ooo
She waited until they were inside the building but outside the door of his place to bring it up. "Naruto said you've been threatening to keep me for a while now."
Gaara shrugged.
"Hey." Sakura stopped and caught his hand. "Seriously. How long have you been thinking about keeping me here?"
"From the beginning. I couldn't let you walk back into that, knowing how it could end." His hand turned in hers, fingertips against her wrist. "Your mentor made it more of a certainty when she told me Leaf had been talking about your 'duty' there."
She was quiet for a minute, digesting the information. Tsunade'd chosen to give him that specific phrase—she had to have at least guessed how he'd react. "She doesn't expect me to come back, does she?"
"I don't know. It was always a possibility." He gave her a small, wry smile. "It was also always possible you'd want to go back and knock some heads together."
"With you beside me?"
"With pleasure."
"It's probably for the best we didn't do that," she said, then shifted a little closer; he set a hand against the small of her back and drew her the rest of the way in.
"Yeah." Because he doubted she'd smile at him the same way if she saw him rampant, finally able to unleash his temper and strength against people from her own hidden village.
In part because it drew his thoughts away from violence, in part because he could, he cupped her face in his hands and began applying tiny, deliberate kisses to her cheeks, forehead, the corners of her mouth. Sakura smiled up at him, unabashed, and he planted the last one on her lips, tasting her for just a second when she opened for him.
She took a slow breath, appreciating the moment, before she spoke again. "Is there anything else I should know?"
That even now he continued to focus on tiny details—the way her eyes seemed a more vibrant green in the daytime than they did in the streets at night, the way Sand's sun had started to give her tiny freckles across her nose and cheeks—to cement her into his memory as her own person? That he couldn't say if he would've gotten so invested so quickly had her situation not thrown him into an emotional tailspin . . . But he couldn't bring himself to be upset at where he'd ended up?
He thought harder, and came up with a better option. "Some of the medics want to know how much Sand factors into your plans for your future. They said you're wasted on routine, base work—and from what I know of you, I agree."
One of the earlier rumors to follow them came back to her, and she giggled as she twined her arms around his neck. "So you're going to seduce me for their sake, then?"
"I planned on seducing you for myself." He ran a fingertip across her collarbone, then down, against her skin, teasingly following the neckline of her shirt—then back up again. "But Kankurou told me not to."
She stared, silently repeating the words, so obviously indignant he almost laughed at her. "Kankurou can stop helping now," she ultimately managed, and pulled his face down to hers.
"Heyyy. Get a room." Naruto grinned knowingly, cordially from the open door beside them.
They both jumped; Sakura covered her face, half-mortified, as Gaara recovered his equilibrium with a growl. "We had a room. You were in it."
Naruto's grin widened and he hefted his pack. "Yeah, yeah. Laundry still in the same place?"
"Yeah."
"You two are gross," the blond called over his shoulder as he walked away. Sakura offered a pointedly rude gesture in turn.
The moment was gone; the pair settled against each other in a comfortable, grouchy embrace. "I need to go get ready for work soon," Sakura grumbled against his shoulder.
"They're going to start looking for me for morning reports soon," he grumbled back, and she giggled.
"Soon?"
He closed his eyes and nodded against her hair.
"How soon?" Mischievousness colored her voice, and she arched an eyebrow at him when he drew back to look at her.
He glanced towards the open door, she took a half-step . . . And he'd grabbed her around the waist, pulled her through, and clicked the lock behind them in the time it took her to blink. Sakura laughed, delighted—she'd almost forgotten just how fast he could be. And he was very close, openly admiring her as his arms closed around her; and her hands fisted in his shirt, her smile almost a challenge . . . and then the only thing to be concerned with was the deliberate, insistent movement of his mouth against hers.
Eventually Gaara pulled back a little, reminding himself that no matter what he wanted, this was only supposed to be a few minutes of pleasant distraction. But she tilted her head to the side, offering him her throat, and his resolve weakened. He touched her first, fascinated by her softness, the way her pulse raced under his fingertips . . . then leaned in to learn the taste of her skin as well. His response to her nails digging into his shoulder could've either been a sound of appreciation or a growl, but as her back met the wall and his mouth covered hers again she decided it didn't matter.
She flattened her palms against him, then stroked outwards, learning the breadth of his shoulders, the lines of his musculature, the flex of pectorals and obliques. One hand dropped a bit further, caressing him through his clothing, and his breathing went ragged. Emboldened, pleasantly surprised, she shifted her grip and gave him an experimental squeeze—and his hand covered hers, stopping her.
Sakura pulled back, suddenly afraid something had gone wrong again . . . But his eyes were clear, and his fingertips against her cheek were still steady, still gentle. "It's not that," he told her. Slowly, with a rueful smile, Gaara moved her hand to his hip instead. "I want to take my time with you."
She swallowed hard, and her hands clenched involuntarily against him. "I want that, too."
"Without having to worry about being interrupted by morning reports."
"And not having to worry about Naruto knocking the door down," she agreed, and took a deep, shaky breath.
"Tonight, then?" he murmured, then kissed her again before she could reply. But as she quickly learned, she didn't need words to tell him yes.
ooo
She came out of Temari's to find both guys waiting for her, Naruto packed and ready and telling Gaara that the sooner he got going, the sooner this would be done.
Gaara nodded as he handed over his message. The scroll had a bit of heft; he'd let some spite show. "If anything goes wrong, they'll know they're not just dealing with you."
"They'll be dealing with all of us," Sakura finished. Her message would arrive shortly, which would give them all a few days to deal with however Sasuke chose to respond—and hopefully negate his being a potentially threatening variable by the time Naruto arrived with the follow-through.
"I've gotta get going, I'm gonna be late—" She hugged Naruto with an admonishment for him to stay safe, then turned to Gaara and grabbed a fistful of his shirt. For just a second she stared at him, her smile equal parts challenge and mischief and promise—and then she bolted, laughing.
Gaara watched her go, absently smoothing his shirt where she'd wrinkled it—right hand, left side, feeling his own heartbeat. His father had taught all three of the Sand siblings to find joy in cruelty. Gaara'd taught himself to find reward in service, in his ability to defend and protect and help others. And Sakura . . . Sakura was teaching him . . . that maybe, possibly, he could work past the worst of the mental bridges he'd accidentally built; that maybe, possibly, this was something he could have for himself after all.
Lost in his own thoughts, he almost forgot about his companion until Naruto spoke. "Man. You fell hard, huh?"
Naruto didn't expect how Gaara turned to look at him, his expression that of a new swimmer who's realized they're treading water and have no idea where the bottom went. "Is that what this is?"
Naruto opened his mouth to say something flippant—then thought better of it and bit the words back. But his perturbed companion still watched him, expecting an answer, so he tried again. "What'd you think it was?"
"I thought I liked her."
"I think that's supposed to be part of it." He grinned . . . then paused, frowned. "Hey. If you don't know . . . I dunno, maybe I'm wrong."
Gaara blinked at him. "Maybe you're not," he finally, ruminatively replied, then turned back to watch where Sakura had gone. He stared into the distance for long enough that Naruto felt the need to break his reverie by elbowing him in the ribs.
"Hey. I'm gonna go before you get all sappy, and before I go I want to meet my ramen team."
Gaara's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "They're my ramen team."
"If you say so," Naruto replied, and led him away.
ooo
Once upon a time, the most revolutionary thing Sakura'd done for herself was give herself a haircut. Now here she was, seriously reconsidering her alliances, spiking Leaf's & Sasuke's plans for the Uchiha line, and feeling up the Kazekage, all before breakfast . . .
She felt unstoppable, free, a little wild.
Sleep that afternoon was quick, black, and dreamless. As she collected herself afterward, Tomoko knocked on her door with another brunette medic in tow. "Can you show her the bruise technique, too?"
She probably shouldn't be teaching in Sand—yet, she said to herself . . . but Gaara'd said the medics wanted to keep her, too. So . . . "I can do better than that."
She taught them with the thoroughness she'd wished for in her early training and the two responded with professional enthusiasm, asking questions, positing situations, and finally, carefully testing the technique out on their own small training bruises.
"So beyond covering up damage or catering to vanity," came a new voice, "what's the point to this?"
Two of the higher-ups had joined them, their arms folded, studying her as if about to pass judgment.
Sakura faced them with a smile, her chin up, shoulders relaxed, and hands loose at her sides. Today she could do anything. The point, she told them, was to get used to working with blood vessels, and to feeling the difference between them and tissue and blood clots. She'd seen too many surgery or trauma patients suffer—but a good, exact, determined medic, one who could follow a patient's circulatory system and catch a clot before it made it to the patient's lungs or heart or brain, could prevent any number of issues.
"But," she stressed, "getting used to little things like bruises and capillaries and being precise with your own chakra is key—otherwise you can cook a person from the inside." She paused and looked her companions over. "Which brings us to combat applications."
Tomoko swore under her breath, then chuckled. "I want to learn about that next."
The look the two medics behind her gave each other said volumes. Sakura read their indecision, their hesitation, and took a step forward. She knew where this, too, would lead her. "It's all right. I talked to Gaara this morning. I . . . I'm going to stick around for a while. Let's talk."
ooo
Tsunade stood in the street in the early afternoon sunlight, Gaara's letter in her hand, and considered the possibility that her student's situation had just become exponentially more complicated. She'd sent Naruto to Sand with the expectation that if Gaara was being unreasonable, Naruto would be able to talk (or beat) some sense into him—but instead the two had joined forces and were now moving as one.
At least the Kazekage's feelings towards her seemed fairly amicable, if his warning message was any indication. But that wasn't the immediate issue.
Tsunade examined the tightly rolled scroll in her other hand and considered her options. Protocol insisted she hand Sakura's letter over without opening it; prudence demanded she find out what was in it before potentially setting a disaster off in her city. It could be that Sakura was being shielded behind Gaara and Naruto—but the pink-haired kunoichi could also be the point of the spear, with a pair of absurdly overpowered, fiercely protective young men ready to follow up behind her.
Prudence won out. Tsunade carefully, painstakingly unsealed Sakura's letter—and upon reading it, swore bitterly to herself. She wasn't angry at Sakura; she'd wanted her student to find her own path and the strength necessary to follow it—and it seemed Sakura had done so, all while collecting a particularly lethal support system along the way. But in conjunction with Gaara's latest letter . . . This wasn't just her turning down a suitor. This was a strike. If Leaf's elders had the least bit of sense, they'd look at the odds and stand down . . . But if the worst case scenario came to pass now, Leaf would have to deal with Naruto, Naruto's uncanny ability to rally people to his side, and the Kazekage—with all of Sand at his back.
At least she knew what side she'd stand on, and that she could help control or mitigate some of the coming tempest . . . But damn it, she still wished they had held onto this letter until Naruto was on hand to help keep Sasuke in check.
And damn it, she could practically hear Gaara chiding her for her reticence.
"I'm going to need ANBU," she said. "Whoever's available. Now." Even with the protective seals, the Uchiha could prove a formidable opponent—and she didn't remotely trust that he'd handle rejection well.
A dozen ANBU collected, masked and silent, in the time it took her to reseal Sakura's message. "Flank me," she told them. "Stay out of sight."
Shizune remained at her back; together they tracked the Uchiha down. Tsunade handed him the scroll and stepped back, partially so he'd have a semblance of privacy, partially for the safety of distance. She watched as Sasuke read it—then read it again, his eyes narrowing and a tiny line forming between his eyebrows. When he finally turned back to her and spoke, his voice was a hair's breadth from accusatory. "What do you know about this?"
"Nothing," she lied. "How is she? I haven't heard from her."
"It's . . ." Sasuke's upper lip curled. His eyes skimmed over the text a third time before he spoke again: "It doesn't sound like her."
"Really? How so?"
His expression hardened, and Tsunade mentally kicked herself—maybe she'd overplayed her hand. "The part where she thinks she's not interested in getting married or helping me rebuild my family line."
He looked pointedly in one direction, then another—then another, and another, and Tsunade knew he was singling out her ANBU. She read Sasuke's response in his deliberately casual stance and the smile that ghosted on his lips but never reached his eyes: he knew her concerns, recognized the precautions she'd taken, and thought they were all funny.
Finally his focus returned to her: flat, open consideration.
If she hadn't come to him surrounded by backup, she thought, what would his reaction have been?
Sasuke blinked, and his entire demeanor instantly shifted from calculating to dismissive. "She'll change her mind when she comes back," he said, and his confidence was so seamless Tsunade almost believed him. "It's what's best for her. She'll figure it out eventually." And with that he crumpled the letter, dropped it on the ground, and walked away.
"He creeps me out," Shizune growled from behind her.
"I know."
The younger woman stalked around her, watching the street as if waiting for Sasuke to return. She picked up the ball of paper, smoothed it between her fingers, read, and turned back to Tsunade. "She told him what she wanted for herself," she said incredulously, "and he refuses to believe her."
"I know."
Shizune smoothed the paper further as she considered her words. "Maybe it is for the best if she stays in Sand."
Tsunade didn't reply. She wasn't ready to admit her student might be right.