*waves tiny ot3 flag, one-two*

Naruto had the sense to eventually wander off—to wreck a training ground with Gaara, ostensibly for old times' sake—leaving her at Temari's with a letter to write. There'd been flowers in a glass by her door again, their vibrant reds and purples and blues translating to something about the docks being poisonous after midnight. Sakura brought them into her room, sat on the bed, and examined them as if they'd tell her how to best turn down a proposal.

Part of her wanted to rage, to tell Sasuke everything he'd done wrong—but she was pretty sure if she started down that path, she wouldn't stop. A much more rational part of her knew the only prudent option was to couch her refusal in formality, and that she'd only cause unnecessary problems by unleashing her temper. Sakura reminded herself that she'd been at the side of the Fifth Hokage for years, for even longer than Gaara'd been Kazekage; at very least, she could write a serious letter.

I'm sorry, but I can't accept your proposal.

She couldn't shake the feeling that part of her had been coasting, biding her time until things could go back to normal. But her idea of what was normal had changed so much over the past few weeks, let alone the past few years . . .

As I've gotten older, I've come to believe what I'd wanted most as a child isn't what's best for me, or what I really want at all.

When Sasuke'd run the first time, she'd simply accepted that he'd knocked her out to protect her from the consequences of his choices. Later, deep in her medical studies, she'd thought back on her symptoms—the hours spent unconscious, her headache and physical weakness and nausea—and realized he'd concussed her. But even then she'd wanted to give him excuses: he hadn't known what he was doing, he'd been too young to really understand brain trauma, he'd been under Orochimaru's influence . . .

But now, after everything, her awareness of every excuse she'd made for him only tasted bitter.

I need to focus on bettering myself, my techniques, and my abilities. I want the person in my life to support that—not tolerate it.

Was it so unreasonable to not want to be involved with someone she couldn't trust, who made her feel like she'd live her life walking on eggshells? Was it so wrong to let Sasuke's choices and words and hideously-executed proposal color her opinion of him? Was it so selfish to want to feel respected?

Was it actually seditious to question her loyalties to a hidden village when its higher-ups' plans for her made her fear for her safety in ways that blood and steel and battle couldn't match?

I want more from life than to just be a wife and mother. At this point I don't think you understand what that means to me.

She signed it, then sat, wondering if she should start over, if it was enough or too much, if this move would take some pressure off or if it would provoke some terrible retaliatory response—then sealed it anyway before she could bog herself down with overthinking.

Sleep eluded her, so she eventually went to look for the guys. She found Gaara's door open, Gaara on the couch with academy reports spread in a fan on the table in front of him, and Naruto sprawled gracelessly on the floor, snoring.

"I offered him visitors' quarters," Gaara murmured exasperatedly as she sat on the couch beside him. "I offered him my room. I offered him the couch. I offered him a pillow. He turned them all down and did this." He glanced at her leg beside his as if just noticing it, then squeezed her knee. "I think he just likes making me feel like a bad host."

"Maybe he just feels like giving you hell."

"Most of the time the feeling's mutual," Gaara said, though his expression softened affectionately. He touched the scroll in her hand with a fingertip. "He said you were writing a letter."

"Yeah. I'm officially turning down Sasuke. I'd like to send it in the morning."

Gaara allowed himself to savor the statement before he reached for her leg again, wanting her skin under his hand. "Okay."

"I told him it wasn't what I wanted for myself," she said, "and then I lay there thinking about what I did want. I want to make a name for myself in my own right—not just as someone's apprentice or someone's teammate or someone's wife. I want to define myself, not be defined by my proximity to someone else. And . . ."

She slowed, suddenly shy, aware of how intently he watched her.

"And I want someone who'll stand beside me—beside me—for it. Someone I can talk to without worrying that I'm being annoying, and who'll be there for me when I need them. Someone who knows what it means to really want to be a better person, and what it takes to seriously, consistently work for that. Who'll watch the sun rise with me and surprise me with flowers and . . ."

Hope translated to stillness as he processed what she was saying.

"And I started thinking," she continued softly, as her fingers crept to cover his, "about what you'd said, about stepping past what we know in order to get what we really want. And then I realized that maybe what I wanted didn't have to come from Leaf."

He had her, by her own choice and of her own accord; he was sure of it. Still he pushed, testing her new resolve, watching her face for any hint of uncertainty. "I don't want you to resent leaving your life behind."

"Maybe I'm not leaving it behind so much as just altering it," she offered. "I can still write to everyone; I can still visit, as long as this"—she held up the scroll—"doesn't blow up in our faces. But I also have a life here now. And if that's the case, then if you want to give this a serious shot, see where it takes us . . . I want that, too."

Gaara knew where it would take them as certainly as she did. He suddenly, deeply regretted letting Naruto stay at his place. But in front of them, the blond was awake, upright, stricken. "Sakura! You're leaving Leaf?"

For a second Gaara saw her face fall in response to her friend's pain—but resolve replaced it just as quickly. "Not officially. Not yet. But . . ." She looked back to him, watching his reaction as closely as he watched hers. "But I'm serious about seeing if this, here, is something viable for me."

He nodded; more certainty, more relief. And now that he no longer had to actively be concerned she'd leave, and now that the three of them were on the same page . . . It was time for them to take the offensive. "In the meantime," Gaara said to Naruto, "I'm going to need you to go back to Leaf and do what you do best."

"Huh?"

Gaara leaned forward, his teeth showing in what barely qualified as a smile. "Tsunade said they're trying to keep this under wraps. Get loud about it."

Naruto's lips tightened grimly. "So make them all own up to it?"

"And make them regret it, publicly. At very least make them all think twice before they consider pushing a human breeding program again—and at best, we stop it from happening again at both of our villages."

Sakura still had his hand in both of hers; he squeezed her fingers. She squeezed back, almost able to pity anyone who'd be stupid enough to go up against the two of them at once.

This time they eschewed the walk; Naruto'd been on his feet enough for the past few days, and Gaara admitted there hadn't been too many nighttime incidents since he'd been doing patrols. They joined the blond on the floor, where he told them stories about traveling, about the time he'd stumbled across (and incidentally blown the cover of) a team of Mist-nin. Their resulting scuffle maybe knocked over a wall, possibly set a building or two on fire, and definitely managed to get them all banned from an entire town. Gaara offered one of the first time Lee had visited, how Lee'd only wanted to train and had talked him into exercises he remembered as equal parts weights and sadism. Lee'd walked away unfazed; Gaara'd been left questioning if their outing was really an elaborate revenge plot and if he'd ever walk normally again for days after. Sakura's was of a mission far afield where she used healing techniques on a traveler who'd never heard of medics or ninjas—a traveler who refused to believe what she'd done was just a combination of energy control and science, and who she'd run from once they'd started seriously asking if she was just a magician or really a holy person.

"They'll start a cult," Gaara told her.

"There'll be a statue and everything," Naruto agreed, and Sakura flattened to the floor, laughing and insisting this wasn't how she intended to make a name for herself.

If Naruto noticed how Sakura didn't let go of Gaara's hand after he helped pull her upright, or how the pair in front of him sat just close enough for their knees to touch, he didn't mention it.

Sakura finally let it slip that Gaara had a team of genin scouting out ramen shops ahead of Naruto's visits. The blond lit up: Naruto wanted his own ramen team; he wanted to know how to designate the best ninjas for the job; he wanted to know if there was special training involved and did Gaara have to do the training himself?

"It's not like that," Gaara insisted. "If anything, it was an accident."

She and Naruto pressed; Gaara feigned indecision, then explained: There had come a point a few years before when it looked like the team's original member, Hiroya, wasn't going to be able to go out on missions. The kid had taken the news badly; he'd gotten upset enough to finally confront Gaara over it, then follow him around, demanding something, anything to do to prove his worth to Sand. And Gaara, being very new at his job and running short on ideas that day, finally tasked Hiroya with the innocuous mission of finding him a place to have lunch.

He gave his companions a significant look. Sakura started giggling, and Naruto grinned. "How bad?"

"He aimed me at the single most formal place here."

Naruto groaned, then laughed; Sakura wrapped her arm around his and squeezed him sympathetically but didn't stop giggling. "Did you stay?"

The corner of his mouth quirked upwards. "For about ten minutes." His tone shifted to somber as he continued: He'd sat there and thought about how his father was the only Kazekage he'd ever known—which meant Hiroya had only known his father, then him. Which meant Gaara had a chance to not just redefine himself to Sand, but to redefine what it meant to be Kazekage to the next generation. Any one of the students could be the one to succeed him; he could at least try to give them a good example.

He'd tracked Hiroya down and walked the terrified kid back to the restaurant, then sat him down and had an awkward talk about the difference between making an educated guess and making assumptions. After a while they both agreed extremely formal settings were pretty excruciating; the next time, Hiroya found him a much more reasonable option.

Sakura let go of Gaara's arm as she connected the rest of the dots: a young ninja would only be held back from jobs in the field if extreme injury or extreme trauma had rendered them unable to fulfill their duties. "The rest of the team?"

"They cycle in and out as needed. It seems to help." Because he was with them, two of the people he trusted most, he could let his guard down and admit it: "It doesn't seem like enough, but I'm still learning. I'll get better."

The two Leaf-nin went quiet for long enough that he started glancing between them, concerned he'd said something wrong. "What? I'm—"

Naruto cut him off. "Sakura? If you don't hurry up and kiss him I'm gonna have to."

She was happy to oblige.

ooo

The sky outside had faded from black to deep blue by the time their plans had settled and Naruto'd finally fallen back asleep on the couch. Sakura waited, rolling her scroll between her fingers, as Gaara wrote the official rebuke he'd send with her teammate. He handed it to her before sealing it; she read it, nodded, and handed it back.

Gaara understood she was steeling herself; he understood the emotional magnitude of the step she'd chosen to take. But it wasn't a step he could take for her, nor was it one he could push her into. Still, when she reached out to him for comfort he wrapped his arm around her in turn, running his fingers through her hair, pressing his lips against her temple.

The first step would be hard. The subsequent ones would be easier.

He picked a kestrel, delicate and fierce, from the cotes for her; he fed it while she prepared its jesses. A friendly, helpful note of his own also went into the message tube, to Tsunade: Naruto knows everything. Be ready.

They scaled Sand's wall silently, to find the sun barely over the horizon. Sakura petted the bird on her wrist one final time before launching it skyward, then set her palms against the stone wall in front of her and watched it fly until it became a speck, until the speck dwindled to nothing. Gaara, recognizing the body language of someone in mourning, leaned against the opposite wall to give her space. She'd told him how important Sasuke'd once been to her; with this gesture, he knew, she wasn't just letting the dream die—she was putting it down with her own hands.

Now if he could only be certain of how poorly Sasuke would react to rejection; if he could only gauge what degree of blame the younger man would assign and to whom.

Sakura finally stepped away from the ledge and turned to him, her eyes bright but cheeks dry and smile brilliant. "I'm okay," she said. "It's all gonna be okay."