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Sakura giggled when she hugged him hello that night; Gaara took it to mean she liked her gift. They wandered yet again, maintaining physical distance out of twinned respect and caution, saying what they could with looks and smiles.

The ever-present wind picked up, pushing at them instead of cavorting around them, driving sand against their exposed skin with hundreds of tiny prickles until he shielded them out of annoyance. They climbed to the highest level of the tallest building in Sand to escape its pique; they lay on the wall's edge, close enough to feel each other's warmth, and counted meteors in the clear night sky.

She told him about the medics' interest; he told her about Sand's residents showing their general approval. Both agreed that other people were strange.

He didn't tell her how he'd asked Kankurou how to seduce a girl, only to have his brother completely shoot him down. Kankurou'd reminded him that Sakura basically left Leaf to avoid sex—and that sex was probably the last thing she actually needed from him.

Hesitantly, Sakura told Gaara her least noble thoughts on the entire matter: that she was sick of worrying, of trying to make the right choice, of concern about people's reactions or the consequences of any choice she could make. She just wanted all of it to go away.

She worried he'd see her as weak. He saw the hint of an opening, the beginning of a chance to take her permanently under his wing. So he told her he couldn't fault her—that if he knew how to make this nightmare disappear so they could just have the peace and calm of each other's company, he'd do so in a heartbeat.

Sakura'd known he supported her, but to hear it, to know this was weighing on him as well . . . "I'm glad you understand," she managed. But to her, the scope of the words wasn't enough. She wanted to hug him again but was afraid it'd be too much, too fast. The morning would come soon enough—she would have her time then.

Later, at her door, she held on longer than he expected. Having had yet another night's chill softened by her company, Gaara let himself relax with the embrace. Perhaps, he felt, he was warming more than his hands against her body; he told himself the sentiment was silly but liked it anyway. His palms fit against the narrowest point of her waist so he could feel her ribs move as she breathed. This part, he decided, was something he could get used to.

But he still worried.

Kankurou'd told him not to rush things, that he was doing just fine—but Kankurou didn't have Leaf breathing down his neck over when (or if) Sakura would be returned. Tsunade may have reached out, wanting an update, but the arrival of the Kazekage's reply left her wondering if she would've been better off leaving him to his own devices.

A good medic is an extremely valuable asset, and your student is a very good medic. I'm beginning to believe she appreciates the comfort and safety Sand can offer—perhaps more so than promises made by those who can't put words to their true intentions. She seems relieved that all I ask is for her to work. I commend you for your training but, with respect to the wishes of those who ask for her return, I still believe she would be best suited to remain here.

But those who wanted to hasten Sakura's marriage were at her door at all hours, their expressions hardening more and more as she told them once again that Sakura's mission hadn't yet ended. And Sasuke was starting to ask questions she wasn't ready to answer but couldn't bring herself to lie about. She couldn't impede the coming confrontation for much longer.

The two leaders spent the rest of the day playing a very slow game of tag, wasting time on rooftops, waiting on their winged messengers.

The Hokage's message said there were many whose plans for Leaf's future hinged on Sakura's return, that for them it was a matter of necessity. She implied the pressure Leaf's elders were beginning to bring to bear, hoping Gaara would read it as yet another reason to hold his ground.

He suggested Tsunade send Shizune, as her more experienced student, in the place of whatever Leaf wanted Sakura to do.

Shizune read the scroll, spit on the tiles under their feet, and marched away from Tsunade without a word.

Tsunade's response was an icily polite refusal, stating that she considered both kunoichi important enough to preclude their use as simple political pawns. Gaara read her wording as: I won't put either of my students through that.

If Tsunade were serious about Sakura's future in Leaf, he wrote, then perhaps she should confer with those others who wished to have a hand in that future. Go on, tell them.

She expressed doubt they'd understand or respond as thoughtfully. You probably don't want me to do that.

He suggested she simply didn't want to deal with them herself. But it was all right, he wrote—after all, she was getting older as well. If time and distance and his own responsibilities were not a factor, he would be more than happy to deal with them for her.

Tsunade read the letter a few times, dissecting every verbal slap (You can't do your job. Are you, the Hokage, afraid of conflict? Are you too old to do your job? Do I have to do your job for you?), and considered how she'd placed herself squarely between a bee's nest and a huge, angry hornet.

But if they wanted to sting each other instead of her . . .

She sat alone on the rooftop's ledge, rolling the scroll between her fingers, and knew that things would only get uglier before they could get better.