A/N: I do not own Naruto, nor do I gain profit from this story.
Chapter Twenty-One: Songs of Courting and Complaint
Shikamaru sighed.
He loved Temari. Really. He did.
Loved every inch of her troublesome, challenging, delectable self.
Loved her enough to do anything she asked after an obligatory objection period.
But was it really necessary to babysit her little brother?
After an extensive pub crawl, the band of brothers had taken leave of each other outside of Shikamaru's apartment.
There had been a lot of manly hugs, poundings on the back and promises to do this again, soon. Kiba and Naruto had taken the opportunity to give some last minute, contradictory advice to Gaara on how to get back with Hinata. Several 'love ya, man's had been exchanged, and a few eyes had been suspiciously moist, Naruto's most noticeably.
Finally, everyone had dispersed.
Everyone, that is, except Gaara.
He had stood, rumpled and disoriented, next to Shikamaru watching everyone leave.
It was then that Shikamaru realized Gaara was his responsibility for the rest of the night.
Or his girlfriend would probably inflict real damage.
Damn, it sucked to have a girlfriend with a seriously messed up little brother. Especially a little brother that she loved and worried about deeply.
Shikamaru sighed again. He poured hot water onto tea leaves and covered the pot.
Still, Gaara hadn't been a bad guest really.
He'd looked a little bug-eyed at his choices for a place to sleep. Okay, so neither the funky futon nor the saggy sofa had much to recommend either of them.
One thing for sure, though.
There was only one Sand sib sleeping with Shikamaru in his big comfortable bed.
And that person did not sport testacles.
Gaara chose the sofa.
Shikamaru set a cup of tea down on the table by the sofa and cleared his throat.
Gaara moved the arm he had flung over his face and opened one bleary eye.
"Tea," said Shikamaru, deciding not to ask how his guest had slept. It didn't take his genius mind to figure that out himself.
Like shit.
Gaara was even paler than usual, almost translucent, and there were even darker circles under his eyes. His body was twisted uncomfortably on the sofa. Shikamaru felt a sympathetic twinge in his own back.
Gaara sat up slowly, wincing frequently, and reached for the tea cup with a slightly trembling hand. He slurped the tea down gratefully. Once the tea was gone, he stared wistfully into the empty cup and set it on the table.
Taking the hint, Shikamaru went into the kitchenette and brought out the tea pot and his own cup. He filled Gaara's cup and sat down.
"So," he said, sipping his own tea, "what's the plan?"
"Plan?" said Gaara dully, finishing off his second cup and pouring a third.
"Yeah, the plan," said Shikamaru, struggling for patience.
"Well," said Gaara hesitantly, "I thought – flowers."
"Flowers are good," said Shikamaru, "What else?"
"Oh, uh," said Gaara, pouring a fourth cup of tea, "I thought I'd ask her to dinner."
"That's good," said Shikamaru, "What else?"
Gaara looked at him warily.
"I thought," he said hesitantly, "I thought I'd let her tell me what she would like to do."
Shikamaru sat back and studied Gaara, his eyes narrowed in thought.
"That might work," he said, "Good idea."
"Really?" said Gaara, looking pleased and surprised.
"Yeah," said Shikamaru, "Since Temari's probably coaching her -."
"Temari?" said Gaara, looking a little sick.
"Oh, yeah," said Shikamaru, his voice warming a little at the thought of what kind of advice Temari had no doubt given Hinata, "Temari's probably told her to give you a hard time, right?"
"Probably," said Gaara, clearly chagrined at the idea.
"So," said Shikamaru, standing up with an air of bustling purpose, "You'd better get started."
"Hunh?" said Gaara, not moving, "Started?"
"Time's a-wasting," said Shikamaru, grabbing Gaara by the arm and hustling him towards the bathroom, "Hurry up and get cleaned up. You need to get to Ino's flower shop before it's too late."
In record time, Gaara was in and out of the shower and dressed in a pair of Shikamaru's jeans, tee-shirt and a jacket.
"You can thank me later," said Shikamaru, shoving his stunned guest out the front door with his dirty clothes stuffed in a plastic bag and a bewildered look on his face.
"The Yamanake shop is that way," said Shikamaru, pointing vaguely off towards the shopping district, "Good luck!"
Once the door was shut and locked, Shikamaru heaved another sigh.
"Thought he'd never leave," he mumbled and slouched back to bed.
Babysitting was exhausting.
Ino looked up from the fashion magazine she was studying with a bright smile.
"Welcome to the Yamanaka flower shop! How can I -," she registered the identity of her customer and glared, "Oh, it's you. What do you want?"
"Good morning," said Gaara, bowing slightly, "I was hoping you would help me pick out flowers for Hinata."
"Well, it's about time," said Ino, huffily. She made a point of taking her time to walk around the counter and over to Gaara, studying him critically.
"You look like crap," she said. Actually, he looked pretty damn hot, all sheepish and shy and wary, with his auburn hair in wet spikes.
Damn, Hinata was a lucky girl.
Not that she wasn't totally happy with Chouji.
Still, a girl could look, couldn't she?
"So, what do you want?" said Ino sharply.
"Well, I wanted flowers to take to Hinata," he said.
"Obviously," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "Or you wouldn't be here. What do you want the flowers to say?"
"Say?" he looked at her in bewilderment, then around the shop.
Honestly, what was it with a flower shop that made men get all incompetent? Probably the same gene that made it impossible for them to put kitchen utensils back where they belonged.
"Flowers mean different things," she explained quickly, "For instance, freesias mean childish and immature." She looked at him pointedly, enjoying his twitch. "Yellow roses mean jealousy." She grinned as he shrugged his shoulders. "Anything in particular you'd like to say?"
"Well, I- I'd like to say that I care about her," he said, looking at her sideways, "and that I respect her."
"Unh-hunh," said Ino, "Careful and respectful."
"Yes," said Gaara, "That's what I want to say."
"Not – 'I love you'?" she said.
A gentle pink stained his cheeks.
"Well, yes," he said, "I'd like to say that, too."
Ino took pity on him.
"I'll tell you what," she said, kindly, "You go pick out some nice jewelry while I get a bouquet ready."
"Jewelry?" he said, looking startled.
"Don't tell me you weren't going to buy her something a little more substantial than flowers?" she said sternly.
"Uh," he said.
Lord, the boy was hot but he was about as clueless as Naruto. Thank the Kami for Chouji. Now, there was a man who knew how to buy presents for a girl.
She touched one earring gently with a finger, smiling nostalgically. Gaara looked at her in puzzlement.
She shooed him to the door.
"There's a good shop right next to this one. Tell them I sent you. And don't get anything cheap."
She started reaching for flowers as the door shut behind Gaara on his way to the jewelry shop.
Red roses for love. White for devotion. Pink for trust and happiness. And confidence.
She added an extra pink rose.
He needed all the help he could get.
Kankuro woke up with a familiar heaviness in his bladder and an unfamiliar one on his chest.
It took a moment to register that the second weight was Hana, her arm over his ribs and her nose buried in his armpit.
Hana.
He was in bed with Hana.
Not just in bed, but he had slept the night through in bed with Hana.
Without once making a move on her.
And instead of feeling disappointed, his heart filled with elation.
He had never slept with a woman through the night, although he had been invited many times. The thought of sharing his bed had never appealed to him. He liked to spread out, kick the sheets off if he wanted to.
Yet, here he was, gently moving his arm and adjusting his body so that her face was turned up to him and he could look at her.
He'd liked her face the moment he'd grabbed her on the edge of the dance floor. He'd enjoyed watching her huge dark eyes sparkle and the way her mouth curved into a smile easily, when she teased him. He'd come to love watching her face, the way her thoughts flowed across her expressive features in a fascinating play.
Her large dark eyes were closed now, and the thick long lashes fanned out against the cream of her cheeks, so long that they brushed the burgundy tribal mark on her cheeks. Her mouth was open in sleep, and she grunted a little as she snuggled her nose back into his armpit. He smiled tenderly.
No wonder Temari couldn't wait to get back to Konoha.
Ever since she had been invited to spend time with Leaf, she'd been much happier. He'd noticed and asked her once what she liked so much away from home.
She'd smiled a small, secret smile and had shaken her head.
"Peace," she finally answered.
He knew now what she'd meant.
Holding Hana in his arms, hearing her steady breathing, feeling her warmth pressed against him, he felt peace, contentment, even happiness.
He'd never expected to be happy.
Much of his childhood had been spent dodging the heavy hand of his father, or the unpredictable temper of his brother. He'd stayed close to Temari, protecting her as best as he could from their harsh world. It wasn't until Baki had come into their lives that he had felt anything more than worthless.
He loved Baki unconditionally, just as he did Temari. And Gaara.
Even in the bad old days, he'd loved Gaara. His heart had been twisted with fear of the beast inside, and pity for the child without, but he had loved him.
Yet now, here he was, happier than he had a right to be.
Hana stirred and he quickly wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his borrowed jinbei.
She turned her face up and blinked slowly. She smiled at him gently and his heart skipped a beat.
"Mornin'," she said.
He nodded, unable to speak.
She reached up and cupped his cheek with one warm hand.
"I like your face without the makeup," she said softly, "Why do you wear it?"
"Part of the whole puppet thing," he said, uncomfortable, "And -."
"And?" she said.
"And I look too much like my father," he said, more roughly than he wanted.
She looked at him with a frown, letting her eyes roam over his face critically.
"Not to me," she said finally.
His heart swelled.
She pulled his head down as she pushed herself up and fastened her mouth to his.
I love this girl.
Seriously.
Baki lay back against the pillow and stared at the ceiling.
By mutual consent, he'd stayed in the bedroom while Kurenai got Daichi ready for school.
He didn't mind at all.
He could hear the two talking back and forth and he loved the sounds they made; Kurenai's sweet woman's voice, scolding Daichi gently; Daichi's high cheerful voice, laughing and singing a made up song about miso soup.
It made Baki smile just to hear them.
Happy mother, happy child.
He thought again of the way she'd ordered him to kiss her the night before.
It had sent shivers down his spine then, just as the memory did now.
He'd been shocked to find out that she had thought he was virgin. He'd had to demonstrate that he really did have firsthand knowledge, albeit somewhat scanty. He'd also had the benefit of reading several books and was prepared to put the skills he'd studied to good use.
She'd laughed at him and then became his teacher.
She was beautiful and generous and tender and demanding. He had loved every inch of her gorgeous, voluptuous body, studying it and her as earnestly as any mission map.
And he still didn't know nearly enough about her.
He was impatient for her to return to the bed, to continue where they left off. To let him show her how well he had learnt her lessons.
He could hear them leave the apartment. Kurenai had told him that she would walk Daichi to school and then be back to fix breakfast. She had kissed him, straddling him and holding his arms down while she plundered his mouth.
"Do not move from here," she ordered, frowning at him sternly, "Not even one inch." She'd grinned and wiggled a little when he groaned.
"That's an order!" she'd said, giving him a saucy pat as she climbed off the bed. She'd pulled on some sweat pants and a tee-shirt and blew a kiss at him.
But he should leave. He should get up now, dress and find Gaara.
He suddenly felt guilty that he hadn't even thought about his youngest student for hours.
It would be best if he left now, before she got back.
Yes, it would be best.
Somehow, though, the rest of his body was in lock-down mode and refused to get up.
The door to the bedroom opened and Kurenai slipped in.
She leaned against the door and looked at him with a mischievous face.
"I see you are a very good shinobi and have followed my orders to the letter," she said, reaching down and gripping the bottom edge of her tee-shirt.
His eye followed her hands, hungry for the sight of her.
As she slipped out of her clothes, she was lit by the early morning light drifting in through the curtains.
His breath caught at her beauty. She stepped delicately over to the bed, as graceful and lovely as a desert cat.
He opened the sheet and welcomed her into his arms, into his heart.
For a moment, he wondered what he would do when he left for Suna.
A pang of bitter sadness sliced through him and he held her tightly.
For now, it would have to be enough to love her this morning.
Gaara walked up the stairs to Hinata's apartment with his heart in his throat and a huge bouquet of pink, red and white roses in his hands.
Would they and the little velvet box in his pocket be enough?
Please, Kami, please make her listen to me.
He knocked on the door hesitantly.
Nothing.
He couldn't hear anything on the other side.
What if she wasn't here?
Maybe she went back to the Hyuuga compound.
He thought about the way she'd left and shook his head.
She'd really meant what she'd said to her father, to him, to all of them.
He knocked again, a little louder.
Maybe she was standing on the other side, her Byakugan activated, knowing he was standing on her doorstep.
Maybe she didn't want to see him.
"Hinata," he said to the door, knocking again.
Nothing.
Oh, Kami, what am I going to do? What am I going to do if she won't let me in?
"If you're looking for Hyuuga-san, she's gone."
Gaara turned around to see a very round old woman glaring at him from the next-to-the-top step.
"Gone?"
Had she gone on a mission? Or run away? His mind started to spin out of control.
"Of course she's gone. She had a job to get to, you know," the woman sniffed disdainfully, "Not like some folks who can pound on doors all day not caring if they disturb the neighbors or anything."
Work! Of course. Hinata was at the school, teaching.
Gaara kicked himself mentally.
"Thank you!" he said, racing past the woman and flying down the stairs.
"Well, I never," grumbled the woman.
He headed recklessly through the narrow streets towards the Academy.
Scenario 1: 'Hinata, I brought you flowers and expensive earrings. Please come to dinner with me so that I can tell you how very miserable I am and how you need to come back to me.'
Bakka! Too stupid.
Scenario 2: 'Hinata, please accept these flowers and this small token of my esteem. Please let me take you to dinner. I hope that we can continue-.'
Bakka! Too formal.
Scenario 3:
He didn't have a scenario three.
How did one grovel, anyway? It was not a skill Shukaku had taught him. All the people he thought of as grovelers he had hated and despised. Surely, Hinata wouldn't want him to debase himself before her, would she?
Because he didn't think it was something he'd be able to manage very well.
He reached for the door of the Academy and paused, his hand gripping the solid brass handle tightly.
What if he couldn't win her back because he couldn't grovel sufficiently?
A bead of sweat popped out of the crown of his head and trickled down his scalp to fall with a cold splat on his neck.
Not possible.
He pulled open the door and strode into the main hallway.
No matter what, he would make it up to her. He would flatten himself out on the floor and let her walk on him, if that was what it would take.
He'd do pretty much anything.
Because the thought of not having her in his life scared him beyond anything he'd ever encountered.
Because she made him human, instead of a monster.
Because he loved her with all his heart.
Kami, make me humble.
"Good job, Atsushi," said Hinata, "I really like the color you chose for the cat."
"Purple is my favoritest color," said Atsushi importantly, as he carefully filled in the cat's ears.
"Cats aren't purple, stupid," said Ryuko loftily, filling in her cat with her favorite pink.
"My cat is from Purple Land and everything in Purple Land is purple, stupid!" said Atsushi loudly. "And everyone knows cats aren't pink! So you must be stupid, too!"
"I am not stupid, stupid!" shouted Ryuko, reaching over to scribble pink on top of Atsushi's empurpled cat.
"Ryuko! Atsushi! Stop this right now!" said Hinata firmly, grabbing Ryuko's hand before the crayon hit its mark.
"But she-," shouted Atsushi.
"But he-," shouted Ryuko.
"Enough, I said," Hinata let go of the Ryuko and bent down to look both children in the face. "What are you two fighting about? Both your cats are beautiful. I love the way you colored your cats."
"Really?" said Atsushi, picking up his picture and looking at it sadly, "Do you really like it? Because Ryu's right. Cats aren't purple, are they?"
Ryuko craned her neck to look closely at Atsushi's picture.
"I like purple cats, even if they aren't real," she said gravely, "Hey, Atsushi, maybe your cat and my cat could be friends! Let's pretend they're friends and they live next door to each other."
"Okay!" said Atsushi and the two turned back to the table to draw little houses for each cat to live in.
Hinata smiled.
Those two squabbled every day, but somehow they always managed to stay friends.
Maybe she should follow their example and resolve things with Gaara.
There was a knock at the door and she hurried over to open it.
Iruka stood at the door looking a little flustered.
"Hinata-san, I'm sorry to bother you," he said.
"No bother, of course, Iruka-sensei," she said gently, bowing.
"I wondered if you would mind if a visitor came to observe your class today?" said Iruka nervously. He glanced over his shoulder.
Hinata frowned and stepped out into the hallway.
Gaara stood there clutching a rather bedraggled bouquet of roses.
"A visitor?" she said coldly.
She watched his eyes open wide.
Her heart started to race.
Oh, Kami, he's here. He's really here.
"Yes," said Iruka, "The Kazekage requested an opportunity to observe how our Kindergarten was run."
"He did, did he?" said Hinata, lifting her chin and staring hard at the Suna delegate.
And was that enormous bouquet of roses for her?
"I really can't refuse, Hinata-san," said Iruka apologetically.
"Very well," said Hinata, "I suppose he can come in." She turned and swept regally into the room, pausing only to say over her shoulder, "As long as he behaves himself."
And was it her imagination or did he look even more adorable than ever?
"Of course, Hinata-san, I'm sure he'll-," Iruka said. He turned to Gaara and looked at him through narrowed eyes. "You heard what she said. You may be the Kazekage, but I won't have you upsetting my classrooms or my teachers, do you understand?"
Hinata waited to hear Gaara's reply, holding her breath.
"I understand," said Gaara, his voice gravelly.
He walked slowly into the room and stood near Hinata, blinking owlishly at the classroom.
"Class," said Hinata with authority, "We have a guest today."
All the children stopped what they were doing and swiveled their heads to stare at Gaara.
She could hear him gulp as twelve pairs of eyes locked on to him.
Now, this was going to be fun.
A/N: I hope you like this latest chapter. Had to kick Gaara in the butt, courtesy of Shikamaru, to get things moving again. Please let me know what you think.
Chapter title is the title of a folk album by Peggy Seeger who, with her husband Ewan McColl and her half-brother Pete Seeger, was largely responsible for the folk music revival of the '50s and '60s all the way up to today. If you haven't heard of these people, take the time to learn about them. You won't be sorry. If you have heard of them, give yourself a treat and have a little revival of your own. She, her husband, Pete and all the other Folk Revivalists like Joan Baez, Judy Collins, Paul Simon, Art Garfunkel, Marianne Faithful, The Kingston Trio, etc., etc., well, music today wouldn't be what it is without their influence. As a personal note, my dearest aunt was a part of the Seeger crowd in New York in the beatnik '50s so I have a special fondness for Peggy and her brothers.