..

The world continued to move around them much the same as before but it seemed to Sakura that their places in it had shifted: just a little closer, just a little more secure.

Gaara'd put pants on before following her out of his bedroom; he told her shinobi had come crashing through his door on any number of occasions, and he felt it would be polite to not meet them bare. Sakura glanced at the door and tugged at the hem of his shirt, aware of how it barely covered her. Maybe she should put some more clothes on too—

"Don't," he said, and stepped in to help her roll the sleeves, his fingertips lingering warmly against her skin. His task complete, he looked up to find her watching as if discovering him all over again, her eyes soft and lips parted.

Everything may have changed—yet she couldn't pretend all of their same problems weren't still waiting for them.

She waited until after they'd finished dinner to push her plate aside and ask him about news from Leaf. Gaara retrieved Tsunade's letter and handed it to her without comment; she read, then set the paper on the table between them. "I absolutely made the right choice in turning him down. This . . ." She touched the note. Gaara might not have known what to make of Sasuke's silence, but Sakura did. "He doesn't think I'm worth responding to—and what I want doesn't matter to him. Hasn't mattered to him. I would've just been a means to an end, a way for him to get heirs."

She felt like she should feel insulted. Instead she just felt tired.

Gaara rested his hand on the table between them, palm up, and she linked her fingers with his before she spoke again. "I wasn't hoping he'd try to win me back or something, but . . . I expected some kind of response, you know? Anything. But if he's refusing to even address it . . ."

Gaara nodded. They might have just sent Naruto back into a tinderbox. "There's still time," he told her. "I'll work on it. The Hokage owes me a letter."

"What did you send her?"

He tapped a fingertip on the piece of paper. "She told me to keep you. I told her I intend to—as one of my people."

He hadn't said it out loud before, not even to his siblings—but Sakura, having firmly committed both her body and mind to this path, responded only with a raised eyebrow and a smile. "Just like that?"

"Not in so many words," he admitted. "But enough to be sure she understands."

She nodded. "What'll this mean for me, then? Officially—to change alliances. I don't mean the job. Tell me about my duties here . . . to Sand."

He stroked her fingers as he considered. "Your skills, your abilities . . . Right now they're good. Be better. Keep getting better. The people here will be your people as well—and they'll need you. I can only shield so many of them, and I know I can't be there all of the time. You'd be one of their last defenses, the one who could save them if I can't."

She looked at their hands for a long minute. "And my duties to you?"

"I haven't thought about it," he admitted. "I'm still compartmentalizing. This is all . . ."

Words failed him, and his mouth tightened.

"A lot?" she finished.

"Yeah."

"Yeah . . ." She squeezed his fingers. "For me, too. And I'm still figuring out my place in all of it."

Gaara, having recognized a while before that he was in uncharted territory and making things up as he went, nodded his agreement. He deliberated with himself, and decided on naked, blunt honesty. "I don't want a hard-line, duty-bound obligation from you. I don't want to make demands. I want you to be at my side because you want to be here."

Sakura read his feelings from his expression as surely as if he'd put them to words: his family's red-splattered history of entangling relationships and duty made him loath to even think about her in those terms.

She smiled at him encouragingly, and he continued. "Beyond that . . . I'd like you to be patient with me. I'm still not okay. I know I'm not. I'm trying to do better—I'm learning how to properly empathize, how to not accidentally frighten my own people, things like that." The corners of his mouth twitched upwards, just a bit. "Things I know normal people don't have to think about. But I don't know that any of it'll ever be something I just do."

"I can do that," Sakura said quietly. "And I think I can understand." Leaf had put a kunai in her hand years before giving her any sort of medical text; after everything, she felt empathy had still been her choice.

His lips curved a little and he nodded before continuing. "At the same time, though, I'd like you to tell me if I'm wrong. Temari and Kankurou do it already, and . . . I want you to be able to do the same. If I make mistakes then at best I make life harder for my people or myself—and at worst, people die. I've lost too many of Sand's ninjas already; I've killed too many of them myself, before. I don't want to lose more because no one I could trust was there to tell me I was making a stupid choice." He looked up at her, and she wondered if the paleness of his eyes would ever be less striking. "I don't want you to be responsible for my decisions, or a solo failsafe. Just . . ." He took a breath, and the idea he'd been circling became clear. "It's kind of like you said: I don't want someone who just wants to drift along in my shadow. I want someone who'll be a partner."

She was silent for long enough that he engaged her again, hoping he hadn't pushed too hard, too fast: "I know it's a lot—"

"It's not, though." It was what she wanted from him: the belief that she'd have the intelligence and fortitude to be more than a decorative part of his life—and enough respect to offer it to her rather than just dump it on her. "I know what you mean about mistakes, too. It's my every day: if I'm not strong or fast enough, if I make the wrong call, if I'm not prepared for anything and everything that could walk or be carried up to me, people could die. I guess we're alike in that. And . . . I don't feel like it makes any of us lesser to recognize when we can use support."

Quiet, and his other hand joined hers on the table. "Why all of this now?" he asked.

"Because I know it won't always be like this. Eventually we're gonna have problems; we're gonna fight. I know there'll be a point where you have to give me orders, and I know it's gonna be weird. I just want to be sure we can talk about this now, and have solid ground to come back to, because . . ." Blurting the words to an indifferent other seemed a lifetime ago—but here, with Gaara's sweat still on her skin, she felt able to step beyond her own past. "Because I'm falling in love with you, and . . ."

She trailed off, suddenly recognizing how he was looking at her—how he'd been looking at her, the sheer raw depth of his emotion. Her words came out a whisper: "And you're right here with me, aren't you?"

"Yeah. I am." His need for her was beyond physical, but the physical would do for now. Gaara's grip on her hand tightened; his voice lowered huskily. "Come here."

"Is that an order?"

He gestured; sand blocked the door. "Yes."

"Maybe this won't be so hard to get used to after all," she grinned, then rose and resettled herself in his lap. Both of his hands met her thighs and slid up over her hips, and she realized why he'd not wanted her to put more clothing on. His mouth opened under hers as her fingers worked nimbly at the fastenings of his pants—and rather than have her right there on the table, Gaara scooped her up, divested her of his shirt, and deposited her on his bed again.

What he'd learned with his fingers he expanded upon with his mouth, holding her thighs wide as she gasped and writhed, his tongue steady and persuasive against her. She stopped him before he could completely overwhelm her, rising to her knees and telling him she wanted him amidst kisses. "How?" he asked, and smiled against her throat as she pushed him back, straddled him, enveloped him again, moved on him intently. This way she could set her own pace, find her own angles . . . and let the knowledge that she was driving him to his own release ultimately tip her over into hers. He lasted only a few seconds longer than she did, and when his grip locked her hips tightly against his she felt him go, pulsing inside of her through the aftershocks of her own climax.

His hair curled damply around her fingers as she settled against him to better consider the familiar, newly dear aspects of his features, and as he stroked her back she nestled a little closer and let her eyes close. Comfortable, content, she didn't realize she was drifting off until he spoke. "Sakura. Let's get a shower, then you can get some sleep." A pause, and he nuzzled her cheek. "I'll be here when you wake up."

She smiled, nodded, and carefully untangled herself from him—and found herself right back in his arms when he stood as well. "You," he murmured into her hair, and said nothing else. But he didn't have to. It might not always be like this, but she didn't need it to be. Her path lay before her, open and clear; the only direction for her now was forward.

There was one step left for her, and she knew what to do.

ooo

A handful of the council members approached Tsunade the next morning, a study in gray hair, white hair, and utter defeat. She could assume how poorly the talks with Sasuke had gone based on how they'd come back to her for help finding a new course of action.

They'd tried, they told her; they'd only made Sasuke suspicious. They'd told him it was prudent to not pin all his future plans on one person . . . But they didn't feel like he'd believed them. By the end he'd begun demanding to know what they knew.

And now they'd boxed themselves in—and now, she could only see one way out for all of them.

Almost to himself, one said, "Maybe we could approach the Kazekage again—"

"Don't," she told them, and there was enough heat to her response that all four jerked to attention.

Their first mistake, she told them, was treating Sakura like a non-entity, was making arrangements with Sasuke around her like she should contentedly be shuffled off and married and bred without a thought. Their second was underestimating Sakura's personal alliances, and just how far and how high they might reach. "When I told you they all have history," Tsunade said, "I meant all of them. She's known Gaara since they were genin. You didn't see the look on her face when he turned up beside Lee—but they straightened out any mess between them years ago and have been on good terms since. Try to convince him to give her up and he'll just dig his heels in harder. Try to forcibly extract her and I guarantee you will find yourselves faced with the very worst side of him."

One by one, their faces fell.

Tsunade closed her eyes and hoped she was making the right decision. "I'm going to need you to consider the possibility that Gaara's not been stonewalling us because he's a stubborn bastard, but because he's acting on Sakura's behalf. That a friend with a problem came to him, and he was willing to throw his weight around to help her out. That he's not sent her back because she wanted to make her decision about her marriage without any and all of you hassling her about her 'duty'—and that she knows about anything you've said to him, any offers you've made."

Consider the possibility, she thought to herself, that all of us letting this game drag out may have just lost us one of Leaf's most promising medics.

"We dug this hole," she told them. "We all did. Now we all get to deal with the consequences." She sighed. "Naruto gets back in another day or so. We can hold Sasuke off until then. But then . . . It's all coming out, whether we want it to or not. We all need to be ready."

If she was very, very lucky, they would manage to get everyone—including Sasuke—in line before anybody thought to question her part in sending Sakura to Sand.

Once the council members had left, she collected the small pile of letters from Gaara. She'd saved them for insurance, just in case this delicate game had slipped from her control—but under current circumstances she saw them as a potential liability. And so she found a small ceramic bowl, sat down at her desk, and began to destroy the evidence.

Years before, when the Sand siblings had returned to Leaf at the sides of their new allies, Tsunade'd added Sakura's expression with the tales she'd already heard about the redheaded Sand-nin and immediately called her student in to ask for her story. Sakura'd sat on the other side of Tsunade's desk, gripping her own knees until her knuckles turned white, and told what she could. She'd been trapped, struggling for air, and unconscious for most of the fight; she hadn't even known it'd been Naruto who'd saved her after Sasuke'd fallen . . . But what she'd remembered was enough. Uncontrolled bloodlust. Horrific transformation. Inhuman strength. Utter madness.

But within hours the late Kazekage's son had sought her out, and with halting words and no small amount of confusion Sakura had reconsidered her stance.

"He apologized. He said I didn't have to accept it, but he apologized anyway. He wants to make amends. He . . . He scares the hell out of me still, but . . . He seems almost like a different person."

Tsunade'd wanted to know if Sakura thought he could be trusted. She'd barely seen Gaara at this point; only enough to note how the boy already moved with the calculation and certainty of a high-level predator.

"I don't know. But . . . You didn't know him before. You didn't see his eyes." The younger nin's shiver wasn't theatrics. "Now, though . . . He's trying. And . . ." Sakura took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. "And maybe this is stupid, but . . . if he can try, I can try too."

"Trying" had turned out to be an understatement; Gaara's exertions had been nothing short of spectacular. And by the time he'd come back to them wearing white, having proven himself to people who'd previously had every reason to raze Sand around him rather than accept him, Sakura'd shaken off any vestiges of fear and greeted him and his siblings like old friends.

One by one, the message scrolls burned down to light gray ash. Tsunade absently stirred them to powder with her finger as they cooled, then left the bowl in the center of her desk when she locked up. There were any number of other things in Leaf that needed her attention; she couldn't neglect them.

When she opened the door a few hours later the room appeared untouched except for the bowl, in pieces on the floor from having been thrown.

ooo

Temari found Gaara outside of the messenger bird cotes with an openly conspirative team of genin swirling around him. The ninjas scattered, laughing, as she approached, leaving her brother shaking his head and blinking in the late afternoon sunlight.

"Are you still letting those kids pick your food?" she asked.

"I messed up and let Naruto give them advice. They needed recalibrated." Gaara handed her a scroll. "The Hokage sends her blessings."

As Hokage, I have to trust that my people will make the right choices at the right time. In this I find I must trust both of you. Tensions are high, and I believe everything will be brought to light soon. We all wait on Naruto's return.

Temari gave him a troubled frown. "How bad are things there, if she sends this?"

"Don't know—but I'm done playing with them. I'll help Naruto if things go out of control, but Sakura's not going back."

There was a new degree of vehemence in his voice; expecting as much, Temari nodded. "By the way, I'll tell you the same thing I told Kankurou. I don't care what you two do—just not at my place."

"Hm?"

"Sakura was practically floating when she came through this morning. I guessed and she turned the most spectacular color." Temari set her hands on her hips. "Stop looking so proud of yourself."

He turned, opening his mouth to speak, and she glared balefully. "Stop. Not a word. For the sake of my sanity: I don't want to hear, hear about, or know about any of it."

"Never in your place," he promised. Temari sighed with overblown relief, and together they set out in search of the Leaf-nin.

They turned a corner to find Sakura approaching, a group of medics surrounding her—too many medics for it to be a social occasion. Gaara stilled, Temari beside him, and let them come to him.

Sakura stopped just outside of arm's reach, her jaw set and her body trembling slightly with equal parts excitement and nerves. "I want to be sure I'm doing this for the right reasons," she told him. "Before anything else happens. Not because of him—and before it can be any more because of you. Because it's what I want, and what's best for me."

"Okay," he said.

"I want to be the one to tell Tsunade-sama, too."

The medics around them shifted a little closer. Temari had a death grip on the back of his collar; he could hear her hissing under her breath, "Yes, yesss."

"Okay," he repeated. And Sakura dropped to one knee.

And as she spoke the words clearly, unfalteringly—a formal oath of fealty, the promise of her blood and her breath and her life for Sand's people, his people—he knew that if not for Temari's hand locked into his clothing he'd be on his knees on the sand and cobbles with her.

Her voice faded to silence. "Witnessed," came the call from behind her, and was echoed several times by the medics around her as Sakura looked up at him, solemn, steady.

"Witnessed and accepted," he said. Temari let go of him, he stepped forward to give Sakura a hand up—and as she reached her feet he grabbed her face with both hands and kissed her in front of all of them, decorum be damned.

Temari hugged them both, laughing. The medics jostled them, not unkindly encouraging him to let go of her for a minute, she was theirs now too. Theirs, Gaara thought—but also his. He knew he should say something but couldn't make his feelings translate into words, so he held on stubbornly: gripping her arms, touching her face, gripping her arms again.

He couldn't say it, but Sakura understood anyway.

"I know," she said, and pressed a hand flat against his chest. "I know. I—Yeah. Me too." She smiled, planted a quick kiss on his lips, and slipped free of him to be absorbed by the group of her new fellow Sand-nin.

"Look what you've done now," his sister breathed from beside him.

His mouth opened, closed, opened again.

"Shake it off, Gaara, you knew this was coming."

Words formed, and he spit them out before he had time to reconsider them. "I love her."

"I know."

Apparently so had Sakura. He tried to not sound petulant, but failed. "Did everyone know before I did?"

"Don't know. Maybe?"

"Naruto knew," he grumbled, and Temari laughed.

"Then yeah. Definitely everyone knew. Stop making that face, this is supposed to be a happy occasion."

He tried, but didn't really succeed until Sakura looked over her shoulder at him. They held each other's gaze for just a second—then she smiled, winked at him, and turned to laugh at something the medic in front of her had said.

His. Officially. And anyone who tried to fight him over it would only live long enough to regret their decision.

And oh, the second he got her alone again . . .

"Now what?" asked Temari.

He waited for Temari to finally look at him; her scowl upon reading his expression was everything he'd hoped for. "Besides that," she groaned.

"Stop making that face," he parroted back at her, with equal parts affection and spite. Temari rolled her eyes and shook her head, and he shifted back to serious. "Now . . . Now she declares to Tsunade. Now Leaf has no right to make any demands of her." They both knew that wouldn't go over smoothly. "But right now there's only a few unknown variables left in play. So we wait."