To tanuki: hahaha Thank you for your review! :))
To Runashi: Glad you enjoy the tension between (I'm living my best life writing it huheuheuheuheu)! Yeah, it's a slow burn, so I'll make them cozy in time. ;) Thank you for your review! :))
Enjoy this chapter, you guys! :)
-X-
Sakura welcomed the silence of the deserted on-call room.
With a sigh, she crashed in one of the bunk bed, not bothering with the bed sheets. She dozed, her sleep was light, jerky, constantly interrupted by her reeling thoughts. Dr Kirino had thoroughly checked her work before letting her go.
"Surprisingly good. Now, go on."
Sakura rolled to her side, her head throbbing.
Stifling a yawn, Sakura took her phone out of her pocket. It was only 8:17PM. She unlocked her phone and froze. The screen still showed on the conversation with Gaara. Her fingers trembled over an endless wall of unanswered texts. She didn't know why she bothered.
She lowered her phone back, shifting in the bed to find a more comfortable position. She drifted in and out of sleep when her phone buzzed.
Groggily, Sakura held up her ringing phone to her face. 'Shit,' she thought, reading the names of Ino and Tenten. The 'accept' button of the conference call blinked angry red. 'Shit.' Sakura struggled to sit up. She quickly smoothed down her hair before answering the call.
"Hey, girlfriends!" Sakura shouted cheerfully.
She hoped the room was dark enough her friends wouldn't question her surroundings. She hoped they wouldn't question the cracks in her voice, her blotchy face. She hoped, she hoped... She hoped her life would make no waves, she realized and her stomach churned painfully. Didn't she hope for too much these days?
"Yo, bitch," Ino shouted back, her pale eyes flashing. Her face was almost pressed against her phone, filling the screen. "You can't forget your friends even with that rock on your finger! Understood?!"
"Like she said," Tenten said, and her tone sent a shiver down Sakura's spine. As if on cue, she heard the familiar click of metal. Tenten's hand was out of sight. Ino and Sakura stiffened, halted.
Click. Click.
Sakura locked glance with Ino, but her mouth was set, no trace of her usual amusement at Tenten's antics.
After a round of her empty magazine, Tenten let the gun go and dug her fists in her cheek to support her head. She looked once more playful and cheerful, her eyes sparkling.
"Where are you?" she asked in a whining voice. "We miss youuuu!" she pouted.
"Hmm," Sakura quickly pasted a smile on her face. "At home?"
Tenten's smile dropped. She narrowed her eyes, then she whipped back her head. She shouted something over her shoulder the microphone didn't catch. Her camera shifted for a moment, and Sakura glimpsed at Neji arriving from work.
Her heart pounded. Her nails dug into her thighs. Too close. It was too close.
"Geez, is your husband gonna listening in as always?" Ino rolled her eyes at Tenten. "This was supposed to be an intervention, Ten! Shoo, Neji!"
Unlike Ino, Sakura was grateful for the distraction. She smoothed down her hair again, smiling sheepishly when Neji leaned in to kiss Tenten's temple.
"I assure you, Yamanaka, your conversation doesn't interest me," he said coldly, and he disappeared from view again.
"Neji, you're the love of my life, but you're also a stingy liar," Tenten sighed. "You're the worst gossip, I know."
"Tenten," Neji hissed, out of sight.
"Shut up, you two!" Ino's eyes darted across the screen to where Sakura's face appeared. "Well, Haruno, what do you have to say for yourself?"
She licked her dry lips thinking of Gaara's coming in today for his STD screening. 'It was uncomfortable,' he said. She blushed, her mind racing across excuses, but all she could think of was his screening.
"The sex is really great," Sakura blurted out and regretted it instantly.
"Oh," Ino's mouth rounded. Then, she smirked, leaning in, conspiratorially her voice dropped: "Tell us more."
"Love," Tenten lazily waved her hand at her husband, her eyes never leaving the screen. "Go buy me some ice cream. I wanna hear this with undivided attention."
Neji sighed and grabbed his keys.
Sakura smiled, tilting her head to the side. Her mind raced.
She was such a liar.
-X-
Namyio bent over her microscope, and Sakura twisted at her hands nervously. He was taking his time, checking his sample, his face unreadable. Finally, he sat back, and took off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose.
Sakura gulped.
"Go home," Namyio said with a tired voice and waved her away.
"Did I do something wrong, Namyio-sensei?" she forced the question out through clenched teeth.
She knew her work was good.
The thought 'I'm a good student' pounded in her head, it was in each breath intake. She was a good student. She was good. No one could ever take away from her: she was a good student. She buried her hands in her lab coat's pockets, her fists tight and shaking.
"Go home, sleep and change," Namyio grunted vaguely as he walked past her. Sakura blinked, her lips parted in surprise, the tension drained from her body.
"Come back tomorrow morning. I don't let my staff pull this many hours in a row."
Namyio sighed and looked over the shoulder of an intern.
"Where are you at on your work?" he asked in his brisk whisper and the intern stammered back his answer.
Sakura bowed even if he was already turned away from her.
"Thank you, Namyio-sensei. I'll see you tomorrow."
Sakura allowed herself a small smile. She was good.
"One last thing..." his voice startled her when she reached the door.
Steeling herself, Sakura glanced back at him.
His blue gaze was dull and cold.
"Tell Gaara-sama you handle a microscope better than he ever did," he paused and cursed softly: "That punk."
Sakura bowed her head, her smile dying on her lips. Cold realization spread across her body. It was him, again and always.
He defined her now.
Sakura walked down the hallway, her fists aching, fingers spreading and curling by her side. Her lips disappeared in a thin line by the time she pushed past the secured doors out of the wet labs.
Angrily, she pressed the button of the elevators at the end of the hallway.
She was most definitely not going to be a damsel in distress.
"I'm handling it," Sakura whispered to her blurry reflection in the doors of the elevator. "He's not. I am." she added because she knew no one else would listen, but herself.
-X-
Gaara got home late, angry.
He kicked off his shoes in frustration, stretching his back, tension building behind his eyes. Gritting his teeth, he replaced them back in their place on the shoe rack. He straightened her shoes.
'That Orochimaru...' he swore inwardly.
He had disappeared, cancelling on a few of their meetings. The board of directors all wore poker faces in the wake of his last business venture.
He put on his slippers and opened the lights in the kitchen.
Gaara had wanted to save them all, all the employers of that little company, but they were still aboard a sinking ship. His investors were displeased, disappointed, supporting their claims with figures Gaara now knew by heart. A large deficit. A gaping hole that he had bought off because the term 'family business' crushed him.
All families deserved to be saved.
Frustrated, Gaara tore his tie from his neck.
There was a note written in pink scribbles on the kitchen counter. 'Pink ink how ridiculous', he thought as he turned the note toward him: "Thank you for the chicken!" He glanced at the sink and scowled at the piles of dishes there.
His anger stabbed back at his ribcage, buzzing on the surface of his skin.
Gaara unbuttoned his collar as he walked upstairs to the bedroom. Quickly, he changed out of his suit and put on his work-out clothes. He pestered her. He pestered Orochimaru. He pestered the other directors who had already chosen their side.
He stared hard at the ceiling, stilling, icy steel, and burning, churning anger. It was easier when he didn't care. It was easier when he hadn't decided to take over his father's place and do things differently. It was easier before he changed.
Gaara moved slow, watching his hands, watching his step, out of the bedroom, down the hall. Blood hammered his skull.
As he went back downstairs, he pinched his lips at the kitchen. He would take care of the dishes when he was calm. He roughly opened the door to the basement and grunted.
The light was on.
He went down the stairs, all of his stiffening at the new wave of anger that gripped him, viciously. It soaked him through, a permanent mark on him. It would be so easy to let the monster on a rampage.
Breathing carefully, he wrapped his hands with tape, then slipped on his boxing gloves. He felt the first punch through his core, the chains holding up the punching bag shuddered noisily, and a part of his head cleared. He moved, swiftly around the swinging bag, hitting it again and again, until all of his loosened.
The washing machine beeped, breaking his concentration.
He felt the floor once more under his feet.
He felt his pants, his heart, the ache in his joints.
Reality came back to him by wave, but the anger was gone. He felt nothing lurking at the back of his mind.
He lowered his hands.
Gaara blinked, wiping at his sweaty face with his forearm. He panted glancing at the end of the hallway toward the laundry room. Sakura must have forgotten the clothes. Gaara roughly removed his gloves and put them on a bench. He walked to the laundry room.
He pushed open the door and startled at the sight of Sakura sleeping there, on the couch.
She slept, curled in a ball, her left hand under her cheek. Her pale face gleamed in the hot yellow light filtering through the curtains. Various textbooks and notebooks surrounded her, some open, some closed. Chaos.
Gaara rolled his head back, stretching his tensed neck. He pressed his eyelids shut and pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment. Was there then no end to her?
Gaara moved across from her as silently as he could, stepping over her notes and textbook. The washing beeped again. He winced, silently lowering the laundry basket to the floor.
His jaw locked painfully when he tried to pry open the washing machine's door without waking her up.
He bent down to retrieve the wet clothes, and Sakura stirred. She rose up from the couch, rubbing her eyes.
"Gaara-sama," Sakura growled, her head cocked to the side, still half-asleep.
"Go back to sleep, upstairs," he whispered and resumed emptying the machine. "I'll take care of the clothes."
"The clothes..." she repeated vaguely and scratched her arms yawning. Her eyes focused, then widened and jumped to her feet.
Paper ripped.
The textbook she had on her lap crashed on the floor.
"Oh my god, how long have I slept?" she rambled and bent down to gathered her notes. "Is this tomorrow?" she talked faster as she piled up her notebooks and textbooks. "Oh my god, I'm late."
"One cycle is about one hour," Gaara said. The wraps around his hands were soaked through. "We aren't tomorrow."
"Oh, right," Sakura mumbled and her shoulders sank with relief.
She bit at her below lip, and she moved more slowly now, half in a daze, picking up wrinkled loose sheets of paper. She pressed the pile to her chest.
Gaara stood up again holding the laundry basket.
They stared at each other, but the tension built as she stood straighter. Gaara spread his fingers carefully. They hurt. She hurt. He could see it now.
"Go to sleep," Gaara said softly. "Upstairs."
Sakura shook her head, and there was a crude stiffness to the position of her body, a coldness in her eyes. Her arms tightened around her things. Theirs edges dug in her stomach.
She glared at him.
"Did you call him?" Sakura asked icily and she thrusted out her chin.
Gaara tilted his head to the side, frowning.
"Who?"
"Namyio-sensei," she spat and her voice wobbled with fury. "He mentioned you."
Gaara looked away, laughing humourlessly.
"I haven't talked to him in years."
"Well, he said to tell you," Sakura paused, swallowing hard, snarling openly now. Her voice grew louder, stiffer, amplified in the small room. "I handle a microscope better than you."
His lips curling in an amused cold grin, Gaara nodded at the pile of textbooks and notes in her arms.
"I'm not surprised. Unlike me, you seem to read the assigned material."
Sakura blinked in surprise, struggling to find the right words now. Gaara waited. He wondered what it was about them that made it so hard for them to understand each other.
"You... You were in med school," she said slowly.
"Briefly," Gaara smirked, but his expression appeared to float over his features, never sinking in.
"You quit?"
Her eyes widened, and Gaara stepped toward her, lowering his face to level his gaze to hers. His eyes gleamed with mischief, his face cut lined with shadows and scars. Sakura gulped, more questions bubbling up inside her.
"They kicked me out."
Gaara stood straight, vaguely amused by the confusion and the shock playing across her face. His chest shook with silent laughter.
"Why?" Sakura blushed at outrage she felt, the amusement he felt. They clashed and clashed, and she was exhausted because of it.
"Because I didn't read the assigned material, and I didn't bother to show up for half my classes."
"How charming," she said dryly, and she failed to imagine where she would be if things had been as easy for her.
Her head hummed, hot with anger.
Gaara merely shrugged, his gaze darkening, never leaving hers.
"Namyio-sensei can tell you whatever he likes, but I didn't call him. Even if I did, he doesn't do favourites," Gaara narrowed his eyes at her, ferocious and amused. "But he's a liar. You could never beat me in microbiology. Those were the only classes I actually attended."
Sakura gripped the laundry basket he still held, her neck reddening.
"I'll take care of it," she said stiffly.
Gaara cocked his head to the side, observing her.
"Are you angry?" his softened voice gave her goosebumps.
"I'm-" Sakura bit her lip and shook her head. She didn't know what she was. She was inflating, deflating, at each turn, at once fuller and more empty than she had ever been. A look, a whisper, a new article about her, they all pulled, rattled at her differently, stretching her thin. Erasing her.
He erased her.
"I'm many things," Sakura continued vaguely, the back of her throat throbbing. She couldn't look away from the ring on her finger. Still, firmly, she pulled at the laundry basket, but he didn't let go, his expression once more unreadable.
"Like what?" Gaara asked flatly.
"I'm sick and tired and being gawked at, and I'm angry that everything is so... so..." Sakura stumbled over the wrong words, she stammered the right ones.
"So what?"
The harshness of his voice gave her pause. Her arms felt back to her sides. They curled into fists. The harshness of his gaze taunted her. Say it. Say it!
"So fucking easy for you," Sakura said flatly. "For you and your clans and tribes and what-not."
She panted noisily, but he didn't flinch.
"Just ignore it."
"Oh, wow, thanks for the support," she said sarcastically, and she was flowing once more, gestures and words. "If only, I had thought of that."
"They have been gawking at me since I was 11," Gaara replied roughly. "When you are with me, they will gawk and whisper. Don't mind it."
"When I'm with you?" Sakura shouted, startling them both. They stiffened, mirroring each other, their chests heaving.
Suddenly, she couldn't stop. Her chest couldn't expand any more to withhold everything. Boiling, it snaked out, her fury, through the cracks of her. The cracks of them.
"I'm branded by your name! All they see when they look at me is you. I'm in the fucking newspaper because I took the bus. Can you imagine? They didn't even use my name in the article. I'm just your poor wife on the bus. You must be already sick and tired of me. Boo hoo."
Gaara frowned.
"Why didn't you buy a car? I left you all the information, so you could."
Sakura laughed dryly and ran a hand through her hair. She hated that she felt like her feeling didn't matter when she was with him.
"This isn't the point," she said and he looked at her strangely. She hated that she felt invisible.
"What's your point, then? What do you expect from me?"
They stilled, her pants slowing, the silence eating at them equally. They constantly stopped at the same latent question: "Who are we to each other?"
"A pat," Sakura said blankly.
"What?"
"A pat on the back."
Gaara lowered the laundry basket on top of the washing machine. They stared at each other, haltered, awkward.
Then, Gaara reached for her arm and pulled at her toward him. She staggered forward.
"What are you-" Sakura shouted her voice muffled by his shirt.
"I don't think you need a pat," Gaara whispered.
Sakura breathed heavily against him, her heart beating violently against his ribcage. Hesitantly, he pressed his cheek to the side of her head. It felt wrong, his too long limbs flailing helplessly around her, her too small frame wetly slipping through him.
"I really don't know... what I'm doing," he whispered and his lips brushed against her pink locks.
He released her arm, his arm moving to circle her waist instead.
Her nails dug into him.
'Was that better,' he meant to ask. 'Do we fit now?'
She shuddered.
She exploded.
She cried noisily.
She beat at his chest, and he winced, absorbing the impact. Absorbing her. His arms tightened around her. Now, they fitted; raw angles, and muffled screams. He closed his eyes, fingers holding her head in place.
'I understand anger,' he wanted to tell her again, but somehow, he couldn't when she was this loud. This angry.
When she calmed down, Sakura gently pushed back against his chest. He let her, watching her face, tentatively letting his arms slide to her waist. She looked at his wrinkled and moist shirt.
"Take it off," she muttered tiredly, her eyes rimmed with red. "I'll wash it."
He stopped her hand, his eyes carefully searching her face. His grip grew firmer. Her face was pale, blotched, her eyes dull.
"Do you feel better?"
Sakura shrugged, twisting her wrist out of his grip. His skin burned her. After all, this was now, but what about tomorrow when the circle would begin all over again? When they would be back to tiptoeing around each other, misaligned lives tangled in a mess?
She was tired of feeling like she lived on borrowed time.
"We never discussed it... what would happen after." Sakura muttered.
"After what?"
"After you're done needing me," her lips twitched into a laconic smile. "After you're done needing this marriage."
"I don't sign things lightly, Sakura," Gaara said her name firmly, like she was steel, more solid than she felt. She stared back at him, his stare frank and ablaze, her skull pounding with her quickening heartbeat.
"This isn't a short-term arrangement."
She licked her dry lips.
"What if you want to go back to her?" she said with an extinguished voice.
Borrowed time. Borrowed life.
"I don't sign things lightly," Gaara repeated and he towered over her, his face drawn, darkening. "We are never getting a divorce," he articulated each word as if he was addressing her formally.
Then, he walked away, leaving the laundry basket behind. Leaving her stranded. Cold.
Gaara returned to his punching bag. There was the sound of velcro screeching, then precise thump thump, each hit at the centre of the punching bag. Each hit, at once distant and vibrating inside her. Sakura shakily picked up the laundry basket.
When Sakura walked in the other room, Gaara instantly stopped hitting the punching bag. Tensed, he waited, the room stuffy with their silence.
Sakura slowly climbed the stairs. Holding the laundry on her hip, she opened the door to the main room. He didn't move. Sakura closed the door behind her and she heard him hitting the punching bag once more. Thump thump.
She leaned back on the door, her vision blurred. Thump thump.
Sakura sank to the floor, setting the laundry basket to her side. Thump thump, her heartfaltered.
She closed her eyes.
-X-
Rationally, Gaara knew they couldn't eternally avoid each other, but he held her and nothing had changed between them.
He still had this hole in his chest, this hunger in his stomach, and these baseless hopes in his head of something more.
Somehow, she had forced Kin between them, and his skin prickled at the thought of touching her again.
'Sleeping at the hospital.' Sakura's text read. Gaara flipped his phone over his desk, and reached across from him for his glass of gin. He grimaced at its bitter taste, carefully inspecting the bottle. Shikamaru had brought Kankuro and Gaara a bottle from one of his trips back to Konoha.
For a genius, Shikamaru was terrible at finding thoughtful and decent gifts. Or he was too lazy to bother.
Gaara scowled and stood up from his desk, reluctantly taking the glass with him. The alcohol smoothed, dulled his thoughts as he looked over the city. His office overlooked the eastern side of Suna, the old town. The sun was low on the horizon, the city gleaming golden, parched, sparse swirls of sand whipping at the buildings. Gradually, the sun would set later and later. It was always easier to be an insomniac during summer because of the sun.
Gaara preferred watching over a city that couldn't sleep in the suffocating sun. He felt less alone when summer thinned the darkness, scorched red and golden pink.
"I've completed all my tasks for the day, Gaara-sama," Matsuri said from behind him, and Gaara's gaze briefly flickered to her uneven reflection in the tall windows before returning to the horizon. "If you don't need anything else, I'll be on my way."
Gaara spun the drink in his glass.
"Did you manage to work on the list I asked for?" he asked quietly.
Matsuri frowned for a moment, then tapped her forehead like she did when she was nervous.
"Oh, the list of your wife's things?"
"Hn."
Maybe Sakura would come home if he gave her things back, he thought desperately. Maybe, they could start over. His jaw twitched, the tattoo on his forehead itched, and he took a sip from his drink.
It wasn't his fault she was working.
It was his fault she was avoiding him.
Gaara half-turned back toward Matsuri. Her purse dangled in the crook of her elbow and she had changed out of her work clothes. His hand stiffened around his glass. She was dressed to go out, he realized.
"Yes, it's partially completed," Matsuri nodded. "Some things have already been shipped to the unit you rented."
"Send me a digital copy."
"Right away, Gaara-sama."
"Tomorrow, Matsuri," he said before she could return to her desk. "It's late and you clearly have other plans."
Matsuri's shoulders sank in relief, and she bowed her head in thanks, her cheeks hot. She turned to leave, wetting her lips, hesitated, then turned back toward him.
"Gaara-sama, if I may..." she squeaked out and let the words dangled.
Her face flushed deeper under Gaara's piercing gaze.
"What is it?"
"Maybe I should book a table somewhere for your wife and you," Matsuri swallowed hard. "Soon."
"Why soon?" Gaara asked quietly after a moment.
"Gaara-sama, if I may..." Matsuri flinched.
His face hardened.
"Out with it, Matsuri."
Matsuri pinched her lips and straightened her shoulders. Determination shone in her dark gaze.
"It's late and you're still here. The same as yesterday, the same as the day before," she stared at him, her voice wobbling, her knees locking. "This isn't on your schedule, Gaara-sama. I don't know why you're avoiding your wife, but I think you should take her out and buy her jewelry. Show her you care."
Gaara turned back toward the city.
"Hn."
"And you should apologize about throwing her stuff away," Matsuri added quickly, her gaze trailing on the clear liquid in his glass.
She had never seen him drink at the office before.
"What makes you think I didn't apologize?"
Gaara already knew the answer. 'Because I'm me.' Because he was scarred by someone who pressed a knife to his back. Because there was too much blood on his fists for atonement. Because, because, there was always the monster lurking.
Clenched fists, seeking fights, too little love for himself, for others.
He wished he was someone else.
He wished he was someone more.
"Goodnight, Gaara-sama," Matsuri said, ignoring his question, and bowed.
Gaara took another sip from his drink, bitter and dulling. His gaze aimlessly followed the movements of cars and people. Those, he understood, left-right, all timed. When people were closer, movements were too small, too contained, more lies than truth.
He downed the glass in a gulp, wincing.
-X-
Two days later, Gaara was back where his wedding had started: his cousin's jewelry store.
The air conditioning was blasting by the front door of the jewelry store, barely shifting the suffocating air in the back room. Gaara narrowed his eyes at Deidara sprawled on the couch next to his. He played with his monocular loupe, his blond hair messy, half-hiding his face.
"What?" he grumbled. "Am I getting in all the jewelry-rejecting fun? I told you not to come back if you were going to be this difficult about a chick. Most grooms walk out of here in 30 minutes tops."
"Hn."
Heavy maroon curtains surrounded them, the room designed in a traditional modern touch. The couches were thin, hand-braided, like the cushion. Dates and coffee mugs were set on an engraved disc of cooper that served as a coffee table.
"Gaara-sama?" a voice prompted Gaara, and he set his gaze back on the jewellery.
Deidara groaned deeply.
The rings and bracelets and lockets, they had brought out for Gaara to look at, all looked the same to him. They shone, dully or brightly, silver, gold and white gold. He ground his teeth, his face hardening. This was a waste of time.
"This doesn't do either?" the assistant jeweller asked coldly, his lips curled up in a stiffening polite smile. His gloved hands clenched more tightly around each other.
Gaara glared at Deidara.
"I've already looked at this."
Deidara yawned and stretched his arms above his head, waving Gaara off.
"Of course, it doesn't fucking do, huh," Deidara said with sarcasm and reached for one of the dates on the table. "The man has no taste, just like Sasori."
Gaara's jaw twitched.
"Where's my cousin?"
Deidara covered his mouth with his hand to spit out the pit of the date.
"Away on business," he replied and dropped the pit in a jar on the table. Deidara then waved at the assistant. "Bring that back too, huh. The punk can't appreciate fine art, it's all wasted on him."
Gaara briefly closed his eyes. Sasori and Deidara's friendship had always made little sense. Sasori was a blunt man of a few words, while Deidara acted like a delinquent, dressing and speaking informally like a college boy. They co-owned the jewelry store together, arguing more often than agreeing, but somehow it worked.
"What about watches?" Gaara asked and pinched the bridge of his nose.
Deidara rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers at his assistant. The young man bowed and disappeared once more behind the curtains.
"Ugh. Is this for your wife or a younger cousin?" Deidara shook his head and clicked his tongue. "Speaking of bad taste, when is Temari going to come and let us fix her up with a real ring? No offence, but your old woman's ring is just outdated. Dreadful stuff."
"Shut up," Gaara hissed darkly.
Deidara grinned and moved to clap his back. Gaara's glare stopped him mid-track, and he shrugged and huffed.
"Y'all have the same glare in your backward family." Deidara rubbed his hands together, his smile sharp as his assistant lowered a velvet tray containing watches. "Now pick something. I've other things to do, huh."
With disinterest, Gaara gazed at the watches.
Deidara snapped his fingers in front of his face.
"OI! Pay attention, punk. This isn't a thrift store, you can't just browse for free," Deidara pointed at the first model. "This is tempered steel with copper which gives it a nice reddish colour. Matches your hair if you're into that."
"No one is into that, Deidara," Gaara said icily.
Deidara threw up his hands in a vague defensive gesture, smiling crookedly.
"Fine, fine, but these are excellent models, and you know it."
Deidara watched him like a hawk as Gaara looked over the models. His gaze stopped on a silver model. The numbers shone on a pearly white.
Deidara followed his gaze. He slipped his monocular loupe back in front of his eyes and picked up the watch with gloved hands.
"Ah, yes, that one is great," he mused out loud. "Doesn't exactly go "boom", but it's quartz and all the jazz. It's light too," he removed his monocular and lowered the watch back on its velvet pillow. "It's decent for one of Sasori's stuff."
"Wrap it up."
"Finally! Fuck, I'm starving," Deidara motioned for his assistant to take the watch. "Quickly, before he changes his mind," he added in a hiss and stood up.
Gaara turned away from both men and got his ringing phone out of his pocket.
"Sabaku-," Gaara started
"I know you're a Sabaku, little bro," Kankuro cut off with a grumble. "Listen, I received a call from a friend from Konoha. Orochimaru is meeting with the Uchiha group. Did you know that?"
"Hn. I guess Orochimaru wants us to know," Gaara exhaled and motioned for Deidara to give him the bill. "He disappeared two days ago with Kabuto."
"This time, it's different," Kankuro said curtly.
"Why?" Gaara switched his phone to his other ear to remove his wallet from his breast pocket. "It's Orochimaru's favourite sport coming after me. Our new product is due to hit the shelves next week. He was bound to do something."
"Kin was with them."
Gaara lowered his gaze to his watch, counting the seconds. Each tick of the hand drained him of everything. Time crushed, bled him dry. Time was a hook, a noose; it was the boxing ring he never left, unscratched, his fists pulsing with the punches he threw. It was the blood he spilled.
They lied.
Time didn't heal.
"Take care of it," Gaara whispered. "I'm going to see if I can fly out tonight to check on the new product directly at the factory."
It was time to care of the small family company he had saved out of near bankruptcy. It was time to take care of family. He narrowed his eyes, one finger tapping on his watch. He held it up to Deidara. In reply, he cursed loudly and the cash register rang, dull and blunt.
"Already on it," Kankuro growled. "One last thing, Gaara?"
"Hn."
Gaara held up his credit card to the jeweller assistant. The young man looked at him, then at Deidara, before bowing and taking the card.
"Make nice with the missus. We don't need another shit storm," Kankuro's voice was kept light, but it sank into him burdening and unflinching.
Gaara ran a hand through his hair, sensing Deidara's curious gaze on him. He scowled at him. Even in the privacy of his home he wouldn't have admitted to his brother that Sakura had already mentioned divorce twice.
"I'm buying her jewelry," Gaara whispered dully.
"Uh uh, is that so?" Gaara could hear Kankuro's grin and relief. "It's a watch, isn't it?"
"I'm hanging up now."
Kankuro's booming laugh didn't stop until Gaara hung up. Even then, it persisted as an echo. In the few happy childhood memories they had, there was always Kankuro's laughter.
He brushed his hair out of his eyes, his fingers stilling before they reached his tattoo. He lowered his hand.
Love.
Family.
It was time to go.
-X-
At six o'clock, Gaara straightened his sleeve over his cuff links and rebuttoned the first button of his suit. Stiff and haggard, he closed his desk lamp. He grabbed his briefcase on the way out. He felt uncomfortable following his schedule now. Something he couldn't grasp was trailing behind him, hovering around him, never fully in reach.
Something was missing now.
Love. Family. Home.
He shook his head.
Her.
Gaara stopped at Matsuri's desk. The paperwork was laid out in careful piles, a post-it of different colours over each pile, while the rest of her desk was covered crowded plush animals and toys her boyfriend regularly brought her.
His jaw twitched.
She typed faster on her computer, straightening her back. She avoided looking at him, a private smile tugging at her lips.
He cleared his throat.
"Did you manage to book a flight out for tonight?" he asked roughly.
Matsuri spun her chair toward him, bowing her head before grabbing his printed-out plane tickets and his itinerary off the corner of her desk. She held up the pages with both hands.
"Here you go, Gaara-sama. Have a safe flight."
Nodding to himself, Gaara carefully placed the sheets in his briefcase. He stared at her hard.
"I'm going home."
"Yes, Gaara-sama."
"Don't look so satisfied," he grumbled as he passed by her desk, and he heard her yelp and jump up to her feet, fumbling, almost tripping over her own feet.
The elevator was already on the floor. Its door opened smoothy the second Gaara pressed the button to call it.
Matsuri bowed quickly, her face burning.
"Good evening, Gaara-sama."
There was laughter in her voice.
He nodded in acknowledgement.
"Good evening."
Once the doors of the elevator slid closed, Gaara numbly loosened the tie around his neck.
He knew going home would change nothing. She wouldn't be there. They would still be estranged.
'What if,' his thought spun out of reach. He didn't want to hope for anything.
Gaara drove from his office to his house in the usual time. He parked the car in the driveway, and stayed there. His hand tightened on the shift gear, then relaxed it completely. He turned off the engine.
The contour of the blinds gleamed in deep orange. The light was on in the living room and kitchen.
Gaara pushed his door open carefully and extracted himself from the car, pebbles screeching and spilling under his foot. Out of habit, he glanced at his watch as he grabbed his computer bag from the back seats.
He was on time, but the buzzing, the yearning, was back, crawling under his skin.
She was here. She was finally here. Home.
Gaara glanced at his watch again as he made his way to the porch. He punched his security code and entered the house. He frowned at the shoes carefully set aside in front of the step.
They were deep purple high heels.
Gaara pressed a fist to the wall as he bent down and removed his shoes, his insides turned to ice. He heard her shift, imagined her carefully posing, arranging each limb carefully like this was war. She always treated formal discussions like it was war.
"What are you doing here?" Gaara called out icily and flinched at the sound of his voice.
His jaw set, he stepped into the kitchen.
Temari stared at him, blowing steam over a cup of tea nested between her hands. She sat on of the high stool, her back straight and her face carefully blank. Her dirty blond hair was pulled tight in a bun.
"Never late, are you?" she replied with an empty smile and set her tea cup back on the counter.
"You're not-" Gaara clasped his mouth shut, the muscles of his jaw working painfully as he ground his teeth. "Never mind."
"I'm not what? I'm not the one you wanted to see?" Temari asked coolly and tilted her head to the side in a disapproving gesture she knew he hated. "Tough week, I presume, for you to be this rude to someone who changed your diapers."
"I didn't expect you, no. You usually call first," Gaara said, ignoring her snide comment.
His gaze darted from the sink, to the refrigerator's door. There was nothing in the sink, and his note was still unanswered. His nostrils flared.
Limply, Gaara pulled back one of the high stool, but didn't sit down. They locked eyes, too cold, too stubborn, to yield first. Her purple mouth trembled, her matching nails drumming unpleasantly on the kitchen counter.
"Well, I came here to ask you: Are you free in two weeks?"
Gaara scowled at his sister.
"What for?"
"My wedding."
His face darkened.
"I hate Shikamaru," Gaara grumbled and released the back of the stool. Swiftly, he moved to start the kettle.
He needed to occupy his hands. His killer hands. His punching-until-you're-down-and-bleeding hands.
"Good thing it's me marrying him then," Temari replied coolly and her tone stopped him. "I left tea for you in the teapot."
Gaara felt himself nod slowly. His mind numb, he filled a cup for himself. None of them touched their tea. They stared at each other over the kitchen counter, the same shadows pulsing on their faces under the ceiling lights.
"Is it making you happy?" Gaara asked quietly.
Temari's shoulders shook with humourless laughter.
"Why do you think I've stuck around for so long?"
His pale eyes flashed. 'He looks like a mutinous child,' Temari couldn't help but think and froze expecting the old tantrums in spite of herself.
"Because you want to be the wife of a mayor," he said tonelessly.
"Oh, for God's sake! Who told you that?" Temari rolled her eyes, shaking her head in dismay.
"Does it matter?" Gaara looked at her, his jaw clenched.
Temari thrust out her chin, her eyes gleaming with the same burning fury.
"No, I suppose it doesn't," she replied coldly.
Silence stretched. Gaara merely stared at her, revealing nothing. Temari pinched her lips.
"So, are you coming or not?" she snapped and took a gulp of her tea.
Gaara crossed his arms over his chest, leaning his hip on the counter.
"Who's giving you away? Kankuro or me?"
"Kankuro," she sighed, but the calculated coldness never left her eyes. She knew better than not to expect resistance from any of her brothers. "He threw such a fit, that it was the only way I knew he would forgive me. Actually, Kiba and Kankuro are both giving me away."
'What about you? What will it take for you to forgive me? For us to be brother and sister again?'
Gaara set his jaw, his arms still crossed over his chest. He refused to look at her.
"Why are you really here?" he mumbled.
"Excuse me?"
"You're wearing the uncomfortable heels," he said in a slow voice as if he was musing aloud.
Temari slammed her open palm on the counter. His gaze slowly shifted to her face. The mutinous look in his eyes gleamed once more, and his lips curled in a cold smile. 'I got you,' the smile seemed to say, and she suppressed a shiver.
"Why haven't you called me?" Temari erupted and all of her shook as she shouted. "I had to learn from obaasan that your little wife was going around making visits to elders. I'm an elder!"
"We haven't done that..."
Rebuffed, Temari gaped at him.
"Obaasan said-" she faltered.
"We planned to, but she... her schedule changed." Gaara shrugged lightly.
Temari snorted. It used to reassure him when she snorted at a time when none of them ever smiled or laughed. Now, it came late, halfheartedly, as if she was one more stranger in his life. Gaara looked up at the ceiling, his eyes narrowing.
"Konoha is far," he said through clenched teeth. He had calculated the distance. 3H47min per plane. "We belong here, Kankuro, you and I. Together. Here." With each word, Temari, once more, saw him as an angry child.
Her gaze drifted to the refrigerator's door where his last note was left unanswered. 'Chicken or pork?' Uncomfortably, Gaara considered moving in her line of sight. Instead, he froze.
This was still war, no armistice in sight.
"You're unbelievably naïve sometimes, Gaara," Temari said with a tired voice, and she rubbed her forehead as if she was fighting a headache. "Tell me, little bro, have you not thought that perhaps Sakura will want to go back to Konoha someday?"
Gaara flinched momentarily. Temari glanced away. She pretended to scratch at a dirty spot of on the counter with her nails.
"I'm not leaving Suna," Gaara said quietly.
Temari shrugged, noncommittal.
"So, am I putting you down for one or two?" she asked evenly.
"Two," Gaara answered mechanically, and Temari stood up.
She smoothed her pencil skirt.
"Hopefully, her schedule won't change meanwhile," she added coolly.
"Please forward the details to Matsuri."
"I will."
Stiff and formal, tiptoeing around emotions, they faced each other.
"Well, good night," Temari cleared her throat and grabbed her purse off the sofa.
"I'll get you your honeymoon," Gaara said softly as she walked past him.
Temari looked at him, hesitated, then nodded quickly. His face didn't change, but his fists clenched and unclenched by his sides. She grazed his sleeve.
"Nowhere humid or too cold..." Temari trailed off dryly.
She released him.
"I know," Gaara said, and he reached across the counter to retrieve her tea cup.
He started washing it in the sink, his face bent over his task, pale and closed.
Temari grounded her teeth. 'Are you okay? Are we okay?' she asked inwardly.
"Tell Sakura, she's a bridesmaid," Temari said tartly instead and closed the door behind her.
Gaara stopped the water and gripped the edge of the counter, bent over the sink. He breathed out heavily, his chest uncomfortable. His head felt hot. He tore his tie from his neck. He squeezed his eyes shut, listening to the sound of Temari's car driving away.
He opened his eyes and sought the clock above the bookcase.
It was time to go.
Gaara put the jewelry box on the kitchen table. He tapped it with his fingers, as if to ensure it was truly there. His fingers reluctantly left the box. He hesitated, faltered, then reached in his pocket for the key to the storage unit.
He wrote her a brief note, leaving the jewelry box and key on top of it.
His fingers buzzed as he went upstairs and started packing his suitcase for his business trip.
It was too late for Sakura to come home now.
-X-
It was too late.
The treatments were burning her away, drop by drop, peeling her raw. Chiyo alternated between anger and drowsiness, an itch under her skin that couldn't be stifled. She leaned her head back against her chair, holding up her hand to Nozomi who gave her pain killers and a glass of water. She shivered, cold sweat sliding down her back.
Chiyo knew all the side effects of chemotherapy, but she still thought maybe she would be the exception, fight the odds. Her chest shook with dry laughter.
"Do I look dead, yet?" Chiyo cackled and gulped down the pills with a swallow of water.
She squeezed her eyes shut as Nozomi, her executive assistant, put the glass of water back on the tray she carried.
"You should rest, Chiyo-sama," she replied carefully.
"Where's Sakura?" Chiyo growled and threw her arm out as if to sweep all her concern away. "I asked you to fetch her tonight."
"She's already doing a shift, Chiyo-sama."
Chiyo frowned and sat up, her vision swaying from the rapidity of her movement. It settled on the round face of Nozomi. Her thin brows were knitted together, her forehead marked by age.
"She was supposed to come to the house yesterday to meet us elders, but Gaara said she needed to work. How many hours is she doing? Pull her schedule," she grumbled and gripped her desk to pull her chair toward it. "Wouldn't be the first bride trying to avoid responsibility."
Nozomi smiled tightly and bowed. She retreated back to her desk.
Chiyo rested her eyes listening to Nozomi moved around her desk and printed out Sakura's schedule. She held up her hand again for the sheet of paper. With her hand trembling, she put on her reading glasses.
She froze.
"What in god's name is this?" she shouted and waved the paper noisily.
"It's-"
"You call the whole surgery team in now," Chiyo snapped.
"Now?" Nozomi breathed out and stared at her.
Chiyo's face hardened, her eyes gleaming with fury.
"This is my hospital, and those painkillers are kicking in. I want everyone in." She stood up on locked knees, her breath coming out in a hiss. Nozomi pinched her lips, but wouldn't move. "Now," Chiyo repeated with a snarl.
Nozomi bowed and walked out of the room quickly.
Chiyo's trembling hand wrinkled the sheets of paper. She breathed out heavily, swallowed air coming in her nose. She forced her hand to release the paper sheets. Instead, she grabbed the phone and quickly dialled the extension number of Dr Namiyo Kirino.
"Chiyo-sama," Namiyo answered, sounding surprised, after the second ring.
Her hand involuntarily clenched the phone tighter.
"Come to my office right now and bring Sakura."
"Is something the matter, Chi-" he started carefully.
"I SAID NOW!" Chiyo bellowed and hung up savagely.
She sat back down, straight-back, a snarl curling back her lips, her hands linked over her midsection.
Now, she waited, regal and in pain.
She had fought for this seat. She had fought for power.
Chiyo stared hard at her diploma and awards lining the wall in from of her. She tried to draw strength from everything she could.
It was too late, but she wasn't dead yet.
-X-
Thank you for reading! Feedback, as always, is appreciated :))
Next update is in two weeks: March 21st. After that, I'll take a short break to work on other projects