Here we go againnnn! :)

To tanuki: Thank you for your review! I'm glad you enjoyed the first chapter! :D

To escritor liberad: Thank you for your review! I'm glad you found the first chapter interesting. :D

The IV dripped, and Chiyo felt more and more nauseous and irritated.

It seemed to her the timer was too slow. 15 minutes and 42 seconds left. Wasn't she always hooked to the machine, dependent of the clear liquid entering her bloodstream? Wasn't she old now? Definitely, irrevocably, medically, old, with a foot in the grave?

She laughed quietly shaking her head. It had never terrified before.

"Chiyo-sama," her assistant, Nozomi, muttered in front of her desk, and she raised her head.

Lowering her glasses on the desk, Chiyo glanced at the newspaper's headline her assistant mutely handed it to her. "Who is Sabaku Gaara's mystery woman?" was written in capital letters across the front page. Sighing, she gestured toward the pile on the coffee table in front of her desk. Her assistant neatly added it to the mounting pile of newspapers and magazines.

In two days, the press had talked about nothing but Gaara's apparent love life. Some journalists had speculated the name of various celebrities as the mystery woman. Others have called his silent over the ordeal 'the proof of indecency'.

Nozomi waited politely by the door, her eyes on the floor.

"Is this the last of it?" Chiyo muttered, and she nodded stiffly, pressing her hands in front of her.

"Journalists are still calling for comments, Chiyo-sama," she said softly, and Chiyo made an irritated sloppy gesture with her hand designating the pile in front of her.

"You remind the staff that anyone caught talking to the press is fired."

"Yes, Chiyo-sama," she bowed her head.

Her head throbbed painfully as Chiyo leaned back against her chair. Her joints, her back hurt. Briefly, she touched the crook of her arm where the IV was inserted, an eye on the timer. In approximately 10 minutes, she would take it out.

She smiled sadly.

Now that she was old, now that she was fragile and sick, everything came down to minutes instead of years.

She once thought she had all the time in the world. How foolish. She had been a great doctor, but she was still mortal.

Chiyo closed her eyes and dismissed Nozomi with a sharp wave of the hand.

The door clicked softly.

Chiyo grunted when her phone buzzed noisily on her desk.

"Never a moment of peace," she sighed.

Blindly, she tossed paperwork and pens to retrieve it. She inclined her head and held the phone away from her face, so she could read the caller ID without her glasses.

Sakura.

Chiyo straightened her back in her chair, staring at the blinking cursor on her computer, as she pressed the phone to her ear.

"I'm glad you've called, Sakura," she said gently, and she smiled even if Sakura couldn't see her.

She had prepared for this. 'It'll be alright,' she would say if she mentioned her grandson's troubled past. 'He's changed.' She would make a joke or two about Gaara's garden and quiet nature: "Couldn't hurt a fly in his own garden now. You should see that forest of his."

"I'll do it, Chiyo-sama," Sakura told her in a meek voice that wavered with the sound of traffic in the background.

Chiyo briefly pressed the phone to her shoulder, her eyes tightly closed. She shook herself and put the phone back to her ear.

"Good, I'm glad," she said and there was no trace of the relief she felt in her voice. "I'll make the necessary arrangements for a meeting."

"Thank you, Chiyo-sama," Sakura replied with a firmer voice.

"I'll talk to you soon, Sakura."

She hung up and slumped back into her chair. Her phone dropped in a muffled sound on her pile of paper work.

Silence didn't suit her.

Illness didn't suit her.

She felt old and weary, the nausea always stronger in the morning during and after treatment. The nausea itself was a timestamp: she had so little time left. Minutes. Hours. Days. Definitely not years.

Chiyo picked off her glasses from the pile of paperwork, and put them back on. She clasped her hands together in front of her. She surveyed the awards and trophies decorating her office.

All useless knickknacks.

She laughed quietly, an eye on the timer.

Maybe she would finally have an heiress. Temari had always resisted learning medicine, she was too impatient, too practical. Diagnostics never stimulated her. She preferred politics.

Chiyo sighed and retrieved her phone from her desk. It shook in her grasp as she dialled Gaara's number.

"Obaasan," he greeted in a bored voice after the second ring.

"Well?" she cried out and heavily sank back on her leather chair. "You should answer your grandmother when she texts you! I'm a dinosaur who can text! Why aren't you in awe?

"I've been busy."

"Never mind your pathetic excuses. What did you think of the picture of the girl I sent you?"

He grunted.

"Is she from the noble families?"

"You think I'm deaf or what? Of course not! She's a foreign med student at my hospital. One of the best I've ever seen in surgery in years. But she's so buried in debt, it's a wonder how she lasted this long." Chiyo paused and drummed her fingers on her desk. "This is what you wanted, right? Somebody to save."

"Hn."

"Gaara..." Chiyo sighed and twisted her pearls animatedly, and she felt nothing but the sharp tug in her IV line. She pretended it didn't exist. Her grandchildren had already lost so much. "You could have someone without history if you just let me-"

"I've a bad history," he interrupted in a tensed voice.

Chiyo shook her head, her lips pinched, so he wouldn't hear her wheeze.

"It doesn't matter. You're rich. We're rich. I just want you to be certain, because you can't give hope to that girl and then change your mind, do you understand?"

"Hn."

"What was that?" she barked and cackled.

"Yes, obaasan."

She could easily picture him, with his nostrils pinched, rewording his answers carefully. He never cared about pleasing others, but he always corrected himself with her and his siblings. Her features softened, and she glanced at the family picture she kept next to her computer screen.

It had been taken a year after she had taken them in. She had taken it at the park, with them posing in front of the swings. Temari and Gaara wore stern expression, but Kankuro was smiling, his arms around both his siblings.

"I'll arrange a blind date then," Chiyo said softly and smiled.

"Yes, obaasan."

She heard him shift around.

"I'm not done!" Chiyo screeched. "Hang up on me and I'll scold you so hard your ears will whistle for a week."

"What is it, obaasan?"

Her smile slipped off her face and she tapped one finger on the picture. 4 minutes and 33 seconds left of the chemo. Gaara had always looked so grave even back then, a little boy with a dead man's face.

"Will the other girl be an issue?" she asked sternly.

"No, obaasan," he said with a tired voice. "Kankuro said he'll take care of it."

"Good. Free your schedule for tomorrow morning."

After Chiyo hung up, she buzzed her assistant to remove the IV line.

Soon, it would be time to give up on the treatment.

Soon, it would be time to go.

She was doctor, she already knew her odds.

For their first meeting, Sakura had chosen a busy coffee shop near the hospital.

Her leg bounced, and she bit at the skin surrounding her thumb, her stomach knotted in a fist.

Sabaku Gaara walked it at 10 o'clock sharp, and Sakura instantly recognized him as the young man who had dashed out of Chiyo-sama's office before her appointment. His deep red hair was as unruly, locks falling across his forehead, and over his pale eyes.

She stood up on shaky legs. Square your shoulders. Straighten your back. Chin up, she urged herself, but his appearance had knocked the wind out of her, leaving her unstable. It was the intensity of his sunken stare, the fatigue etched in his features, the way he wore a designer's suit, and people stared at him.

Sakura blushed. Some customers appeared to recognize him, and a hushing uncomfortable silence fell over the coffee shop.

"Are you Sakura?" His voice was low, deep. Bored.

"Yes, nice to meet you, Gaara-sama," she bowed, and he merely sat down, unbuttoning his suit jacket with a precise flick of his wrist.

He looked at his watch.

'Rude,' she thought, annoyed. He hadn't even used a suffix for her name.

Sakura sat back down slowly, her lips pinched. She reached for her cup before remembering it was empty. He watched her with unsettling eyes. She pretended to drink, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Her eyes darted to the pieces of red ink on his forehead, half-hidden by his hair. 'Oh dear god, is this really a CEO?'

"This is unbelievably awkward," Sakura said nervously to fill the lapsing silence, "and not just because you go around kissing mysterious women."

"Dancer," Gaara said, and he betrayed nothing. "She is a dancer, and I was quite drunk."

"You mean a stripper?" Sakura blushed.

Gaara raised an eyebrow at her.

Sakura gulped, her hand playing again with the empty cup. He followed her gestures with indifference, immobile, immutable. He was a man in a shield.

"Do you want some coffee, Gaara-sama?"

"I don't have much time," he replied stiffly, and he closed his mouth abruptly. "I apologize. My brother told me not to say that."

Sakura cleared her throat. 'What a weirdo...' she thought.

"Alright, I'll go straight to the point: If we do this, we need a contract," Sakura said thickly.

There was no "if" in her case. Without this marriage, without money, she would need to fly back to Konoha.

"A contract?" His head tilted slightly. "You mean, other than a notarized marriage contract?"

"Yes, I marry you under some conditions."

Gaara nodded sharply, and gestured for her to go on before glancing at his watch.

"Have you drafted this contract?"

Sakura reached for her purse and rummaged inside. She heard him shift in his seat, and she wondered if he only moved, only betrayed things when no one was looking. She finally pulled out a crumbled piece of paper. She smoothed it over, her tongue poking out between her lips.

Gaara shifted in his seat again, his lips disappearing in a sharp line, his brow twitching.

"Isn't this a medical assessment form?" he pointed at the header. "Does my grandmother know this is how you use the hospital's supplies?"

Sakura cleared her throat, her face flushed, and began to read: "Number one, I won't do the pageant wife thing. I work at the hospital. I'll show up next to you when I can, not when you need me to. If I'm working, I'm working."

Sakura paused looking up at him. He still stared at the piece of paper, his lips thin and his jaw set.

"Do you have any questions or…"

"I'm waiting for you to finish," he replied coldly, and he tapped on his wristwatch with one index while his stare remained on her.

Sakura tensed, uncomfortably jerking back in her seat. Squared shoulders. Straight back. Chin up.

"Number two, you touch me without consent, I saw your head off."

"I don't think you can include threats in a legally binding contract. Try to reformulate the sentence accordingly."

They locked eyes, her startled ones and his cold ones.

He was unshakable.

He was the voice in her head telling her she didn't belong.

Sakura cleared her throat, glancing away first.

"Number three," she pushed on, annoyed, and her words rubbed her raw. "I won't be your housekeeper or your cook."

His lips curled back in disgust, he designated her contract vaguely.

"I'm certain housekeeping is not a possibility for you."

"Number four," Sakura snapped raising her voice above his. Her heart pounded. She would be heard. And she would not bow if he weren't going to bow back to her.

Squared shoulders, straight back, chin up.

"You pay for my tuition in full, and you give me the same amount as my scholarship per year until I'm done with school. Then I become a doctor, and I pay you back."

"Hn." Gaara neatly pushed his suit jacket aside and took out a business card from his inner pocket. "Here."

Sakura blinked at the card and took it with both hands. Inwardly, she kicked herself. There she was again being formal to a man without manners.

She blinked in confusion at the name on the card: Matsuri Yasui, executive assistant.

"What's that?"

"The email of my executive assistant," Gaara said and stood up, his eyes on his watch. "I'm not signing anything that isn't typed out on an acceptable piece of paper and reviewed by my legal team."

Gaara buttoned back his jacket suit and readjusted his cuffs with precise movements. His movements ticked like a clock, an unhurried precise rhythm.

"You're leaving?" Sakura stammered and in spite of herself, she stood up too, the card shaking, wrinkling in her grasp.

"Yes, we're done, aren't we?" Gaara looked at her sharply.

"What about you?" Sakura frowned. "Don't you want anything? You're just..." she flinched under his cold stare. She gulped and pressed her hands together, trying to contain her agitation. "You're just alright with marrying me?"

"I need this marriage. You also need it. What's more to discuss?" Gaara said with disinterest and glanced once more at his watch. "My assistant will send you the non-disclosure agreement."

"Hey!" Sakura called after him, half-sitting back on her chair.

Gaara turned back toward her.

"What is it?" he asked, his mouth twisted with impatience, his shoulders tensing up.

She licked her lip, her fists tightening by her sides. Squared shoulders, straight back, chin up, Ino's voice blended with her own muttered in her ear.

"I think that I'll add a STD test as Number five."

She gulped with difficulty, half-petrified.

Gaara briefly turned back toward her, his eyes narrowed. Then, he shrugged, and exited the coffee shop without another word.

Sakura pressed a hand to her mouth and sat back down, giggles raising in her chest.

The image of the webcam wobbled, then settled showing Tenten sitting in her kitchen. She propped a piece of cookie in her mouth, her eyes narrowed at the screen. She munched slowly, brushing off crumbs from her lips with long fingers in the same absent-minded manner.

"He's hot," Tenten said simply, scrolling down the official pictures of Gaara. "Not hotter than Neji, but still hot."

In her own corner of Sakura's screen, Ino snorted and crossed her legs under her.

"Aww, look at that, Yamanaka is still gracing us with grunts and snorts," Tenten said with fake cheerfulness.

Scowling, Ino pushed her pale hair back in a gesture that was so familiar, Sakura's heart lurched.

She missed home.

She missed her friends.

Sakura smiled wider, her face, her heart aching, as she nodded and nodded. And smiled and smiled. He wasn't her happy ending, but being a doctor was.

"You're way too protective, Ino-pig. It's going to be fine."

She told them the bare minimum about her relationship with Gaara, each clause of the non-disclosure agreement constantly lurking in the back of her mind. She would be fine over a million dollars if she revealed that she wasn't the woman in the pictures.

Sakura had skirted the truth and pretended her shotgun marriage was the result of love at first sight and family pressure for them to tie the knot.

"Are you absolutely sure about this?" Ino asked again, her blue eyes narrowed with suspicion. "What do we know about this guy? Maybe he's a serial killer. And, he's too young to be a sugar daddy."

"You pig!" Sakura shouted, her temper rising. "I told you it's not like that!"

"Well, I still don't get it!" Ino shot back.

The webcam gave her usual intimidating glance a grainy quality. If Ino was here, she would instinctively how Sakura was feeling. She would toss her hair and talk and talk until Sakura cracked. Until Sakura followed what Ino said as she always did. Tenten would hum to herself and pile up ice cream cartons on the table, carelessly handing them spoons, to shut up Ino, and to comfort Sakura.

"There's nothing to get," Sakura grumbled. "He proposed and I said yes."

"Hmmm... In any case, Sakura can take him, right, Pinkie?" Tenten asked, and readjusted free locks of hair with pins. "Just like I showed you. Right hook, left hook, then knee in the balls."

Sakura nodded again, and she moved her computer, so her face would blur momentarily.

"In all seriousness, want a gun?" Tenten asked and reached for another cookie.

"Oh, something like that mini cute one you sent me!" Ino squealed.

"I don't need a gun!" Sakura insisted sharply, and Tenten shrugged, unfazed.

Sakura grimaced rubbing her sweaty hands on her jeans. While Ino was predictable even in her most impulsive moments, Tenten was completely unpredictable. She was goofy and careless, but she called her weapons "darlings" and a part of her life was a complete mystery.

Ino and Sakura would often speculate about Tenten's real job when they called each other at night.

"Bet she's military, special forces or something," Ino liked to say.

"Her following the rules? No way. You think she has a permit for her 'little darlings'? She's a contract killer at worst," Sakura would answer and yawned.

Sakura caught Ino's smirk, and she knew they were thinking about the same thing.

"But, there's still an issue," Tenten added her mouth full, and they snapped their attention back to her. "You don't even know if he's a real ginger." She licked the chocolate off her fingers.

Ino wrinkled her nose, and Sakura laughed, a fake nervous laugh that was high-pitched, deformed by the microphone of her laptop.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Ino frowned.

"Okay, I'll be crass: you haven't seen his dick and whether it's acceptable."

"Tenten," a muffled voice said sharply with a hint of amusement.

"Jesus, Ten," Ino giggled.

"Oh god," Sakura gaped in horror.

Shakily, she passed a hand over her forehead.

"What? Act all puritan if you want, y'all, but I've never seen any of you buy clothes without trying them out first. That includes you, Neji," Tenten yelled, her eyes shifting to a place behind her webcam. "So, you should... you know, try him out first."

"I can't believe you're already married, you clown," Ino huffed and gestured, speaking at Tenten. "She can't just ask him to audition for her husband's position!"

"Yeah, well, I'm not surprised you aren't married. Neji's friends I have introduced you to were boring." Tenten raised her head again looking past them. "Love, do you have any non-boring friends for Ino?"

"I'm not getting involved in this," a man's voice answered. "Tell Sakura congratulations on her engagement."

"Neji said you should definitely find out if he's real a ginger," Tenten turned back toward the webcam and winked, despite her husband protesting in the background. "Hush, love, I'm talking to Suna!" she waved him off.

"Oi, Sakura, does Gaara have a brother?" Ino asked and fluttered her eyelashes at her.

"I'm hanging up!" Sakura shouted as it was their ritual.

"Also, what are you going to do with your hair and that forehead for your wedding?"

"Shut up, Pig!"

"Bye, you guys!" Tenten said serenely. "Neji, gosh, stop frowning. As if dick jokes are beneath me."

Sakura logged off and ran a tired hand in her hair.

In two days, she would be married.

In two days, her debts would be paid off.

Sakura reached across her laptop for her phone. She massaged the back of her neck, leaning back on her chair.

"It'll be alright. I'll become a doctor," she said to herself, with the same firmness Director Sabaku had employed with her.

The sharp echo of Kin's high heels slowed and thinned as she approached Kankuro. Her fists shook by her sides, then with nonchalance as she closed the distance between them.

Smiling coldly, she crossed her thin arms over her chest.

"What are you doing here?" Kin said imperiously, but her expression was guarded.

Kankuro slowly spun on himself, his eyes drifting across the elaborate moulding spurting out of the fresco. Tall pillars of red marble adorned each corner of the hall of the National Ballet Academy.

He hummed serenely, before he finally looked at her.

Kin carried the stiffness, the grace of her dance in slow gestures and swift changing expressions. She looked younger somehow than the last time he saw her. Her face gleamed, piercing calculating eyes boring through his, the rest of her wobbly despite tight muscles.

She didn't look younger, Kankuro corrected inwardly. She looked terrified. 'Good,' he thought.

"I'm a big fan of ballet," Kankuro smirked.

"No, you're not. You like dolls," Kin spat, and her voice screeched, breaking off the usual careful melody she spoke with.

Kankuro whistled low.

"Damn, that Orochimaru gave you a file on all of us."

Kin stiffly rubbed her the goosebumps travelling up and down her arms, her face etched in stone. Her heart pounded. She had already given away too much.

No one was protecting her now.

"No matter. If you know that," Kankuro sighed and approached. He added in a conspiratorial voice: "then you know why I don't like you. You're just a pathetic ugly frog."

Her cheek twitched.

Kankuro smiled, the air brisk and tensed between them. He straightened his back and his suit, unfolding slowly into a man that filled the room. He handed her a thick yellow envelope, his expression cold and closed.

"You're going to sign another non-disclosure agreement."

Kin stared at it, but didn't move.

"Why would I do that?" she asked with a mocking tone, but her saliva thickened in her mouth until it was hard for her to swallow. "Clearly, Gaara doesn't want to stay away from me."

She hoped, she hoped that was true. Orochimaru had abandoned her when she had failed to deliver him Gaara's resignation letter from the position of CEO. Gaara had abandoned her, even if she had pleaded: 'What else was she to do?' she had cried out. She was alone, and men had used her all her life.

Kankuro rolled his eyes and opened the envelope himself. He leafed through the document it contained before finding the page marked by a line for her signature.

"Listen to my words carefully, you're going to sign it, for the same reason you signed it before. I know all your dirty secrets."

Kankuro pressed the opened document to her chest and shoved her back a little.

Kin flushed crimson.

"I think you want to avoid a scandal, so you wouldn't blow the whistle on me," she said slowly.

"So, this is where I've experience and you don't," Kankuro whispered, his eyes gleaming with cold ferocity. "The best way to bury a scandal is to reveal another one. Poor naïve Gaara at the clutch of a con woman in the country illegally," he mocked a pout.

"Maybe I love him," Kin titled her chin up in defiance, her teeth clenched.

Kankuro withdrew a pen from his inner suit pocket and held it up to her.

"Signature goes right by the big black X, but you already knew that, yeah?"

Kin watched him carefully, then wildly looked around her at the empty hall. There was no one. With a clenched jaw, she signed quickly after a moment of hesitation.

"Thank you," Kankuro said icily and slid the documents back into the envelope. Without another word, he walked away from her.

"You can bury me in legal threats all you want but he'll come back to me, like he always does," Kin shouted after him with a trembling chin.

Kankuro looked over his shoulder at her, never slowing.

"He's getting married, so I doubt it," he shot back with disinterest and her face shook, unstable, shifting between hatred and alarm.

"See yah never!" Kankuro waved at her vaguely over his shoulder.

He hurried down the steps of the building, whistling, and took the burner phone he had bought earlier out of his pocket.

The sun was already hot on the back of his neck, the sky white above him. With a flick of the wrist, he lowered his sunglasses on his nose.

When Kankuro reached the street, he dialled the number of a random newspaper. He pinched his nose before he spoke into the receiver: "Yeah, I've this huge scoop about Sabaku Gaara's mystery lady... They are married."

He hung up sharply and threw the phone in a garbage can by the street light.

'Fixed,' Kankuro thought and grinned.

He was a fixer, a puppet master.

Kin had been right, he had loved playing dolls, but now he played with humans.

At 4 o'clock sharp, Gaara stood up from his desk and picked up his jacket from the back of his seat. He moved mechanically.

In one hour, he would be married.

His lip curling up, he pulled at his sleeve sharply and readjusted his watch and cuffs. Matsuri, his executive assistant, opened the door, her posture uneasy, her fingers playing with the wires of her headset.

"I've the rings, Gaara-sama."

She offered him the bag with two hands, and the bag shook faintly. Gaara took out the two velvet boxes from the bag before handing it back to her.

Matsuri folded the bag neatly to occupy her hands. She couldn't look directly at him. She wondered anxiously whether she should wish him luck, or merely congratulate him? What was the etiquette for men who lied about the significance of their marriage?

"Hn. I'll meet you directly at the fundraiser," Gaara said coldly, and he strode past her.

"They've called," Matsuri squeaked and grimaced, hurrying after him.

The interns and the employees in the main room scurried to their feet and bowed. Gaara nodded distractedly to them in greeting.

"Who called?" he gestured for her to hurry up, taping his watch.

Her heels clicked quickly as Matsuri tried to catch up with him in the hallway leading to the elevators.

"The Whirlpool foundation," she panted and gulped with difficulty. "They asked whether... whether your wife would be attending. They also sent a wedding gift."

Gaara stopped abruptly, tilting his head, before turning back toward her. Matsuri flushed furiously under his scrutiny.

"Hn. The news is already out then."

"Yes, Gaara-sama. Kankuro-sama called earlier, but you were in a meeting."

He pressed the button of the elevator, his jaw clenched.

'Gotta feed the dogs, little bro,' Kankuro had said earlier when he had told him his plan. 'Easy fix.' But everything was easy for Kankuro who understood the ugliest mechanics of humans and pulled at their strings without the faintest regret.

"Tell them no."

"Yes, Gaara-sama. What about the gift?"

Gaara entered the elevator.

"Send it to my house."

"Yes, Gaara-sama." Matsuri quickly bowed her, her hands pressed together at her midsection.

The door slid shut, and he briefly closed his eyes. His hand closed over his watch. He tapped its rhythm.

It didn't make him feel better.

The elevator rumbled as it slowed at the parking level.

He opened his eyes and moved fast again, as if he had never paused.

Gaara unlocked his car and slid behind the wheel. Briefly, he touched his pockets to feel the two boxes in there.

In 48 minutes, he would be married.

He started the car and put on his seat belt.

This was simply another meeting, he told himself, but his heart hammered violently, wildly. He wanted to slow down, loosen his tie. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe!

"Love no one, but yourself. That's what monsters do," his uncle's words whispered back to him.

Gaara accelerated, gritting his teeth, his palms moist around the wheel.

His forehead burned.

The town of sand and gleaming tall building rushed across his window, then thinned when he reached downtown. The buildings were more elegant and lower, whirling sand stopped by the tall buildings surrounding the district. The roads twisted with old stones, but the pavements were mostly devoid of sand.

Gaara turned sharply on the main street, slowing with the traffic. He readjusted his grip on the wheel, forcing his shoulders to relax.

'She would love me,' he told himself.

Even if she didn't, even if she couldn't, she would love him as a wife.

That was all he wanted.

Shikamaru's notary office was near the financial district, in the newest part of town. The traffic became denser as he approached it.

He slowed down, and he alternatively glanced at the clock on the dashboard and his wrist watch. Time passed agonizingly slow.

Gaara scowled as he finally parked near the main entrance. He turned off the ignition and cracked his neck, before exiting the car.

Glancing up at the building, he locked his car. His grandmother had insisted Shikamaru performed the ceremony to preserve the secrecy around his marriage.

Gaara clenched his jaw.

Thinking about Shikamaru inevitably led him to thinking about Temari leaving Suna for Konoha, and his blood to ice.

His sister's place was in Suna, with Kankuro and him.

Gaara walked up the stairs to the main entrance.

Inside, he paced, his eyes narrowed. His shoes screamed on the marble with each step. There had been too many changes recently. He had expected the traffic to be denser at this time of the day.

He was too early.

Gaara turned toward the red door of the staircase. He pushed the door, roughly. It slammed behind him.

The staircase had more echoes, rustling plumbing, voices after carried from the hallways above. Everything was painted beige except the doors.

Gaara ran a hand over his face and unbuttoned his jacket.

"Gaara-sama?"

He froze.

Haltingly, Gaara looked up in the direction of the voice. Sakura leaned over the handrail of the second floor, biting her below lip. Her pink hair was pulled up in a low bun and light make-up softened her features, but she was still wearing her hospital scrub.

"What are you doing here?" Gaara snapped.

Sakura recoiled at his tone, gaping. She shut her mouth quickly, her face stiffening and her eyes narrowed into slits.

Gaara glanced away quickly, his mouth working. He turned his wrist toward him.

In 15 minutes, they would be married.

"Never mind that," he said coldly and walked up the stairs. "Don't be late."

"I won't," Sakura muttered, and she stepped away from the handrail.

When he reached the floor she was on, he paused. She stared at him openly, her cheeks flushed, her body tensed.

Gaara tilted his head inspecting her. Her lips trembled, her fists whitened over a bag of clothes. She wore delicate silver earrings.

"Are you changing here?" he asked slowly.

"No," she said quickly, then tensed and laughed nervously. "Well, yes."

"There's no need for that. I don't have many expectations about your physical appearance."

Her cheek twitched, and she gestured toward her bag of clothes, then toward him.

"Well, you aren't exactly wearing a scrub," she snapped.

He frowned.

"I don't work at a hospital. There's no reason for me to."

Sakura pinched her lips, searching his eyes. Was he joking?

Gaara stepped closer to her.

She gulped, her gaze flickering across his face. His nose had a slight bump, she noted, as if it had been broken several times. When he spoke again, she noticed faint thin scars across his cheeks: "We'll need to make an appearance after the wedding and give a news conference or an interview. We'll see with my publicist."

"What?" Sakura startled, and she realized she had stepped away from him until her hand touched the wall.

It was rough and cool against her palm.

She gulped.

"You signed that contract," Gaara said coldly, watching her closely with his unsettling pale eyes. "You know I need public appearances. I'll adapt to your schedule, but I need this."

Her gaze turned shifty.

He looked past her, up then down the stairs. She was on the second floor, midway between the exit and Shikamaru's office.

Sakura wasn't changing here, Gaara understood. She was going down the stairs. She was escaping.

"If you're not sure, leave now," he whispered, but his voice was gruff and hard.

'Love no one,' his uncle slurred in his ear.'No one can love you anyway.'

He glanced at his watch. The date changed everyday on the frame. His uncle was dead. He couldn't tell him anything about monsters. About him.

'Then, why is she pressed against that wall if you aren't a monster?'

"I'm not dragging you in that room kicking and screaming," he blinked and stepped away from her. "I'm not that man," he added in a whisper.

Their gaze met.

If he was good with words, he would tell her how terrified he was. Of strangers. Of her. Of being a lousy husband, a terrible father.

Her widened green eyes seemed to beg him for comfort. 'Tell me, we'll be alright. Tell me, we won't regret this.'

Gaara had nothing to offer her.

The crushing silence between them stretched.

"I'm fine," Sakura said finally, and she smiled coldly. "I understand. You need good publicity and I need money."

Gaara nodded stiffly, his shoulders relaxing a little.

He brushed past her.

"Let's go, then."

Sakura turned, following his movement. She expected him to hold up his hand, but he was already walking up the stairs without a glance back.

Quietly, she followed him.

Gaara opened the door on the fourth floor. He held it open for her, without looking at her, his body rigid. Muttering her thanks, she stepped in the hallway. The decor was modern, the lighting soft, with the name of lawyers and notary engraved on polished plates next to each door.

Sakura cleared her throat.

"I need to..." she held up the bag of clothes.

"Bathroom is down the hall," Gaara said stoically and kept walking, his arm with his watch held up. "You've eight minutes."

'So rude,' Sakura thought and rolled her eyes. 'It's not like they can begin without me'.

Reviews/favs/alert-ing are appreciated as always! :D

Next update will be on October 2nd.