on," he says as he pulls me close to his chest. "We're going to jump."

I nod again, wrapping my arms around him, grabbing onto his back for extra security and gripping his waist with my legs to keep them out of his way.

"Ready?"

"Yes."

He leaps, and I grip him tighter from subconscious fear, but the exhilaration from falling, of being free from the white walls, of hearing the sounds of cops and security guards entering the room only to see us jump out of a third story window. I smile as they lean out the window to watch us in our descent. Mr. Uchiha dead center in watching us leave them behind, my bodyguard and I.

We hit the sidewalk running.