Chapter 2

Her head pounded, her muscles ached, and her eyelids felt like concrete. Sakura woke up to a sensation that she could only describe as "pure awful." Slowly sitting herself up, she struggled to open both eyes completely. Through her heavy lids, she could make out vague outlines and shapes of some furnitures nearby.

With one destination in mind, Sakura forced herself to her feet with measured difficulty. Despite her bleary vision, she managed to stumble to what she hoped was the bathroom when she felt her bare feet drag from smooth hardwood to cold tiles.

She felt her way toward the sink. With her hands clutched onto either side of the basin, Sakura pushed herself upward to face the mirror.

Nothing but blobs, she saw.

Her sight was still fuzzy apparently. The abrasive irritation from one of her eyes was telling. Suddenly remembering, Sakura used one hand to pull open her left eye and the other to remove the colored contact lens. Forget precision or hygiene! Ironic, she knew, especially given her line of profession. But right now, she only cared about getting rid of the cursed object that caused her so much discomfort. Should've gone with a transformation jutsu, she bemoaned; then again, given the intention behind her visit to the pub, she didn't think she'd have the fullest mental awareness to have kept it up all night.

Quickly turning on the faucet, Sakura lowered her face to the cooling stream. She scooped a few handfuls of tap into her dehydrated mouth to rinse out the gross taste inside, swallowing some in the process to quench her thirst. Then she splashed the water against her face to refresh.

The aches in her temples and her left eye remained. Sakura hovered a hand over the side of her face, where the pain resided. Concentrating, she channeled her chakra to her palm, and a green glow manifested. She winced. She was a tad out of practice; her ministration was sloppier than before, although minimally so.

Relief came nonetheless, as the throbbing soon subsided.

Clarity returned, but composure fled once Sakura regained her vision. This is not my bathroom… As quickly as that realization came, panic set in when she saw her reflection in the mirror. Never mind the horrible pink mess that was her hair, the puffiness within her eye sockets, or her bloodshot eyes… she was in her bras! Sure, she still had her pants on, but that did nothing to calm her.

Sakura ran out of the bathroom. Her brain busily processed the image before her: A spacious room with desks and chairs that matched in style; floor-to-ceiling windows that allowed in enough daylight through the half-drawn curtains; and a king-sized bed, where she obviously had slept on… It was minimalist, unfamiliar, and definitely not her home.

And then there was Sakura, standing topless in the middle of it all.

Oh no.

This was starting to resemble a scene out of some cliché movie that she'd watched and ridiculed long ago. But now, she was the central character.

At that moment, the clicking of the door handle broke Sakura out of her shock. She had less than seconds to deliberate what to do. However, given her state of undress, she doubted that whoever took her here had noble intentions. Pumping chakra to a clenched fist, she readied herself—looked like it was going to be "punch first, question later," she decided.

The door slid open. She gritted her teeth. Her fist flew forward.

The collision was harder than she expected, producing a small wave of vibration through the atmosphere. A gasp escaped through her lips, as Sakura beheld the wall of sand in place of what she had hoped to be the flesh of her human target. Sand? That could only mean…!

The grains dissipated. Sakura gawked. In front of her, stood the one and only.

"Ga-Gaara?" What the hell? She couldn't believe her eyes.

"I see you are awake."

Sakura blinked, then squealed, "Eek, don't look!" Remembering that she was still indecent, she dashed back into the bed and threw the covers over herself. Her cheeks heated a few degrees hotter along the way.

As instructed, the red-haired man averted his gaze away from her. Sakura watched him guardedly as he walked into the room. He'd donned a rather casual black shirt and pants of the same shade, a plastic bag in his arm.

"Where am I? What happened?" Sakura demanded, while pulling the comforter up to her chin.

Gaara stopped by the dresser opposite of the bed, seemingly to take some items out of the bag and place them on top of the dresser. With his back against her, he replied in an impassive manner, "In my hotel room."

Sakura couldn't see the objects that he got out. Actually, she didn't care, because her mind was now working overdrive in trying to understand this increasingly weird situation. A hundred thoughts raced through her head. She saw Gaara survey her through his peripherals, before he finally turned to face her. He questioned, "Do you not recall anything from last night?"

Sakura bit her lips, mentally searching through her memories for clues. She was at the bar drinking to her heart's content, she recalled. However, the rest was… Blank. This was bad news… Sakura slowly glanced up at Gaara with wide frightful eyes. Her mouth went dry.

"Oh god… please don't tell me you and I… we… "

"We did not engage in any activities that would tarnish your virtue, if that's what you are assuming." He folded his arms and dismissed her idea immediately. He then went on to explain further, "I came across you on my way back. You were inebriated. Your condition required assistance, so I—"

"So you brought me here, and you undressed me?" Sakura interjected, eyes narrowing dangerously at the man before her.

"It was necessary, given the circumstances," he responded matter-of-factly.

"How is it necessary under any circumstance to remove someone's clothes without their permission!" she shrilled. Technically, Sakura could think of a few instances, which would call for medical attention; but none seemed applicable to her situation.

"Would you have preferred to sleep in your soiled clothes?" He retorted, while absentmindedly gesturing toward a pile of garments in one corner of the room, something that Sakura failed to notice earlier.

"What?"

"You…" He paused briefly before continuing, "experienced irritation to the stomach."

Gaara's answer was rather vague, but Sakura didn't need to be a genius to put two and two together. Although she appreciated the degree of tact in which the man delivered the news, it failed to ease the rising disbelief and horror that surmounted her earlier exasperation. Her lips thinned as she tried to reconcile with the implication of his revelation. So she'd thrown up and somehow dirtied her clothes in the process? Sakura refocused on the red-haired man as an inkling of understanding came to her regarding her current unclothed state. Of course, she wouldn't want to sleep in her own vomit, but still… She shook her head. No, for as long as she'd known him, Gaara was not that type of person. His actions were probably out of practicality.

While she continued to conflict within herself over the incidents that took place, Gaara, on the other hand, seemed to waste no time in moving on to a different topic of his interest. "Was there a reason to your disguise?"

"Huh?" The question caught her off-guard. Then it hit her. Right, her disguise. She couldn't possibly tell him that she hid her identity on purpose so she could get drunk without worrying about her goody two-shoes reputation. She wanted to avoid any additional embarrassment more than what was already there. "I was… just trying on a new look, you know."

If Gaara was unconvinced about her answer, he said nothing. Instead, he moved away from the dresser against which he leaned. Sakura could now see on the top board there was a bottle of water and… a t-shirt?

"There is change for you. I will be outside, should you need anything else." His statement was self-explanatory. Then Gaara proceeded to leave the room, presumably to give her some privacy.

"Th-thanks," she murmured, not sure if he'd even hear her.

When the door closed behind Gaara, Sakura was left alone to absorb the bizarre encounter that just took place. In all honesty, she didn't want to analyze the events that had occurred up to this point. Right now, her priority was to be anywhere but here. She hurried off the bed. Finding her sandals nearby, she slipped into them and walked over to the the dresser. She grabbed the white tee. A simple one at that, free of any designs; it looked a size entirely too big too. Not her style, but she'd put it on anyway without any complaints. At least Gaara was thoughtful enough to provide her a change of clothes, she mused.

Once proper, Sakura walked over to the bundle of clothes neglected in the corner of the room. It was a loose mixture of red and brown—so her wig was there too, she cringed. So much for trying not be recognized. There was also another lone article discarded to the side, she noticed. Maroon? She never owned anything maroon... Sakura blanched when she saw stains on the shirt, which she discerned as a stable piece in the wardrobe of a certain redhead. All of a sudden, the fact that Gaara had been "liberal" with her person didn't rattle her as much as her newest discovery: He didn't tell her that he too had fallen victim to the occasion of her "irritation to the stomach"!

The subtle foul smell emitting from the pile was starting to invade her nostrils. Sakura didn't dare to examine them any more closely, for she was sure that she would puke for the second time in the last 24 hours. Consciously channeling her breathing through her mouth, she carefully gathered the clothes into her arms. Standing herself upright, she practiced her breathing exercises and focused her attention on the doorway that connected the bedroom and what she assumed was the living room. Inhaling (but not too hard), she marched onward. It was time for her to clean up her embarrassing act and bow out from the scene with as much grace as possible.

Upon exiting the sleeping quarter, Sakura was not surprised to find Gaara sitting on the couch in the living room of his grand suite.

"Gaara," she began, trying to stay as collected as possible. Just maybe she could do this, she thought.

The redhead looked up from some documents that he was perusing.

Oh, how Sakura wished that she had the ability to kamui her humiliating ass out of his presence right then and there!

"I'm…" she started. "…sosorryaboutyourclohtes. I'llcleanandreturnitassoonaspossible."

Before the man could decipher her alien-like language, Sakura bolted for the door. In a whirlwind, she hightailed out of the room without sparing one single look back, leaving Gaara gaping after her rushed exit for quite some time.

Standing in front of the washer, Sakura feverishly scrubbed the fabrics in her hands. She was quite upset and ashamed of herself. She had no idea where she went right after her outing to the pub, and she didn't know how and what kind of state she was found… One thing was established, however. She would not go near alcohol ever again.

It could not get any more humiliating than this, Sakura thought, to have Gaara, out of all people, personally witness—no, experience such a low point in her life and possibly the biggest embarrassment of her lifetime. She felt sorry for him. In no way was it acceptable to get reacquainted under such circumstance, especially when she'd hardly seen Gaara in the past year or so. The more she dwelt on the event of the previous night, the more she debated the idea of changing her name and moving to another country. Alas, that option would not do, for she still had a family to support.

Sakura held Gaara's shirt up and inspected her work. The stubborn stains were beginning to fade, thankfully. She wished that she could erase her big gaffe the same way she did with those stains. If only she hadn't been so indiscriminate with her drinking, if only she hadn't felt depressed, if only Sarada hadn't reminded her of her disappointing marriage life, if only she hadn't been alone all this time, if only her husband had been home…

Sasuke…

Her grip on the shirt tightened. Her form shook involuntarily. No, what happened wasn't her fault, she seethed. It was his fault.

"Mama!"

"Oh geez!" Sakura jumped at the sudden cry that startled her out of her thoughts. The fabric in her hands dropped to the floor with a wet plop.

A young raven-haired girl came into Sakura's view at once. The child regarded the older woman questionably.

"Sa-Sarada, what are you doing here?"

"I brought lunch from Grandma. What are you doing?"

"Nothing!" Sakura answered a little too quickly for her own liking. She bent down to pick up the shirt. "Why don't you go set up the table for lunch?"

"Okay? You are acting weird again." Sarada raised an eyebrow at her but didn't pursue the subject. She made her way to the kitchen.

Gazing after her daughter's retreating form, Sakura sighed. This really was not how a 33-year-old mother should act.

"I'm sorry, but the Kazekage has already checked out."

Sakura aimlessly stood at the entrance to Konoha's newest hotel that was known to host foreign businessmen and dignitaries. Her goal was to return the garment in her possession to its rightful owner. In her hastened departure earlier that day, Sakura hadn't made efforts to note down his room number. No big deal. She could ask the receptionist to deliver the package on her behalf. Secretly, she preferred it that way anyway, for she wasn't sure if she was thick-skinned enough to face him in person at the moment.

But, mission unaccomplished.

The sweet lady at the front desk had informed her that the Hidden Sand's leader has already left. Gaara must have gone back to Suna, Sakura figured. She peered into the gift bag that she held in her arms. His maroon shirt, immaculate once again, sat neatly folded at the bottom.

Sakura muttered to herself, "I guess next time then…"