A/N: At long last, chapter 7 appears (revamped with an error corrected - thanks MKRA). It took forever, and here's why: I don't like this chapter very much. I revamped it countless times before finally deciding that there was just no help for it. Unfortunately, this one's more or less necessary to get me to the next chapter, which I like a lot more. So pay attention to the plot developement/set-up, and fear not, for chapter 8 will be much swifter in arriving than this pokey thing. Final note, Misawa is pronounced Mee-sow-ah.

"...but, I've already perfected my peeking technique."
-a young Jiraya

Chapter 7
Ambush

In the desert, life was difficult in ways that Sakura had previously never considered. Water was a constant sore point; she missed the days when she could just step into the shower whenever she felt like it, and stay there for as long as she liked. Here, water was rationed and shower times were designated by the Kazekage's staff. As a high-ranking ambassador shinobi, Sakura had a relatively privileged schedule worked out. Nonetheless, it wasn't like Konoha.

What she wouldn't give to be in Konoha.

But she wasn't, and there was no use in fretting about it. Instead, she turned her attention on the world around her, and fiercely blocked the homesickness. Days turned into weeks. Sand shinobi came and went at random intervals. The only ones she bothered with were Kenji, Temari, and Gaara. She spent much of her days with Kenji, wandering the streets, aiding in the cleanup, joking with each other. Hair was a major source of amusement between them, his for being so finicky neat, hers for being, well, pink. "And yet still lovely," he often told her anxiously, if he thought she might be taking his teasing seriously.

Temari had visited Konoha enough that Sakura felt a vague sense of comfortable familiarity around the blonde, and she had a wry sense of humor that helped Sakura put her gloom aside. The Sand ninja was as often as gone as she was present, though, so Sakura stopped looking for her and simply waited until she appeared in the Kazekage's office building. Even Gaara vanished from time to time, although where he went, she didn't bother to consider. She wasn't here to glean the secrets of the inner workings of the Hidden Sand village, and considering the restless state of the country right now, it would be suspicious and dangerous for her to try. No, she was merely a victim of bad timing, and as such all she could do was lie low and hope they'd clean up their mess soon.

In the meantime, she practiced her chakra control. Tsunade had taught her to gather and store chakra in certain points in her body like her fists or feet, chakra that she could then release into a devastating blow. Unfortunately, storing chakra like that for more than a few days was somewhat beyond Sakura's level of control so far. The Rejuvenation Technique, Tsunade's incredible Genesis of Rebirth, required her to hold onto large amounts of chakra focused on one point in the body for months, even years. Sakura practiced trying to maintain that kind of power in her forehead like Tsunade, but after a day or sometimes two it would become painful, and she would have to do a series of chakra-wasting jutsu just to ease the pressure.

From time to time when Kenji was off attending his chunin duties, she volunteered at the hospital. It was good practice, anyway. Especially for her cooling techniques, her sunburn and sandburn jutsu. The children here got hurt far more often than she recalled happening in Konoha – but then, here they were encouraged to fight amongst each other in school. It was considered good practice. So she mended everything from broken bones to burned-out chakra systems, and at night she sat on the roof and talked to Gaara.

And she tried not to contemplate the odd disappointment she felt on those rare occasions when he did not come.

His servant sits patiently behind him, as he considers his fingernails. Eventually, he drops his hand, and nods to her.

"Almost every night," his servant reports obediently, knowing what he wants to hear. "Not necessarily at the same time – they seem to enjoy keeping each other guessing."

"What do they do?" Her master asks, as if this is the most boring thing in the world and he couldn't care less. His servant understands that to mean that he is very interested indeed.

"They talk, that's all. Although sometimes she touches him."

Her master snaps around. His servant does not look up, but she can see his feet shift in the sand before her. He is pacing, something he has not done since she has been his servant. She wonders if it means punishment for her. "She ... and he allows...?"

"Yes."

He is silent, feet coming to a standstill. "I see." Another pause, and then suddenly he puts a finger under her chin, lifting it until frightened blue eyes meet the dark glare of her master. "It is almost time for your role in this game." He tells her, examining her young, blank face with a casual sort of interest. "You should be honored, to be the key ingredient to the downfall of such a prominent and powerful man."

She says nothing, afraid to move, and he drops her chin with a careless jerk, no longer interested. Her eyes go back to the sand at his feet automatically, only flinching when he shoves a scroll at her. Quietly, he tells her what to do with it.

She listens, and bows her head, and goes to carry out his bidding.

Temari showed up in her room that morning, a glower worthy of her youngest brother firmly in place. Sakura woke instantly as a shinobi was trained to do. Even so, she still couldn't quite grasp why the Sand ninja was standing there looking like she was about to start bashing a few buildings down with that fan of hers. "Get dressed," Temari ordered her. "Come with me."

Sakura followed the fan-wielder down the street, lengthening her stride to keep up with the blonde's long legs. Damned if she makes me trot along at her heels. They arrived at length in a crumpled little shop that had been only haphazardly repaired after the attack at the ceremony. Inside, a little old woman hunched over her beadwork, humming to herself.

"You are to take this woman to the village of Misawa," Temari said curtly, obviously not pleased with the situation. "It should take three hours, round trip. You are to go to the village gate, leave her there, and return immediately to the report to me at the Kazekage's office."

Sakura gaped at her. "Just me?"

Temari's frowned deepened, if that was possible. "Yes." And without further ado, she turned sharply on her heel and stomped out.

What was under her skin? Probably didn't like letting Sakura wander around the Wind Country when outsider ninjas were wreaking all kinds of hell in the capital cities and villages. But then, Sakura mused as she helped the old lady up and slung some of the beadwork over her shoulder helpfully, I guess that's why they need my help. With all their own shinobi stretched to the limit trying to hunt down the insurgents, who among them had time for the smaller jobs, the D and C ranked missions, except for her? All she did all day was hang out around the village with a chunin during the day and monopolize their Kazekage at night.

Although to be perfectly fair, it wasn't like she actively sought him out. When they met, it was just as much of his choice as it was hers. He maintained that she was simply an interesting change from his normal routine, but the excuse seemed to weaken as the meetings became so regular, so habitual. She still felt the spikes of fear or nervousness, but those were gradually weakening, too. And it had started to occur to her that the random crude remarks or the silent scorn were simply his backup reactions for situations he didn't know how to deal with any other way.

Familiarity, she thought, and grinned to herself. Even Gaara prefers to hide within his comfort zone. It's just that the things that he's comfortable with tend to give other people nightmares.

The little old lady didn't talk as they strolled at her sedate pace through the streets of the village, nor did she say anything once they passed through the narrow path out of the village and walked along the sand-blown road that supposedly led to the other village an hour and a half away. Sakura regarded the route doubtfully – it was so flat, anything within miles ought to be visible from here. She pondered the problem for about twenty minutes before remembering her own initial crossing of the desert, and how the dunes always seemed lower and flatter than they tended to be. Illusions, she thought grumpily, pulling the sun hood Kenji had given her a few days before up over her pink hair. This place is all about illusions and things not actually being what they seem to be.

Oh.

Sakura slammed to a halt. Oh, no.

The little old lady turned to look back at her impatiently. No, she was looking beyond Sakura, muttering crankily, "Well, it's about time, I'm all but cooked to my bones in this heat."

Sakura didn't look behind her, didn't pause to fully consider the trap into which she had so easily fallen. She dropped the lady's bag and slammed her elbow back, feeling it glance off flesh. Her attacker grunted – male, about a foot taller than her, thick-chested – and swiped at her with something metal even as he moved to avoid the full force of her blow. But Sakura was already down, swinging her leg around to knock the feet from under her attacker. Around to the left, another man in desert attire lunged out from where he had been lying under the sand, grasping for her ankle. Sakura evaded him, vaulting over the first enemy's head and landing behind him. She needed distance, needed to move away and try a few genjutsu or ninjutsu. She started to form a series of hand-seals, finishing just as her feet landed in the sand -

A third enemy reared out of the desert like some huge demented cobra, teeth bared and a spike-studded chigiriki lashing at her face. She ducked, but felt the tiny blades buried in the chain of the mace scored her hand as she held it up to guard her eyes. Damn! It was just enough pain to break her concentration and spoil the genjutsu that she'd been working. She was outnumbered, and certainly outclassed in the weapon department.

But not done yet. With a perfectly executed quick kick combo that would have brought proud tears to Lee's eyes (he'd spent three weeks teaching it to her), Sakura managed to get in close enough to the mace wielder to slam a fist into his face.

The man went flying back with a very satisfying crunching noise and a hefty spurt of blood, skidding hard across the sand for several feet. But she had no time to watch him land, because the other two were on her from both sides, the big one with his strange black sword and the other lobbing kunai in droves. She twisted, she ducked, she kicked, and she got in another blow that definitely shattered her larger opponent's left leg into half a dozen fractured segments. He wouldn't be using that leg soon – if ever. Sword-boy went down hard onto his good knee with a scream, and Sakura turned her immediate attention to keeping the third enemy from burying a kunai in her eyeball. The man was about her height, but much more solidly built, and his strength was almost but not quite as good as hers. She hit him hard with a disorientation technique designed to stir up the fluids in his inner ear. He toppled off of her, vomiting as the dizziness swept over him. Sakura dodged back, clenching her fist for the knock-out blow to his neck -

and cried out as she felt a searing heat in her back. The sword bearing ninja, she realized, twisting desperately to flip up and out from between them. He's behind me. The kunai wielder had pushed her back until she was within reach of that damn sword. She tried to assess the damage of the cut on her back, but no time, they were closing in on her again.

Kunai flew at her face, her heart, her guts, and she tried to back flip away but knew with a sinking certainty that the blood was rushing out of her body too fast for this to go on much longer. She tried to slam the ground, break it out from under them and maybe tangle their feet in the rubble. But the damn sand was just too yielding – all it did was spurt upwards in a great wave that came crashing back down on their heads. But even the back-surge of sand wasn't hard enough to do any real damage except get in their eyes and into the cut on her back, momentarily distracting her with the sting.

She shoved the pain away, struggling to her feet and trying to see where they would come from next. In front of her, the hunched shape of the sword ninja formed through the last of the falling sand, his pain-wild eyes staring at her in horror.

Or rather, beyond her.