(2022/05/08): Hey everyone,

Sorry for the wait for this chapter, school seemingly caught up with me amongst other life-things. Updates will likely be slow for the next while as I sort things out so I will try to post the next chapter by June/July. As this fic nears 100k words, the more it intimidates me to keep writing - but this fic will eventually finish, and the final fic in the series will again see the light of day (haven't updated Red Iron in over 2 years lol). Something I want to bring up: this fic will be discussing things like anxiety and PTSD (things I, unfortunately, am familiar with), so this is a PSA for the chapters yet to come. Before I forget, I also published the absolute FINAL updates for my main fic - and first fic in this series - Sand and Snow, which brings the final word count to over 450k words. Two new chapters were added, but nothing changed canon-wise as they are meant to only flesh out parts of the story. If any of you haven't read SaS yet, I recommend checking that out before reading this story.

As always, thank you for reading and I will be back to update again soon xx

Content advisory: mentions of mental illness, anxiety, PTSD

Chapter 15
Nomasaki IV

"It's warm today,"

A breeze of early summer flowed through Nomasaki's hair as she stepped out from the sheltered shadows of the estate. It was months since she ventured past the safety of the courtyard. The cacti were in bloom of their brilliant colours, and the desert flowers that filled the gardens outside the greenhouse appeared as if a sea of vibrance. The air had a sweet and brisk scent to it, she realized.

It was the heat and the flowers, no doubt.

Spending most days indoors while taking care of her child rendered her mountain-born skin powerless to the intense rays of the desert sun. Already she felt as if she could start to burn, and her bones that ached of winter tensed as if they were melting. It was not an unnatural feeling for her, but it was unsettling. Even as accustomed to Sunagakure as she was over the years, her body was built for the north – not the south. As content as she was in the village with her husband and infant son, she could not wait a moment longer to return to Yamagakure and throw herself into a deep snowbank where she could once again feel the cold grace her skin through every pore that ached of winter. She already sensed her blood beginning to boil, the wolf inside her soul stirring at the thought of changing form for tooth and claw. Memories of the hunt and fresh game flickered past her scattered thoughts, provoking her stomach to grumble.

Soon enough, and I'll be in my homeland again, she reminded herself, I'm the new Ambassador – the new village proxy, Temari-senpai's old post.

She wondered if other lands would care for her work or if she would be dismissed as nepotism the first chance they received her in their halls and estates. Temari, after all, was Gaara's sister and the late Rasa's firstborn child – and was chosen immediately upon Gaara's ascension as Ambassador. She carried out her duties swiftly and with great duty and care, travelling abroad to every allied village and state capital that would have her listen in to council meetings and trade negotiations. Temari's move to Konoha to marry a Nara clansman severed her final bond with the desert village, and she left great shoes to fill in her place. Still, as much as the promotion enthralled Nomasaki to succeed in her loyalty to Suna, it intimidated her. Nomasaki was born to the low birth status of an exiled Suna-nin and foreign clan heiress. She was once the agent of a dissident for much of her short-tenured position as the Kazekage's Assistant. And now, she was Gaara's wife and mother to his son. If other lands dared to complain of their new Ambassador for her lower-class status, they might as well question the blatant monarchism that was at play for the line of Kazekage for generations.

The nepotism had roots far greater than her new position, that was for sure.

She humoured herself by imagining baring her fangs to any who would dare oppose her. I can pretend I'm a sheep all I want. I'm still a wolf in sheep's skin… If any of those dignitaries give me grief, I will show them who I am – noble or not. That should convince them to keep their allies close if anything.

"Did you need an escort today, my lady?" A Suna ANBU approached from behind. "It's a fair walk to the Sand Pits from the estate."

"I'm alright, but thank you." She turned, eyeing them politely. "I can manage the walk alone. I'm no stranger to these roads."

The ANBU bowed their head and retreated to the shadows from which they came.

Gaara had been increasingly paranoid since the birth of their son. She understood the circumstances – the assassin, the difficult birth, and the aftermath that followed. But it seemed as if whenever she even ventured to the gardens or greenhouse, he would send ANBU, or she would sense his Third Eye hovering in the air – to which she gave a troubling look before it vanished somewhere else. Of course, he was simply protective of his new family, but Nomasaki felt it was becoming overkill at times. She was not made of glass if her life had anything to prove.

One night as they put their son to bed, they spoke of the matter.

"I trust you can take care of yourself, but the village isn't as safe as we're led to believe," Gaara said, "I would never forgive myself if something happened to you… You may have foiled that vision from the heiress, but for how long? Tenbu are still lurking in the shadows, waiting to strike… and we're a family now. We have to be cautious at all times. Things have changed for us, for you and me."

She frowned back at him, "Nothing will happen, I promise. Trust me, okay?"

"I trust you… it's Tenbu I don't trust."

"Gaara, please rest."

And so, he rested.

Sensing the ANBU in her periphery that morning, she continued to the Sand Pits and ignored them.

Nomasaki remembered the times she was there. It felt as if ages ago in her memory, the day when she stood clad in her tracker-nin mask and flak jacket and faced off against the new Kazekage in friendly combat. He wanted to test her abilities back then to see if he made the right choice for his Assistant. She broke through his Sand Armour, she remembered – her beastly claws shattering the sand off his cheekbone into a plume of golden grains. He was impressed, judging by the look he gave her when the fighting was done. The last time she was there, she met Shira - Gaara's taijutsu master and friend, and the two had their first friendly spar that did not weigh any of her responsibilities. And the closeness she felt to him that day made her forget her shinobi burdens. In the end of it all, she did not know if it was the right choice for Gaara to give her the position as Assistant, given her spying for Kenzō and the pain she put him through during her turbulent placement. But she proved to him her loyalty over those short three years, and to her, that was worth it in more ways than one.

The road to the Sand Pits stretched out beyond the estate and its lumbering shadow.

Weaving around the vast estate grounds, the road descended into an excavated cavern that brought her down a stairwell lit by the scarce lantern or two. When she reached the bottom, the sun entered through the cracked coliseum ceiling above, beating down on her gold head and her bare arms. Having her old clothes destroyed or worn down over the last year, she dressed herself today in a new outfit she tailored herself. She wore a deep blue sleeveless yukata with white embroidered trim that was slit on both sides and a pair of loose-fitting black pants underneath, which allowed her to move quickly if called for. Short-sleeved mesh armour was under it all, providing her extra protection if needed. It was similar to her favoured old dress she altered over the years but held more 'function', as she would put it. Even from just the scarce rays that entered, she felt the scorching heat of the nearing summer on her exposed skin.

She saw Shijima waiting for her amongst the sandstone pillars of faded reds and golds scattered throughout the decayed arena. Her bodyguard had her hand firmly placed on the katana's hilt on her hip, prepared as she should be. Shijima soon saw her approach under the sunlight, her gaze locking upon her as she grew closer.

"My lady," She greeted with a subtle bow of her head. "You're feeling well enough to train?"

Nomasaki nodded, smiling lightly. "Yes. It's been too long, but I think I'm ready. Sunagakure can't have their new Ambassador unable to protect themselves on the roads." Shijima passed her a blade of her own, and Nomasaki took it obligingly. Running her hand over the smooth steel, she forgot how beautifully crafted a katana was – especially under a bright sun. She felt like a shinobi again. "It feels strange holding a blade again after going so long without," She chuckled. "My father may be one of the best living swordsmen, but I still have a lot to learn."

Shijima flinched, surprised. "Your father is Kyō of the Wind Blade?"

"Yes, he is." Nomasaki nodded fondly. "It's funny to hear people call him that. He's been chieftain for a few years now."

As her bodyguard took her stance, she gave her a cautious air. "…Are you sure you're well enough to spar, my lady? I know it's been nearly three months since the birth, but… -," Her voice trailed.

That was something Nomasaki wondered herself.

It had been a gruelling recovery, but after four weeks, she had her stitches removed and was given the all-clear to return to her shinobi duties whenever she was prepared. But motherhood got in the way, demanding nearly all of her time and energy between nursing, soothing, and monitoring – on top of looking after their home while Gaara returned to work. The handmaidens only did so much, but Meiyumi gave the most help when she was around. She almost felt guilty leaving Kyōkurō in the care of the handmaidens for the morning.

She shook her head. "I feel fine. My wound healed, and I have more energy. However, my reflexes… might be sluggish, so please bear with me."

Shijima nodded. "Very well."

The Hoki woman was the first to strike.

Her chakra danced along the sandstone floor as she swung her blade at her. Nomasaki sensed her chakra's movements, blocking with a firm stance grounded with her heel. She pushed Shijima's blade away with her own and slashed back from a diagonal. But, as swift as the wind itself, the Hoki woman was just as light on her feet as Nomasaki was – dodging the advance by a hair and countering with a horizontal slice.

Nomasaki ducked, crouching to the sandstone.

Sensing an opening in that brief split-second, she kicked Shijima's leg and swung the blade down. The ring of steel piercing stone echoed in the Sand Pits as Shijima leapt up from her fall and backflipped a safe distance away.

"You fight dirty," Shijima scoffed – Nomasaki could hear the amusement in her tone. "That's not a style I'm familiar with. Is it one used by the Suna swordsmen?"

Nomasaki smirked, readying her blade in her stance. "I'm self-taught. I was trained by a beast once, and he taught me to use whatever tools I had at my disposal. Unorthodox is underrated."

"I see," Shijima prepared herself as well. "Then let me test my skills against your unorthodoxy."

With a grin that anticipated the rush of battle, Nomasaki signalled with her free hand for Shijima to approach. At that moment, the Hoki sprinted towards her. Shijima took to the air, katana above her body, and slashed downward. Nomasaki held her stance firm, holding her blade against the attack. Shijima's katana was an inch away from slicing the tip of her nose – the realization exciting Nomasaki from the adrenaline. It was months since she had a good fight – years, even. But never had she fought with such camaraderie. After all, it was training, but they were equally skilled enough to ensure that their strikes would never do great harm as long as the other was keen on their toes to block or evade.

Her strength pulsed in her muscles, her blood near coming to a boil as she pushed Shijima away. But as she did so, the gleam of the blade under the intruding sun blinded her. And then she saw tiny streams of red flow from her fingers.

Nomasaki went cold.

Her fingers trembled as she looked down at her hand as the warm liquid flowed thinly to her wrist. Droplets soon dotted the sandstone below, and her breathing suddenly became difficult. She tried to move, look away, do anything – but her widened eyes remained locked on her hands. The clangour of steel from her katana hitting the sandstone jolted her, and soon the trembles reached her core.

"What is –?! I feel like I can't move…"

Her voice did not sound like her at all – it was frightened and quivering.

Shijima saw, sheathing her weapon and approaching cautiously. "My lady?"

In the fraction of the second when the sun entered her eyes, she saw flashes of the ghosts that haunted her. Blood in the snow, fire crackling in the dead mountain air, and the blades of the men who slaughtered the villagers. The image of Tojiru with a blade through his neck and his mask leaking crimson intruded her vision, followed by the image of Sōhei's throat sliced open and the dark black cave where Koga told her she would die as a sacrifice after he had his way with her. Her body remained frozen, save for the tremors that chilled through her gasping lungs.

Why am I remembering all this now? Why?

She could not think of an answer, and her racing thoughts screamed the images loudly. She remembered the sounds and terrors of war, the flames of the destruction of Yama, and the eerie red jutsu that swam over her whole body and nearly killed her on her birthing bed. The memories clouded her vision like permanent scars, and when she blinked her eyes, they only became stronger. Her heartbeat suddenly thumped harder and rapid in her chest, and it felt as if the very arena was closing in on her. Every breath that passed through her lips seemed to trap itself into her lungs – and to push the air out was like breathing through stone.

And it was at that moment that Nomasaki realized something was dreadfully wrong.

"Nomasaki-sama?" Shijima approached. "What's wrong? Are you alright?"

Falling to her knees, Nomasaki retched up her breakfast onto the shattered stone beneath her. Coughing on her choked breaths, she dug her fingernails into the sandstone and forced herself to open her eyes. Her vision was blurred, and the room was suddenly spinning. It reminded her of when she would drink too much sake, but it was purely unsettling with no warmth of alcohol to calm her. Biting her lip, she pressed her forehead onto the stone and tried not to sob. But the tears flowed through her tightly closed eyes anyways.

She did not react when she felt Shijima's hand place itself on her back – nor when she felt the sudden presence of Gaara's chakra beside her. Nomasaki could not bring herself to face either of them. She was humiliated, frozen, and an utter mess. In only a few short moments, their friendly spar became an ordeal of horror to the kunoichi, who had not seen active duty since her capture in the darkened mines of jade ore. And her blood no longer boiled, but her lips near uttered a whimper of defeat while her fingernails clawed the sandstone in a rising, grieving anger.

"Are you alright?"

His voice provoked nothing. Even as he touched her arm carefully, she kept her face hidden amongst the cascade of gold strands that covered her anguish. She could not bring herself to speak, as she could not provide an answer to it all herself. Even after the fear passed, her body was still in shock.

"What happened?" She heard Gaara ask.

"We were sparing as planned, but… something overcame Nomasaki-sama," Shijima spoke, her voice low. "She collapsed suddenly and began shaking."

"I'll take her to the hospital…"

The feel of an outside force grasping her arm made Nomasaki jolt. Then, she threw her hands over herself in her hysteria and pulled herself away from the comforting hand that attempted to guide her back to her feet. "Don't touch me! Don't -!"

Her hysteria vanished when she opened her eyes, and reality graced her senses. Slowly, the touch left her arm, and a cold feeling entered in its absence. Looking over her and blocking the sun from her view, she soon realized Gaara was only trying to help her. Instead, she saw the confused and worried hurt in his ringed turquoise eyes, twisting like a knife in her chest. She retreated into her ball of pain on the sandstone upon seeing his expression. Her lips moved as she said, "I'm sorry," but no sound except the muffled sobs escaped through her cupped hands.

Gaara placed a hand over her back, rubbing smoothly to soothe her weeping. "Breathe," He said, his voice low and comforting. "You're alright, Nomasaki… You're alright."

"What's wrong with me…?" Nomasaki sniffed, wiping the tears from her reddened eyes with shaking hands. She looked up to him, her violet eyes drained and desperate. "What happened?"

"I don't know," Gaara shook his head, his glance sombre. "But you'll be okay. I promise."

Shijima approached, keeping her distance with an air of caution. "I'll summon the medic-nin."

Gaara turned, nodding. "Thank you, Shijima."

The hospital was as sterile and eerie as Nomasaki remembered.

Memories of her traumatic birth were not far off as she sat in the waiting area, reminding her through intrusive flashes of thought of the assassin who attacked. The shattered window, the sounds of explosions, the feeling of fire coursing through every vein as she fought off the blood-seal – and her brush with death in childbirth. Even the waiting area had visible signs of construction and repair, reminding her that the past was still very much in the present. Grasping her dress' lap tightly, she fought off the memories and nausea as she waited to be called. After they arrived in the urgent care ward, Gaara had to return to his office but said Shijima would be there to escort her home when her appointment was over. She did not want to be alone, but she knew she would still feel the same distress even if he was still there. She just wanted the day to be done.

When it was her turn to be examined, Nomasaki swallowed her trembling and did as the doctor asked. She had to look away as her blood was drawn and flinched as she felt the cold electrodes be placed on her forehead and chest. When the doctor returned, she felt her back tense with worry. The day was only a stark reminder that her mother passed from an illness that cut her life short – what if the same thing was to happen to her, her survivng daughter? All she knew was whatever killed her mother, it also killed her grandparents, whom she never had the grace to meet as they passed when her mother was still a teenager. Perhaps the Yamamori were susceptible to disease – or maybe it was just pure unfortunate luck. Knowing Kyōkurō and Gaara were waiting for her at home broke her inside at the thought. She dug her nails into her lap in anticipation of the worst.

The doctor was one of Meiyumi's supervisors, a soft-faced woman who had an air of patience and bedside compassion. "Nothing about your charts is abnormal, my lady." She began, flipping through her clipboard's papers. "Your bloodwork came back normal, and nothing showed up on the cardiac monitor despite your fluctuating heart rate, but your resting heart rate was normal so I am not concerned."

Nomasaki breathed a sigh of relief. Thank the gods…

Setting the clipboard aside, the doctor folded her hands under her chin and rested her elbows on the narrow desk. Her brown eyes met hers with compassionate understanding. "But I must ask you, and forgive me for asking this… but have you experienced any trauma from the war?"

The word struck Nomasaki, her face blank in bewilderment. "Trauma?"

"Yes," The doctor nodded. "Many shinobi in recent years have been reporting mental distress following the last conflict. Knowing your history with the forces yourself, I felt the need to ask."

That was something Nomasaki had never given much thought.

Since beginning her shinobi training in Sunagakure at thirteen, she was taught to value the mission above all else. Shinobi are never to make their emotions known during a mission – no tears for dead men, comrades or not. And concealing any weakness was absolute. Her life in Yama taught her how to survive in the wilderness and the cold, but it was not a disciplined military like Suna was. Mental distress was no secret if one was a shinobi, but it was seldom spoken of – even amongst those of her generation.

Nomasaki looked down to her lap, her glance sombre. "I… don't know if it has anything to do with that, but I assumed it's just what's to be expected as a shinobi."

The doctor peered at her sympathetically. "Have you experienced anything… disturbing or traumatic recently? Something that may have caused this?" Nomasaki heard the shuffle of papers. "You gave birth three months ago, and I understand here from the charts that it was with great difficulty. Have you experienced anxiety since the birth of your son?"

"Anxiety?" Nomasaki repeated, raising her glance back to the doctor. "I… I'm not sure, but all I know is that I've suddenly been having flashbacks to my village burning and seeing my comrades die… I don't know what's happening."

"And what of these flashbacks – are they memories? Did these things happen to you?"

Nomasaki averted her eyes at first, bit her lip, and nodded. "Yes, they did."

The doctor straightened her back in her chair, meeting her bewildered glance with poise and calm. "My lady, I believe you have developed something called PTSD. Post-traumatic stress disorder, to be frank. Given your harsh shinobi life and recent events, I would like to go out on a limb and say you've been repressing these memories for quite some time. The birth of your son may have pushed your coping skills over the edge of no return, which is why you're dealing with them now so suddenly."

A silent shock flowed down Nomasaki's spine. Her violet eyes went wide, her face aghast. "Are… are you saying that it's all in my head?" She forced herself to speak, the words spitting themselves out through her teeth. Anger rose into her chest, twisting inside as she tried to piece it all together. "There's nothing that can be done for me?"

"Not at all – there are options, but they differ depending on the patient." The doctor said, sensing her anguish. "Usually, we have patients see a therapist, who will administer medications and cognitive therapy to help manage symptoms. But unfortunately, the waitlist is two years long… So even with your high rank, you will have to wait until someone is available." As she wrote on the parchment, the pen's scratching intruded against the burgeoning quiet that claimed the grey, windowless room. "For now, I can prescribe sleep aids – but only herbal since you're currently nursing. I'll see you again in a few months, and we can begin the assessment process."

Nomasaki stared ahead in a shaken daze, not looking the doctor in the eyes. Her eyes were drained, lifeless. Hopelessness clung to her, dragging her down within herself. How could a shinobi be so weak as to shudder at the mere sight of blood? How could she, a mother and kunoichi, be unable to bear her sworn burdens?

She felt empty in that miserable room.

A failure.

Nightfall soon approached.

Just as Gaara told her, Shijima was waiting for her outside the examination room to escort her home. Nomasaki gave Shijima little to no conversation, which Shijima's concealed face did not seem to bother. Much to her relief, the Kazekage was not yet home, and the handmaids were watching over her infant son – allowing her to retreat to the bedroom in secrecy to wallow in her shame. Acknowledging her duties, Shijima remained at her post outside the residence's front door, leaving Nomasaki to have her time alone. Groggily, she pulled off her clothes and walked into her nightrobe, tying the obi loosely around her waist before succumbing to the comfort of her bed. Curled up on her side of the mattress, Nomasaki tried to force herself to sleep – but the tears formed in her eyes anyways. She was angry with herself, the world, and all that wronged her in her short twenty-one years. For the first time in her life since childhood, she thought she finally found peace – only for it to be ripped away so soon and at her own doing.

She wanted to curse herself.

A few hours later, she could sense Gaara's chakra come into her foray. Soon enough, she heard the door open and a fragment of light that intruded danced across her figure on the bed. She could tell it was him, not just by his chakra but by his calm and silent air. At first, he said nothing but slowly closed the door and sat on the edge of the blankets beside her. He lightly placed a tender hand on her waist, grasping her softly in comfort. Respecting her wanted privacy, he did not meet her eyes and kept his gaze to the floor, masked by his messy crimson hair.

"Shijima told me you haven't left the bed since you came home," He finally spoke, his voice low. "What happened at the hospital?"

Hugging herself tightly, she looked away from him and closed her eyes. "Nothing happened… that's the problem…"

Gaara turned. "What do you mean?"

"…I'm suffering from traumatic stress," Nomasaki admitted, her golden strands hiding her face. "The doctor thinks it's from childbirth. I've repressed my emotions and fears for most of my life, but it eventually all became too much… Childbirth was the straw that broke the camel's back, and I can't unsee those painful memories that plague me like nightmares…"

Softly, Gaara's finger touched her cheek. It was rough with sand, but she did not care. Just his touch alone let her know how much he cared for her, even if it was just a graze and not a loving embrace. It was enough to near move her to tears. She choked back a sob that dared to rise in her throat.

She shuddered, holding herself tighter.

"I'm a shinobi. When I saw my fingers bleed, I thought I was losing my mind! I've seen countless killings, villagers torn apart, enemy shinobi slaughtered… yet I take one look at my own bloodied hands against my blade, and I tremble as if I'm a mere child…!" She wept. "How can I serve my village as a kunoichi if I can't even hold a sword without taking a panic attack? I'm an embarrassment as a shinobi of Suna…" When she felt Gaara's hand pet her golden head smoothly, she buried her face into her pillow, allowing a bitter thought to enter. "Perhaps those elders were right back then… Maybe I should give up my duties as Ambassador and be a stay-at-home mother instead…"

"No, that's not you." Gaara shook his head. "You're a shinobi, Nomasaki. You can't erase that part of you… no one can."

Nomasaki sat up, looking down at her lap in helplessness. "How could you know that?"

Gently, he lifted her chin so they could meet each other's faces. When Nomasaki saw his expression, it was firm and proud – she saw it all within his ringed-eyes. "You're Kyōkurō's mother, and since his birth to this world, he's known you as a strong shinobi – and a strong and loving mother." He said, cupping her face in his hands. "You can get through this, and I'll be there to help you every step of the way."

Feeling the tears start to form again, Nomasaki closed her eyes and touched her forehead against his. As she felt her shoulders shudder, Gaara took her in his arms and held her close. She felt as if she stayed there for a long time, despite it being only mere moments. Tears left her eyes, but she did not sob. Instead, she remained quiet, holding him and pressing her hands into his strong back. The warmth of his body soothed her, calming her. Finally, after a long silence, their embrace came to an end. When she was released, she kept her glance averted to her lap so he could not see through the cascade of gold that shielded her unsure expression.

"Gaara…" She said quietly. "I don't know if I can do it. I mean… this is a war against myself, unlike anything we're trained to face as shinobi." She glanced up at him, allowing herself to be vulnerable. "How can I fight against myself and not lose myself in the process?"

He shook his head, a comforting smile on his lips. "You won't." Then, softly, he touched her cheek with a hand coarse with sand and met her tear-stained violet eyes. "You're the strongest person I know, in body and spirit. Even as terrible as this is, you can overcome this… even at its worst. I know you can." His eyes held a pang of past guilt, shown by the frown that replaced his smile. "I overcame my own demons, but… it was no easy feat. It took years of careful practice and undoing a lifetime of fear and manipulation." His expression firmed, with pride evident. "But I had my siblings, my friends, and you, Nomasaki… and I'll be here for you to help you in any way I can as your husband."

"Just when I think life will get easier…" Nomasaki tried to smile, averting her glance. "I'll try my best for you and Kyōkurō."

He smiled down at her softly. "Remember, we're a family. We'll always support each other… no matter what."

"No matter what." She repeated, smiling back as the tears returned to her eyes. "Thank you, Gaara… " With a faint chuckle, she averted her glance and wiped her scarce tears away with her sleeve. "I'm sorry… You know I'm quick to cry."

A presence entered her senses.

Turning towards the door, she instantly knew it was not a threat – but an unexpected visit so late at night. She was not alarmed in the slightest, but Gaara's smile faded from his lips, and his expression grew stern and slate-like. He followed her glance to the closed bedroom door, then back to her.

"We have a visitor?" He asked, his eyes narrowed at the prospect.

"Meiyumi," Nomasaki sighed as she stood from the bed. "She probably knows… I'll put Kyōkurō to bed and dismiss the handmaids. I'll meet you in the living room once he's asleep."

Brushing off the inconvenience, Gaara closed his eyes and pushed himself to stand from the gravitating comfort of their shared bed. Nomasaki could sense the tiredness within his chakra, and the rings around his eyes were thicker as of late. She hoped Meiyumi was not planning to stay long so they could try to sleep before the arrival of midnight.

And she hoped it was for a good reason and not to bring bad news.

But a cynicism won over her judgement, so she held her tongue.

Nomasaki eyed her friend in pure surprise as they sat in the living room. "What did you just say? Can you… repeat that, Meiyumi?"

"I'm leaving the shinobi forces!" Meiyumi beamed, crossing her legs as she sat on the armchair. "I've decided that I want to become a fully licensed doctor at the hospital's obstetrics department, so I've accepted a residency!"

"That's great!" Nomasaki awed, clasping her hands together. "Congratulations!"

"Your hard work paid off," Gaara nodded, smiling lightly in approval. "Congrats, Meiyumi."

Meiyumi snickered. "Thank you! But you see, part of that residency job has a catch… Well, a part-time catch."

Nomasaki rose a brow. "A catch?"

"I'm going to be your nanny from now on!" Meiyumi grinned. A snicker passed her lips as she shied away, masking her smirk with her hand. "You can hardly dress yourself, let alone prepare for your upcoming duties as the new Sunagakure Ambassador! So I'll pick up the slack, take care of your son, and make sure those nosy handmaidens of yours don't go against you and Kazekage-sama's wishes. They did once already, so that gives me enough reason to step in and make sure you're raising your child your way."

Nomasaki did not know what to say.

Tears instantly swelled into her eyes, near preventing her from speaking out of heartfelt gratitude. "You… You would do that? Meiyumi, I don't know what to say -,"

"Say 'thank you'! You need this more than you know, Nomasaki." Meiyumi smiled assuringly. "You don't need to cry about it, this is good news!"

Averting her teary glance, Nomasaki wiped the tears from her flushed cheeks as she felt Gaara place a gentle hand on the small of her back. "Sorry… This just happens."

Meiyumi sighed, crossing her arms against her chest. "I guess I should be used to it by now, being that we've been friends almost a decade." Her soft smile faded, replaced by a curious caution. "But something seems off… are you crying because you're happy for me, or is it something else?"

The room fell silent.

As Gaara's hand stayed behind her in comfort, Nomasaki averted her saddened glance to the lap of her deep blue nightrobe. Shame returned, reminding her of the events that occurred that tumultuous morning of heat, blades, and blood. The terror approached without warning or relief.

"I… -," She forced herself to speak, her low tone breaking the still silence that danced within the room. "I realized today that… I've developed post-traumatic stress. It came out of nowhere, and… I was powerless to it…"

Meiyumi leaned over her crossed legs, hanging her head down in thought. "I'm sorry to hear that." She sighed. "Nomasaki, you've had a life that was not without struggle – more so than the average shinobi can bear. Amongst our generation here in Suna, you were dealt an awful hand. It was just unfortunate luck, really. Almost as bad as being a jinchuriki -," Realizing her words, she turned to Gaara. "No offence."

He shrugged. "None taken."

Meiyumi turned back to her friend, her brown eyes empathetic. "Are you going to try therapy?"

Nomasaki sighed, closing her eyes and taking a sip of tea. "The waitlist is two years long."

"Two years?! That's absurd!" Meiyumi recoiled, near springing from her seat in shock. When Nomasaki looked at her and nodded solemnly, Meiyumi's brown eyes flickered as she pondered to herself. "Well, there's another way that might help you until then. But I don't know how open you'll be to the idea… I've heard about it while working in the mental health ward when I began my medic studies, and it might be something worth looking into."

"What is it?"

"A genjutsu method," Meiyumi answered, meeting their glances. "They say that a skilled genjutsu user can tap into the thoughts of those with repressed and troubling memories and help the patient become exposed – almost like exposure therapy. But only those immensely skilled in genjutsu can execute it for treatment. If not, it could be dangerous and make your anxiety worse." She held her head down slightly, her brown bangs covering her saddened expression. "If Shinto was alive, he could help. He would probably be skilled enough to do it, no doubt. He was 'Shinto of the Mirage', after all."

A dull hurt ached in Nomasaki's chest, reminded of her late friend.

Gaara did not say anything, but he slowly rubbed her back before retreating from touching her. Nomasaki could sense the mention of his name struck him, too. Although she was not present when Shinto died of his wounds by Kenzō, she understood completely that Shinto buried his hatchet with Gaara as he passed. Gaara told her what Shinto said as he lay dying, "Look at us… striking up a friendship as I'm at death's doorstep… Nomasaki would get a kick out of this, for sure… Tell her… for me…" – and he sacrificed himself so that Nomasaki may live and that Gaara could rescue her before the Reverse Sealing ritual could claim her blood and life for Tenbu and their dark plans. The memory of that blackened cave haunted her, but what also haunted her was that she felt responsible for Shinto's death and the pain he endured. She never loved him the way he loved her. She loved him like a blood brother, but never romantic love such as what she felt for Gaara. And it was his love for her that led to his demise, and Nomasaki could never forgive herself for that.

Nomasaki averted her glance, her violet eyes closed halfway and masked by the stray golden strands that fell over her expression. He would be the next one I see in my nightmares. "I see…"

"I can help, my lady."

The voice caught their attention.

Shijima entered as silent as a shadow in the doorway, her face concealed by her dark head wrappings and shinobi garbs. When Nomasaki saw her enter the room, she was surprised by her offer. "Shijima," She spoke. "Are you sure?"

The Hoki nodded. "I do possess a faulty Sharingan, but a Sharingan, nonetheless. Moreover, I have the ability to cast visual genjutsu. Perhaps that might help as exposure like your friend spoke about?"

"That's kind of you to offer, Shijima. But it's beyond your bounds as a bodyguard." Gaara intercepted, keeping a stoic demeanour. "With the Sharingan, it could be difficult for her to distinguish illusion from reality. It might be too much at once for Nomasaki to see those visions again, at least right now."

"What choice do I have?" Nomasaki rebutted, her brow furrowing. "I have to return to my duties soon, and we have to find out if Tenbu is operating right under our noses in our village. They can't be found without my sensory abilities… I know their chakra, their scents, and their clues."

Gaara's glance at her softened. "Nomasaki…"

"If this is the only way to fight my trauma, I'll do it. As much as I despise the Sharingan, I love my family and village more. So I must do this." She turned to her bodyguard, her face stern as she stood from the couch. "Shijima, when can we start?"

Shijima nodded. "As soon as you and Kazekage-sama return from Konohagakure."

"Konoha?" Nomasaki rose a brow, confused. She turned back to her husband. "When?"

"I meant to tell you, but I was asked to meet with the Hokage," Gaara replied, his expression calm. She soon realized his lips were curved into a light smile as she met his face. "I think leaving Suna would serve us well, and you would be able to take your mind off things. We can take Kyōkurō with us, and it would be his first trip away from home."

The thought of their son meeting their Konoha friends warmed her anxious and fractured heart. She gave a gentle smile, nodding back. "I'd like that." She looked to Meiyumi. "What say you? You're our son's nanny, now. What do you think, Meiyumi?"

"Fine by me," Meiyumi smiled. "I'll tag along just in case, and to make sure Kankuro does his job."

And I can ask Sakura and that Uchiha for help, Nomasaki thought.

If using the Sharingan was what she had to do to conquer her demons, she was willing to risk everything – including the discomfort of speaking with the red-eyed man she loathed. But, on the other hand, she had to be strong for herself and her family, no matter the cost. And if the desert gods were good, the Hokage would have news on the assassin who attacked her as she was about to give birth.

Their trip to Konoha was the perfect place to gather the answers she sought.