ooo
Gaara wasn't sure if theirs was the calm before the storm, or at the eye of it.
When Sakura arrived for their walk later that night, he told her about the afternoon's correspondence—then regretted it as she went silent, staring into space, her expression that of a person preparing to face their execution.
"You shouldn't have to do this," she said.
"I made the choice to," he told her.
"But if Leaf ends up trying to start a war," she said, "or even just tries to kidnap me to get me back—"
"It won't come to that."
"Are you sure?"
"I'll make sure."
He wondered if Naruto and Lee would stand against him if he invaded Leaf in search of those who'd wish Sakura into Sasuke's arms with such haste. He wondered if, upon hearing his reasons, they'd fight at his side.
Special-abilitied bloodlines were terribly expensive and time-consuming to create from nothing. Building one from the blood and tissue and body of a captured shinobi could still take years. The most time- and cost-effective method at hand was still to acquire heirs. In that respect, Gaara could understand Leaf's encouraging the last Uchiha to procreate, in the same way he'd understood why his father'd attempted to circumvent the entire process: trying to pass his own strength to his heirs as quickly as possible, training his children relentlessly from the time they were old enough to hold a weapon and, in the case of his youngest, murdering one person in hopes of strengthening another. But just because Gaara understood didn't mean he agreed with any of their methods.
Sakura watched him, her worry visibly unabated, and he stepped forward to meet her. Here, in his quarters, there would be no one to see if he touched her again, if he embraced her and stroked her hair in a way he hoped was comforting.
"I'm sick of being scared," she grumbled into his shoulder.
"Good."
He thought the words—And if you stay here, you won't have to be—but didn't say them out loud.
They stayed in for a little while that night, sitting spine to spine, shoulders together, as he talked her through a few of the meditation techniques that helped keep him alert and healthy. Then it was back to the street, walking just a little closer than before, smiling just a little as their knuckles brushed each other's. Their relationship wasn't anything like what Sakura'd expected it to be; it wasn't fighting or stress or some dramatic rushing sweep of emotions. Instead it steadily and stealthily built upon itself, something as natural and intrinsic to human nature as hope. It was that she had a friend, a close friend, and she just happened to wish he'd stop walking and kiss her.
But she was afraid to push, and Gaara, mindful of Kankurou's advice, didn't want to step out of line.
They ended up talking about children, of all things. She might want some, at some point—but she had plenty of time and would prefer her life settled down a little first. In response, Gaara told her how he'd considered taking in some of Sand's orphans. It'd be an echo of Iruka taking care of Naruto; it'd be a move to save others from the mind-breaking loneliness the redhead had endured. If Gaara could take care of just a few, if he could help just a little, then who knew how many lives he could save?
But this idea would require patience, and he wasn't sure how much more of that he had to spare.
ooo
Leaf's elders finally convened to speak with the Hokage. Tsunade looked over their faces, their tense shoulders and set jaws, and knew the bees' nest had begun to move—and that it was time for her to step out of its way.
They needed to know when Haruno Sakura would return.
Tsunade took a deep breath. "The Kazekage has expressed interest in retaining her services. Indefinitely."
The hum of the bees in front of her changed to an angry buzz. But every day was a delay, they called; every hour past was another span of time past where the Uchiha might go rogue again or where someone might make an attempt on his life.
"The Kazekage knows," she said. "But that hasn't changed his mind."
But what did the Kazekage want, they demanded.
To save his mother, if only by proxy, she thought. To protect a friend, the friend of his friend, and possibly to cause a little havoc in the process.
He hadn't made that clear yet, she told them. But maybe, if they asked correctly, he would.
A determined hornet can kill any number of bees, she knew. A team of hornets can take out an entire hive. But with her student's life hanging in the middle, as some bizarre sort of prize . . .
Tsunade shook her head and walked away, leaving the group to their own blunderings. She'd just have to trust that the Kazekage could handle this on his own.
ooo
The letter that arrived wasn't from Tsunade, but from Leaf's elders. It offered a replacement medic and money in exchange for his self-appointed charge; it offered a percentage of incoming missions; it offered more broad trade agreements and more open sharing of information. All Leaf wanted, it said, was the return of Haruno Sakura.
For them, it was the price of rebuilding a bloodline.
For Gaara, it registered as the letter-writing committee trying to put a number on the mother he'd never known, the father who'd hated him, the uncle who'd betrayed him, and every other ounce of his childhood misery.
He sat at his desk, the heels of his hands pressed to his eye sockets, and thought very hard about his response. Eventually he picked up his pen and started to write.
They could have her back, he wrote, when the ocean froze over, when his desert turned to a jungle, and when they'd staked the Uchiha's corpse to their walls. Or never. Because he wouldn't let them take someone he knew, someone he was really growing to like, and denigrate her by making her a walking womb for some illogical traitorous deserter scum who'd been lucky enough to be born with a bloodline ability. The Uchiha could die alone for all he cared—but if Leaf insisted on something as backwards and outdated and insulting as forcing a marriage in order to make that red-eyed pestilence happy and spawn a batch of children that would invariably be hideously stunted by having someone as kind and caring as Uchiha Sasuke as a father, then he, Gaara, would have to stop things himself. It might mean he kept Sakura, and it might mean he marched into Leaf and wiped out whatever imbecile looked at the Kazekage's history and thought it was a good idea that warranted replication. And if that meant war, then Leaf would fucking deserve it.
He set down the pen and read his missive again, finding it cathartic, pleasing.
Then balled it up.
Threw it away.
Dug it out of the trash and burned it.
His next letter was simple, pared down to one word: No.
He sent it instead, and found it to be almost as satisfying.
Gaara went to the bird cotes afterward, searching for his equilibrium among the creatures there. He fed everything, from the largest raptors to the sparrows, tiny and fragile as peace. He cleaned the cages for good measure, then sat, petting his favorite hawk until it became annoyed with the attention and started nibbling his fingers.
He checked the time and sighed—he'd wasted hours. But Sakura would be out of work soon.
It'd only been a few days of embraces, but he found he craved them—craved contact, physical comfort. And she, he knew, wouldn't turn on him for showing affection.