AN: Oh god, where has the time gone? I'm sure so many of you want to strangle me to death. But, I have some bad news, good news, and bad news again. First bad would be that, yes, this chapter isn't significantly long in regards to how much time it took me to update. Good news, I have already written the next chapter! Bad news again, I must make you guys wait a week before I post it. But at least you know it's already written and WILL be publish next Wednesday. Anyway, hope this chapter doesn't disappoint you that much (in length it probably already does) and that I hope you'll come to like it any how.

Thank you ever so much, and enjoy!

Chapter 11: Interview

And so my new life began.

"Holy crap, I'm going to be late!"

It began quite horribly, really.

I had forgotten to set my alarm clock this morning. You can only imagine how startled I was to find daylight flooding through my bedroom window, and a cold pool of saliva sitting in my ear. I rushed my morning routine the moment I kicked off the bed sheets. Breakfast was but an unobtainable need by the time I jumped out of the shower. And I regret ever trying to curl my lashes in my desperate attempt to look slightly more appealing. I swear I almost ripped my eyelids off. The time I spent on my beautifying ritual could have easily made some room in my short time gap to snatch a powdered bread roll and coffee.

I can't even describe how ridiculous I look at this present moment. I'm speed walking through town in a pair of flat heels I bought one-size to big, all the while scratching my head as I try to decipher the encrypted directions to the Kazekage's Residence. I hardly look well, knowing I'm displaying some form of whiplash by how many times I've turned my head around to view which street I'm on. I ignore the multiple pairs of unfamiliar eyes judging my sanity. I'm no stranger to the feeling of being criticized, but my desperation overcomes all sensations of insecurity. I was never a person with incredible fortune, but luckily I find it on my own. Following the fortified walls surrounding the estate, I come upon the entrance to a suspended bridge, which leads to the actual building. I cross it as fast as my flat heels will allow, and almost double over as I finally reach the entrance doorway. As expected, I'm immediately approached by two robust Sand shinobi whom are standing guard, requesting a bag check and necessary pat down. I comply and allow them to do their job. As soon as I'm given permission to enter, I rush into the building and stumble through the open lobby and into the front desk.

"Hi, good morning," I greet the receptionist quickly through my panting breaths. "I'm here to see the Kazekage. I have an appointment for an interview for the available secretary job."

"Right, give me one moment," the receptionist responds rather dryly. I watch as she directs her attention from the newspaper she is currently reading to a clipboard next to her. She flips through it, briefly scanning it before rolling her eyes upwards at me. "You're here early. Your interview doesn't start for another twenty-minutes. Have a seat if you want. I'll call you when you're requested."

Great. Rushed over here like a crazy person for no reason.

"Oh, okay." I slightly shift my head towards the pasty sand walls where a few uncomfortable looking lounge chairs await me. I revert my gaze back to the receptionist; "Actually, since I have time do you mind pointing me to the restroom?"

"It's all the way down the right corridor. The bathroom will be on your left-hand side," the receptionist responds without batting a lash away from her newspaper.

"Thank you," I say, inching away from the desk and hitching a right out of the lobby and into the empty hallway.

I walk down the long corridor and reach its end. I turn to my left and notice just a plain door with no restroom sign. I take a moment to ponder this but quickly brush it off. They probably forgot to put a sign up; I rationalize in my head and confidently enter. As I do, I pause in my steps. My violet eyes blink excessively at the sight of a botanical paradise welcoming me. Part of me is suggesting I silently exit the way I came, while the other is yanking at my interest to take in this rare discovery. The latter of my thoughts wins, and I assure myself that I have a few minutes to spare. I'll just use the bathroom after my interview.

I take attentive steps forward, gazing at the walls and ceiling practically covered with various species of potted cacti. In the middle of the fluorescent-lit room is a table concealed in what I believe to be different types of desert flowers. I bend over to read the labels printed on a few pots.

"Sand Verbenas…Desert Lupine…Mammillaria, I've never heard of any of these before," I whisper to myself. I continue to make my way around the table, stopping at one specific pot of a blossoming white and purple gradient flower. My mouth forms a circle, rather captivated by the design and folding of the petals. I can't help but lean closer, allowing my fingers to hover just above the plant.

"I wouldn't touch that so carelessly."

A high-pitched squeal erupts from my mouth, and my posture straightens instantly. My breaths are short and gaze wide, staring across the table towards a figure standing on the opposite end. My chest is still rising and sinking at an uncontrollable pace. I take my moment of shock as a chance to assess the stranger. From a physical standpoint, he's of average height and build, wearing a dirty garden apron and protective gloves. I speculate he's not the normal Sand shinobi one would expect to find lurking around this establishment.

I try to swallow this air of intimidation emanating from his invasive seagreen eyes. The fact that he even lacks any proof of visible eyebrows is a bit uncomfortable.

"Sorry, I was just –"

"It's called Datura, also known as the Moonflower," the stranger cuts off my apology, his tone low and pitch leveled. "Attractive as it may be, its petals secret a toxic substance. Although it has no effect on direct skin it's deadly if consumed, causing hallucinations and violent heart palpitations…I would suggest keeping your hands to yourself for your personal safety."

"You seem to know a lot," I respond, curling my lips into an amused smile. "Who are you supposed to be anyway? The Kazekage's gardener or something?"

My remark was meant to be a simple joke, but it came out a bit off-handed as I reevaluate my words and delivery. My company does not seem to recognize the humor either, his lips remaining perfectly firm against his pale face.

Way to treat a prefect stranger, Sho.

"I suppose you could say that," he remarks in his continuously even tone, picking up a lone spray bottle from the table. My presence is briefly forgotten as he focuses on one specific flower and sprays water on its leaves. His chin shifts marginally in my direction, "If you're not going to leave…then answer this question: who are you supposed to be?"

And so the tables have turned.

"That's easy, I'm…well…I am…." Holy crap. It's that one question that you usually get in an interview that completely attacks who you are as a person. The question is so brutal, it forces every perspective of mine to look at what I've done all my life to prepare me to be the individual that I am now. Where do I even start? Who am I supposed to be?

I honestly don't know, but that's no excuse not to answer the question.

"I'm… possibly a complete mess," I exhale. Since I'm with a stranger and not my future employer, I decide to be honest before I have to put on a grand show for my interviewer. "I may be considered an adult, and a professional, but I think I'm such a kid at times. I don't know how to deal with things as an adult, especially when it comes to relationships. I wish for unrealistic love and easy fixes, but expect the worst out of everything. And even when I do get what I expect, I'm disappointed, frustrated, and upset. Yet, I shouldn't be because that's what I knew was going to happen. I thought I would have it all together by now, but I just don't…that's why I'm here now."

"Not that I don't want to be here," I quickly add, waving my hands timidly in front of me. "I'm very happy to be here, especially since my roommate made such an effort to make this all happen. I guess I'm just hoping to finally progress, even if it's a little, which may happen here. I have a good feeling I will."

I finish my ludicrous speech and expect my company to leave the room out of sheer offense. Counter to my expectations, the young man in front of me keeps his unyielding stare, and I contemplate if he has blinked at all during my monologue. His eyes close, and I notice a heavy black pigment shadowing his lids, as if he lacked years of sleep.

"Interesting," are his initial words. He reopens his eyes slowly, and I'm quite astonished to see a ghost of a smirk tempting his lips. "So this is who you are…Yamada Sho."

I take a confused step back, "Wait, how do you know my name? I don't remember telling you."

He doesn't respond immediately, and merely side steps my speculations, "Stay any longer, and I believe you will be late for your interview."

"Oh my god, you're right! I almost forgot, jeez." I rush towards the door, and turn my head over my shoulder. "Thank you for reminding me by the way. Um, mind telling me your name? I feel rude for not asking before."

"You will find out soon enough," is all that escapes his mouth as escorts me further into the hallway, shutting the door firmly behind me.

Curiosity urges my eyebrows high into my forehead. I then remind myself of my interview and dismiss any questions about it. With much haste I return to the front desk and speak with the receptionist once more. She gazes at me with not much care in the world, and with hardly any urgency, calls for someone to escort me to the Kazekage's Office. I wait at the front desk until a distinguished Sand shinobi approaches and commands me to follow him. I do so, keeping close as to not loose myself in the labyrinth of the building. We come to stop at two wholesome wooden doors, significantly larger than any of the others we have passed. He opens one and ushers me in, but the shinobi does not enter himself.

"The Kazekage will be here shortly," he informs me gruffly, wearing a villainous face. "Take a seat in one of the lounge chairs, and refrain from touching anything – or else."

Without my acknowledgement of his words he abruptly slams the door, abandoning me in silence. I wonder to myself if I'm just being a prude, or there is an evident lack of curtsey in Sunakagure's hospitality. So far, my observations are bringing confidence to my assumptions. I try not to reside in these thoughts for long, since I must remain positive for my interview.

I take a seat onto the stiff upholstery of one of the lounge chairs directly facing the Kazekage's desk. I force my legs to cross one another, and pull at the hem of my skirt in preparation. As I wait alone, I flick my gaze around the office, taking notice of a few decorative plants, a bookcase, and a tasteless brown mantel covering the desk. The décor is simply depressing, and that's putting it in simple terms. My internal bidding is soon cast aside as one of the office doors opens and footsteps casually enter. I hastily fold my hands upon my knees, flicking a few strands of hair invading my face. I remain perfectly still, awaiting the Kazekage to enter my view so that I may greet him properly.

"You were able to make it in time," a familiar voice instigates, electrifying all the hairs on the surface of my skin. "That's good. Let's hope you don't run into more distractions that may cause tardiness in the future."

Oh no.

The saliva that was sitting inside my mouth dries instantaneously. The Kazekage, dressed in his shimmering ivory robes, steps into my line of vision, and there is no possible way to swallow the large ball of humiliation wedged in the back of my throat. I press my lips tightly together, taming any form of acid reflux from escaping me. I watch with pure and indescribable horror as he takes a seat at his desk, placing a cup of tea and a manila folder right on top. With such poise he takes a taste of his aromatic beverage and opens the folder to view its contents, which I know for a fact consists of all my personal information. The feeling of nervousness would be an understatement at this very moment, and I can best describe my emotional position as a highly stacked house of cards ready to fall helplessly onto the floor.

There is a pause in his readings, and his invasive light eyes lift from the files to catch mine. I stiffen immediately, but I force myself to act. I frantically place myself on my feet, and bow so far that the muscles in my calves tremble from the unanticipated stretch. "It's an honor to make your acquaintance, Kazakage-sama," I say, with an utterly tangible quiver. "I'm Yamada Sho and it's a pleasure to be given this opportunity."

"Addressing me now with formalities? Please," he extends a refined hand, gesturing me to the chair behind me. "Take a seat. Since we've already passed our point of introductions, I would like to start this interview by asking a few questions."

"Of course," I say weakly, sitting myself down. I am actually relieved to do so, knowing that my legs were ultimately going to collapse underneath me.

"I have already looked through your credentials, and from our first meeting not to long ago – which I'm sure you remember – you explained your character to me in interesting detail." I want to slip myself out of the chair and ravish the floor in disgrace, but I withhold from the motion. He sips on his tea once more before carrying on; "I would like for you tell me something that's not described in your resumé. Something that I don't already know."

"Yes, of course. Let's see," my heart is knocking against my chest, but I try to control it as best as I can. "I was born and raised in Konohagakure. My mother is in the sales business and my father was part of the Konoha Interrogations Force. Unfortunately, my father passed away when I was about five-years old, due to health complications. My mother and I struggled for a little while, but she worked hard to climb the professional ladder, and I took up a few part-time jobs when I was old enough."

The Kazekage's attention moves momentarily down at a lone piece of paper on his desk. Taking up a pen he begins scribbling on it. He nods his head in a display of approval, "Tell me more about those part time jobs."

"They were barely minimum wage, since I was so young. The first job I ever had was taking care of our neighbor's children; I was twelve at the time, and I think they were about four and six. A year after that, I had also taken up a part-time job of walking a few neighborhood dogs after school." I pause momentarily, catching my employer's indefinable expression. The sounds of his endless writing persuade me to keep going; "When I finally turned sixteen I was able to get a job at a bookstore. This is also while I was starting to take my upper division courses in writing and education. And I stayed with that job until I was able to get my internship at a local primary school, which I was later hired to teach at full-time."

"Mm," the sound reverberates in his throat, signaling to me that he is paying close attention. His hand eases the pressure on the pen against the paper, and regards me with another glimpse of his sea green eyes. "This will be the final question: if you could choose to be any color in this world, which one would you be, and explain why."

What an odd question. Out off all the interviews I have been in, this question begs the most peculiar response. I pause momentarily, gathering all the colors I'm aware of and decipher the possible symbolism and greater meaning of each one.

"I would be…white," I say, coming to an irreversible conclusion. "I believe white to be simple, which others tend to judge about it quite often. Some people think it's a color that doesn't show much, especially on paper. What they don't realize is that white is more of an amplifying color. Like a white canvas, it is plain and insignificant, but without it how can the other colors show? Or what about the white reflection in someone's eyes? Without it, wouldn't they not be alive?"

"I would like to think that I'm this color," I say, casually straightening my shoulders. "I may not be much to look at or make much of an impression at first, but I want to strive to be someone who can 'amplify' others, bring out their colors, so to speak. That's why I chose teaching as my career, because I want students to realize that they have something amazing to offer. And I'm willing to be that person, that canvas, to show them it's there."

I finish my response, and I come to notice that the Kazekage has rested his chin on top of his laced palms. His eyelids, closed and shaded, reflect an intense contemplation. Such contemplation tempts the idea that he has effortlessly fallen asleep. The suggestion is scattered as he reopens his eyes and lowers his palms.

"That will do for the interview," he says, stringing a few papers together and placing them inside the manila folder. Briefly, he opens a desk drawer and pulls out a layered packet of sorts. Standing, his robes fall seamlessly around his figure, and ripple as he walks towards me. I blink excessively as he extends the packet for me to take, with an indistinct amusement embedded in the upwards tilt of his lips, "This is for you. Read it before your first day tomorrow morning. Your employment this week will be mostly training, and you will be entrusted to someone who will help you familiarize yourself with the work involved. You will also receive a tour of the building; I'll need you to know where every resource is in order to rely on you fully."

I feel as though my hands are shaking as I take the packet he is offering. I quickly rise to my feet, wholly taking him into my sights, and insist on speaking words of gratitude, "Kazekage-sama—"

"Gaara," he remarks casually. "You may call me by my name, if you choose to, I won't think anything less of it."

"Gaara…sama," I wince shyly as his first name graces my tongue. I can't imagine myself speaking so informally to him, and God forbid if I exclude the honorific he is entitled to. I push aside my reservations and smile graciously up at him, "Thank you so much. I promise to work hard everyday. Yoroshiku onegai shimasu!" I bow my head.

"Ah," he responds hesitantly to my polite zeal. "Yoroshiku…onegai shimasu."

Little more is said after that as the entrance door is involuntary opened, revealing an exhausted Sand shinobi and a small boy.

"Uncle!" the little boy cries, dashing into the office and grasping the Kazekage's robes in his tiny fingers. Tears welling in puddles glisten inside of his large brown eyes, and he buries his flushed face into the precious fabric. "I don't wanna' go. I don't wanna'!"

"I apologize, Kazekage-sama," the Sand shinobi stammers, fumbling for an excuse. "I tried to take him, but he insisted –"

Gaara raises a silencing palm into the air, as if dismissing the shinobi's existence entirely. His attention is fixated on the young child staining his robes in violent tears, and bends down to take his small arms in a compromising hold.

"Yorú," the Kazekage's begins evenly. "You need to go to day care. The office is not a place for a child to run and play, understand?"

"But, I don't wanna'," the child chokes on his wails, trembling with anxiety. "I jus' wanna' be with you."

"As much as I would like to be with you as well, you know I'm unable to spare anytime in the day. Your uncle has a lot of people depending on him to do his job, to keep them safe. You don't want anyone to get hurt, do you?" He explains, with a radiating softness sewn into his delicate words.

"No," the young boy sniffs, wiping away the tears trailing down his pink cheeks.

"I'm glad you understand," the Kazekage smiles completely, and it's the first time since meeting him that he's done so. It feels like a rare sight to behold, so I keep my eyes open a little longer, savoring the image. "Once you return from day care, I will see you, because I will have something important to discuss with you." His stare temporarily brushes over me before returning back to his nephew. "You think you could do all of this for me? I would greatly appreciate it."

"Uh-huh," the child answers, swallowing his broken breaths. With a profoundly gentle hand, Gaara escorts him back to the Sand shinobi standing apprehensively by the entrance doorway.

"Make sure he gets to the care center safely," Gaara says with a natural commanding air. The shinobi bows his head with a 'Yes, Kazekage-sama!' and pulls the child out through the door.

Stillness settles, and Gaara turns to face me, "That was my nephew, if you hadn't already placed the pieces together."

"I had a feeling," I admit.

"He's not biologically related to me in anyway," he adds shortly. "However, unforeseen turn of events led for this child to become part of my life, all of which concern my older brother. I rather not go into detail as of yet, but you'll come to know later. For now, you may know that my nephew is part of the reason why you're here in the first place."

"I see," I remark, pinching my chin in thought. "I don't suppose that I'll be tutoring him, since that's what was described in the job statement I was given."

"You would be correct," he responds, settling himself back to his desk. "During the morning you will be doing clerical work for me, and by the late afternoon, you will be teaching my nephew to prepare him for primary school."

"I'll do my best, Gaara-sama," I add, pressing the packet he gave me closer to my chest. I have never taught children under the ages of eight, but it wouldn't hurt to start trying. The more opportunities to gain experience, the better. "Please leave it to me."

"I will," the Kazekage remarks, bearing that incomplete smile that I have him noted to be infamously for. "You may leave now."

"Have a good day, Gaara-sama," I bow my head respectfully.

"Likewise."

We conclude our final exchanges and I return home from the Kazekage's Residence confident and full of overwhelming gratitude. I take a heavenly bubble bath for a job well done and make the most delicious lunch I have ever created. With a splendid cup of coffee at my side, I sit at the low coffee table, listening to the senseless dialogue of the TV, and staring dreamily at the images portraying the exciting days to come.