A/N: An extra long chapter, because I thought a chapter for Gaara's birthday should actually have a little Gaara in it. XD Happy Gaara's birthday!

-/-

I really didn't want to go ripping pieces of my clothing just to stop bleeding all the hell over, but luckily for my stylish red outfit, I remembered that I still carried fistfuls of bandages for changing Gaara's blindfolds. His eyes didn't bleed too frequently anymore, but sometimes red blots like eyespots on a moth flowered across the fabric. It seemed like the demon inside him was fighting for its vision, forcing its eyes into his in futile attempts to see. I usually wanted to give that demon a good stabbing, both because I then had to touch the damn kid's face while I rewrapped the bandages and because I imagined that had to hurt like hell.

Grabbing a pile of cloth from its satchel, I dropped it on the sand in front of me, already spotted with blood. It was tangled together like white worms because I hadn't bothered to fold it, and I had no ounce of Nami's medical jutsu to sterilize it. Not to mention I had just guaranteed they were covered in sand. Oh, what the hell, I just had to stop bleeding all over the place, somebody else could clean it up later. Maybe I would get to go back and visit that nice brunette in the hospital.

I began coiling cloth clumsily, fingers trailing loose bandages and slipping as if coated in ice. At last I looked half mummy and half shinobi, and hell, half failed amputee. Something told me that was too damn many halves, but I concentrated on wobbling around on legs that squeaked with agony every time I moved them. The bandages caught the blood, but they also rubbed uncomfortably against the wounds with the slightest movement.

Eyeing the few spare lengths of bandage, I wound them one more time over the bloody swaths. Faint pink splotches still stood out against the white, but enough shinobi these days wore bandages as a fashion statement that I could probably get away with it. Maybe they were hoping to get hurt, or maybe they were just being prepared, but I called it a decent camouflage at this point. It didn't quite match my shredded fishnet, but I sure as hell hoped nobody would be noticing that.

It was vaguely possible that Soriko might, but that point I would be in the door, so that all worked out in my scheme of things.

Thoroughly mummified, I scooped up the battered piece of paper bearing a half-faded address, the graphite smeared by the fact that I had clutched it in a death grip all the way down the damn cliff. Not to mention the scrawl of a handwriting, though I certainly remembered precocious Saru Nami as having neat handwriting even at age five. I remembered because all the teachers had told us our handwriting should look like that, and mine sure as hell never would. The address, however, was still mostly readable, and miracle of the kami, I actually knew where the hell Soriko's street was. Not too far away, either, and wasn't that damn nice. I didn't think I could walk halfway across the village on shredded legs.

-/-

I showed up at house 398 and wasn't sure exactly how the hell to knock, since every centimeter of skin was razored and agonizing, and consequently covered in blood bandages. I glared threateningly at the solid wooden door for several intense moments, as if that would force it open; when it didn't, I settled for tapping the door with my knuckles, tentative as a butterfly, and hoping someone would hear.

Reasonably, no one did, since only bats had hearing that superb, of course. I could have burnt down the door if I had fire in my eyes, but I didn't. A mental note told me to work out how the hell to get such a thing, then I scraped together a reluctant bundle of sand—there was plenty of blood to go around—and threw it at the door like a fist. It thumped rather despondently and then disintegrated in a shower of golden dust.

I waited. I was on the verge of kicking down the damn thing, bandages or not, when the door opened. A tall, vaguely familiar boy waited on the other side, with flipped-out hair the color of a clear desert sky and poisonously green eyes. "Yes?" he asked, clearly clueless as a cucumber as to my identity. Maybe I didn't know him. That 'vaguely familiar' thing happened a lot after a ten year hiatus; I kept wanting to see people I knew.

I squinted at him and said, "Soriko?"

He eyed me strangely, and I added with a cough, still trying to work out his face, "Is she here?"

"Nope," he said. "You want across the street and three doors down. She's in 395."

I squinted at the address clenched in my fist. "No damn way is that a five," I muttered, looking back up at him. "I appreciate it. Hey—" And it came to me uncertainly, a millipede crawling over my thoughts. Ugh, what a chilling image.

"Wait, you're Kanri, aren't you? How the hell's that work out?"

I thought I detected the hint of a twitch or the widening of those bright green eyes, but I couldn't be sure. "No," he said calmly. "I'm Sorani."

I snorted, which was almost a laugh, and said, "Right. How come Nami thinks you're dead?"

He slammed the door in my face.

"Well, that was rude as a dry oasis," I muttered, but my curiosity was about to get me in way damn far over my head. With a grumbling, shaky effort, I gathered the sandy fist back up and flicked it at the door again.

To my vehement surprise, it actually opened, and damn quickly. Unfortunately, what waited on the other side was a kunai sharp as a star hovering perilously close to my eye.

"Are you lost?" Kanri asked dangerously.

I probably—no, not probably, sure as hell—should have said, "Yes, I'm looking for Meikin Soriko, would you remind me of her house number please?" As you might have guessed, I didn't. Instead, I demanded, "Did you know you're sister thinks you're dead?"

I experienced an injection of pure terror, not unlike the one I'd had while tumbling down a cliff though without the rushing wind, as the kunai darted toward my face. It merely skimmed along my face, however—great, more bandages needed—and his fist closed over the shoulder of my knee-length vest. The handle of the kunai dug into my collarbone as Kanri dragged me inside and slammed the door once again.

Something told me I wasn't going to be getting to Soriko's house any time soon. Damn.

"Who in the name of the Kazekage are you?" the older, supposedly-dead boy demanded furiously, kunai returned to a very threatening position. I did not like it at all.

"Don't speak to me about the Kazekage," I muttered. "It's his fault I'm here. If not for him I would be back in Konoha dreaming I was here."

Kanri gave me that look again like he had no idea what the hell I was talking about. "Name."

"Izari Sunako, like that means anything to you," I snapped. "Tell me what the hell is going on."

"No. Izari. Izari Koten died in a sandstorm. Uncle? Father?"

"Father," I said under my breath, with a sharp pang of pain.

"I'm sorry," said Kanri, brusquely, his eyes sliding off to the side as if he didn't want to appear completely heartless but couldn't muster up the strength to meet my gaze. "But you being Izari Koten's daughter still does not explain what exactly you are doing in my house."

"Well," I said irritably. "I was going to see Soriko when you dragged me into it."

"It was an accident?"

"Yes!" I emphasized, brows drawn down in aggravation as I waved around the address Nami had written. "Your beloved sister's penmanship has taken a serious turn for the worse since I've been gone, and I just misread it. Now what the hell is going on?"

"How did you recognize me?" Kanri demanded, eyes following the movement of the paper.

"I just spent a good deal of time getting thrown off a cliff by Nami," I growled, "and the Saru family was on the brain. If you had just told me to shove it because your name was Sorani, I probably would have left the hell off and gone to see Soriko. How come no one else has recognized you? I haven't seen you in ten damn years!" Just like everyone else around here. Damn, how things changed.

"Tei and Kobin are dead," said Kanri flatly, "and Nami never comes down. Neither does Mother, if she's still alive."

"She is," I muttered. "Living like a blind worm in a cave, but alive." I took a surreptitious glance around, perusing escape options, and that's when I noticed the labyrinth painted on the floor. It twisted outward like a snake, drawing my gaze to half-finished puzzles and brainteasers stacked neatly against the walls.

"What the hell," slipped out of my mouth before I could even try to stop it.

I hesitated a moment, then shook my head. "I must have mixed you guys up. Thought she was the neat, puzzle-y one. Don't remember as much of my Sunagakure life as I thought I did, but hell, I spent twice as much time in Konoha. It's understandable. Can I get the hell out of here now?"

"I need you to stick around," Kanri said casually. "I may not have expected this, but I of course planned for it."

"What does that mean?" I asked warily.

"That you're not the first one, Izari. My family doesn't come down, but you can plainly see that I am not invisible."

That sounded damn scary. That sounded like I was going to disappear. I'd been disappeared like I'd been ravaged by a dog—not at all subtle, but quick and brutal—and I sure as hell wasn't going to let it happen again. Instead of the following the conspiracy line of thought, I was going to get out of here and connect dead brothers to grey laboratories some other time. Maybe on the way to Konoha when I had nothing to worry about except a murderous redhead and the lies I would be leaving in my place.

"What are you doing?" Kanri asked cagily.

"What are you talking about?" I asked, disarmed. I glanced sideways, following his expression, and found sand hovering around my shoulders. At my look, it dropped like a recalcitrant child. I huffed in frustration and used the movement of turning my gaze back to Kanri for appraising the window.

Carefully, I folded my hands together and picked at the bandages over my fingers. "That just happens," I said, rubbing at partially-scabbed wounds and trying not to wince as they began to bleed again with sharp agonizing stabs. Chewing my lip distractedly, I brushed my fingers over the particles of sand on my clothing as if wiping them off. My hands dropped back to my sides, tossing a few bloodstained grains behind me. Kanri was talking, but I was concentrating too damn hard on making the sand listen to have any clue what the words were.

My fingers flickered, and then I made a sudden movement toward the window. Kanri's kunai followed me, lunging to block my path. I swept out a kunai of my own and flung it into the glass, which shattered like a dream catcher web. Kanri grabbed for my outstretched wrist; I jerked it out of the way and used the momentum to spin into a back kick that took him in the chest. He stumbled back a few steps and I finished the spin with a back fist to his head. He recovered quickly, but my reluctant sand had already fumbled the door unlocked. I yanked it open as Kanri's kunai sliced through a twist of bandages and the shoulder of my vest.

I swore darkly and fell out the door, pulling it shut after me. Kanri thudded against the other side, scrabbling at the handle as I darted down the street like a lizard from the talons of a hawk.

I noted Soriko's house as I ran past it, but Kanri knew where I planned to go, so I sure as hell couldn't fall into that trap. I had no such thing resembling a plan, of course, except maybe keep running until I hit the Kazekage's mansion, where Baki's big, burly minions would keep Kanri away from me and possibly control his craziness.

…Baki's big, burly minions who were storming down that street like an avenging army. I recognized them from my forays past that damn lab. So did I still want to hide behind them if they were charging toward me?

Damn it, I wouldn't bet on them receiving me with hugs and puppies. Whether this had to do with Kanri's damn mysterious conspiracy or merely the fact that I had skipped out on my job—never mind that I was doing this for that damn redhead, so really, I was damn on target—they were bound to be as unhappy with me as owls were with the sun.

I swung down the alley between two houses, scrambled up the wall, slunk over the roof—with a wary eye out for the woman with flower pots, in case she was traveling—and dropped down into the next between space. I huffed irritably, darted to the left, and thumped against Soriko's back door.

"Worst plan ever," I muttered, pounding the flat of my hand against the wood. Scraped up skin flaked off again, leaving splinters of blood on the surface. I didn't have to wait very long, thank the kami, before the door opened on a bewildered little girl.

People changed.

Soriko hadn't.

She'd grown maybe a foot in a decade, but she still hovered at about a foot shorter than me. Besides the height, I was looking at the same girl from ten years ago, except a damn sight clearer than my blurry memory. All wavy brunette with streaks of red and pale brown eyes that were almost puppy-like in their width.

I didn't take any more time to marvel at her remarkable resemblance to her five-year-old self, but took her befuddled expression as an invitation and stepped inside.

"Hey, Soriko, do you remem—"

"I-Izari Sunako?" Soriko said, like she was guessing, as I hurriedly shut the door.

"Good guess," I assured her, leaning against the exit and examining my bleeding hands again. "I'm still impressed."

"Thanks?"

"Yeah, yeah, no problem. Soriko? I need to hide."

"I kinda figured," she said, giving me a look incongruous with her childlike features and nodding as if I'd said the most obvious damn thing in the world. That's when the pounding started like the Apocalypse knocking at Soriko's front door.

"Stand still?" Soriko said, her voice rising as if she was never certain of anything. A quick seal and a flash of chakra and I was looking at the world from a perspective six inches higher than I was used to. An examination of my hands showed them to be thick and scarred; I snatched a lock of hair, which was still long, but now scraggly and red.

"My older brother?" Soriko suggested, and went to answer the door.

I caught a few words of the conversation, but hung back like an uncertain ghost until the shinobi swarmed through Soriko's house. The girl stood next to me and I glared around at the hunters turning over every cactus needle and paper plate. I thought for damn sure they would test the jutsu Soriko'd set on me, but apparently nobody had briefed them on her abilities before they left their place of employment. They eyed me studiously and then left, one of them tipping his nonexistent hat at Soriko, another letting an apology for the search slide off her tongue.

"So, big brother?" Soriko said cheerily, turning away from the departed ninja and moving over to some stray papers tacked to the wall, corners curling to hide half-finished sketches. The transformation over me stayed in place. "What are you doing here?"

"Uh… working?"

"You're on a mission?"

"Yeah… kind of," I muttered, and went on hurriedly, "I need to get myself and one other person out of Suna and to Konoha before anyone knows we're gone. Nami said you could help."

"Aw, Sunako, really? Ya haven't seen me in ten years and you show up with a challenge? You're too kind."

"I try," I said modestly, stifling a snicker. She was being so much more helpful than Saru Nami and her damn nasty tendency to throw people off cliffs.

"What's your thing again?"

"My thing?"

"Yeah, your thing you do?"

"Oh… sand."

"Right, the sand."

"Oh, Soriko. This other person…"

"Not going ta like it, am I?"

"Sabaku no Gaara."

"Ahhh," said Soriko, nodding wisely. "You really did come just to give me a challenge? I don't deserve you. Give me a day? Then bring him here when you're ready to leave? Yeah, I think that sounds right."

"Uh," I said uncertainly, thinking of the ninja—and that damn Baki—that were entirely unlikely to be happy as sunning cats when they saw me again. "Do we have to wait a whole day?"

"Do you want this to work?" Soriko demanded, and shooed me out the door, transformation jutsu disintegrating. "A day!"

-/-

That day dragged like a wounded scorpion, though I spent it stealing provisions from the kitchen and shepherding Gaara around like a lost cow. I ducked behind every corner and half-open door whenever I heard anyone coming. Gaara, moving somewhat more sluggishly, did not seem to understand my urgency or my sudden twitchy need to hide like a frightened hare at any sound. I tried to explain how shinobi were supposed to move unseen and this was a matter of grave surreptitiousness if he wanted to get out of Konoha without Baki on our tails. I had almost forgotten that I was the one who really wanted to go to Konoha, and that Gaara was only following what I said. It seemed too damned unimportant to matter.

I didn't sleep, either. I stayed up with that damn insomniac demon, sequestered in a spare room with our food stores and our chakra masked as best I could. I had no desire to stand up and face Baki, his accusations, and his damn suspicious involvement with Saru Kanri. I would just slip out in the morning, leading Gaara and hoping to hell that I didn't end up dead in the next three days.

-/-

He thought the demon might be turning it into a game, hide and seek with a malicious laugh. The demon was moody, tempestuous, rising into a fury when it did not have the power to see and just as quickly cackling at Izari Sunako's unreasonable terror.

Gaara himself could not be sure where he stood. He wanted to join the demon's pleasure at her pain, but he wanted to crush the demon down and never think of it until it was gone. He couldn't reason the trouble the girl was going to for them to escape to Konoha—and the blood on her skin, the blood he and the Shukaku both scented from three hallways over, it spoke without a shadow of a doubt that she had gone to trouble for this.

He was walking in her shadow, and he couldn't even decide if he wanted to be there or not.