..
As the night dragged on towards morning and as Sakura began casting glances back towards her bed, he realized what he could do. He led her through the merchant district, all the while keeping track of how much time they had left.
It didn't feel quite real to her. They wandered instead of walking with purpose—slow, drifting, somnambulistic. She watched people shuffle around in the purplish light of pre-dawn—first one, then a few, then more, voices rising to call to each other, to them. Slowly, steadily, the city came to life around them, and Sakura understood why he'd want to be there.
Then the eastern wall was in front of them, and his sand lifted them to where the sentries waited.
"Watch," he said, and leaned his forearms against the worn stone. Curious, Sakura mimicked his posture.
Soon enough, she knew. She'd given him words; he gave her the sunrise.
At first, having not slept much for days and having spent too much time in and around a city, she couldn't figure out what was that far off in the desert. Then the glow grew, centered around a point on the horizon—then cracked, casting red and orange across the dizzying breadth of the sky and desert floor. Then finally, light, quickly growing warm and strong enough that she felt the skin on her face tightening.
"It's wonderful," she whispered. She didn't want her words to carry to anyone else around them; she wanted them to be for him alone.
"Yeah."
He watched her close her eyes and inhale deeply, and wondered if he'd be out of line to touch her as well. Instead he remained still beside her, both of them soaking up the morning's sunlight until the first ninja interrupted them with a list of morning reports.
It'd been enough, though. For the first time since she'd arrived, Sakura walked into Sand's hospital with a genuine smile on her face.
ooo
Kankurou'd heard within hours. The first night, Gaara'd practically snuck Sakura back into her room; this time he'd paraded her down the street in front of Sand's early risers. Speculation had begun to stir—and it was Kankurou's unofficial job to deal with rumor.
He caught up with his little brother in the cotes for the messenger birds, where Gaara's red hair was a bright contrast to the grays and browns of feathers and cages. Gaara had a tendency to feed the raptors from his fingers and let even the largest ones perch on him without a glove—habits that worried anyone who didn't know about his shields.
Gaara's time there functioned as exercises in de-stressing and empathy-building, they both knew—making this minor as far as his strange habits were concerned. But Kankurou wanted to know if Gaara needed the decompression because of Sakura, if the situation was proving unduly problematic.
"I like the birds," Gaara told him. The hawk whose cage he opened had a beak capable of mangling a careless person's hand; Gaara liked it best.
"The sentries said you gave Sakura the walking tour of Sand—around four in the morning. What's up with that?"
"I'm not sure yet." Gaara gave him a condensed description of the past nights' events, trusting his brother's social perceptiveness more than his own. Kankurou felt the weight of that trust; he'd earned every ounce of it and bore it with pride. Every so often his brother would slip and show that he still wore his understanding of humanity like a set of poorly-fitted clothing—but if he did it around Kankurou, Kankurou could guide him back on track.
"Is she talking to you as the Kazekage? Or as a peer with special insight?"
Gaara thought about it for a moment, then said, "Peer."
The hawk he'd been feeding stepped up onto his wrist, its talons gripping. He smiled and fed it another strip of meat.
"You know what people are going to start saying."
Gaara's nose wrinkled with distaste.
"It was bound to happen." Kankurou shrugged. "You don't really spend time with girls—so if you're seen spending time with one, people will start thinking you're together."
"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"
"It's a you thing. Gaara, you shouldn't start something just because you think—"
Gaara was smiling to himself, watching his brother out of the corners of his eyes. Kankurou cut off, then chuckled—Gaara wasn't above rattling him every so often. "You could do a lot worse."
The redhead looked up, perturbed. "You think so?"
Kankurou grinned toothily but didn't answer the question. After all, he was allowed to rattle his little brother as well. "Anything you want me to say out there?"
"Not yet." Not until he'd figured it out himself, Gaara thought.
Kankurou watched him. They'd had political refugees at Sand before—and to the best of his knowledge, Gaara'd only paid them the most cursory of attention. "I haven't seen you act like this before," he said. "What's different here?"
A pause. "I know her, I suppose." Gaara began stroking the hawk carefully with the backs of his knuckles.
Kankurou leaned an elbow against a sink's edge. Gaara's answer had been simple enough, but didn't quite ring true.
"It's that this one's hitting awfully close to home, huh?"
The redhead's expression didn't shift, but the hawk on his arm startled, hissing, its beak open as if to bite. Kankurou watched as it shifted from foot to foot nervously, wings half-spread. Gaara waited, deathly still, until it calmed—then, just as carefully, resumed petting it.
He didn't answer his brother. He didn't have to.