To Runashi: And now more progress ;) This chapter was definitely intended to be more in Sakura's POV. (It's almost like you're reading my thoughts lol). No spoilers, but I'm not THAT heartless. :O haha Thank you for your review! :))
To Guest: No kidding, I felt those caps in my soul. THANKS! :DD
To Tanuki: I guess the chapter will make it clearer to you which it is. :P Thank you for your review!
This is a very long chapter. Enjoy! :)
There was no air, no movement in the room, but everything, everyone was cluttered.
Students and residents stood, crowded, the back of their knees bumping on the furniture, on another. Sakura stared hard at her joined hands, Namiyo in front of her. His back was straight, tensed, hiding the Director's desk from view.
For once, he filled the room. Sakura couldn't tell whether he was angry or terrified. From the moment, he had told her to stand up and follow him, he had moved like still waters, impenetrable, cold.
Sakura bit the inside of her cheek, and she dug her nails on the palm of her hands.
"You, you, and you go," Chiyo said abruptly as she pointed at wide-eyed residents and first year students. "You, too."
The director pointed them out relentlessly, her movements overreaching and rigid. Her words were clipped, but they dropped heavily, piercing the silence and rebuilding it.
Residents and attending physicians bowed, one after the other, and there was more and more room to breathe and move. It was worse.
The air buzzed with a deathly silence.
Sakura could feel her heart hammering each of her bones, everything tightening and tightening around her. Dark spots danced in front of her eyes as she stared harder at the carpet.
"You," Chiyo finally pointed at one of Sakura's classmates "Who are you again?"
Sakura turned her head, as a petite blonde who stepped forward with a small bounce. Ayano appeared calm, even amused, and Sakura squeezed her eyes shut lowering back her head. Ayano was part of one the most influential families in Suna politics. She always acted small and delicate, her manners polished.
"I'm Sunaga Ayano, Chiyo-sama," she smiled and bowed deeply.
"Who the hell assigned you to the surgery rotation?" Chiyo snapped and sharply tapped her knuckles on a spread sheet in front of her. "You aren't on the initial list."
Ayano blinked several times, taken back by the Director's tone. A smile curved once more her lips. and she shrugged almost, playfully.
Namiyo clicked his tongue reproachfully at her attitude and Sakura had to bite her lips hard not to burst out laughing at the anxiety building up, taut, aggressive, inside her. She was squeezed out of everything. Air, fear, and anger had snapped when she had entered the room, and she was left with nothing but with silence.
Chiyo's office felt like a minefield with Sakura firmly standing on several ticking ones. She was the epicentre, where Chiyo's last "you" would detonate.
"I received an email and-" Ayano tried with a light tone, but Chiyo held up her hand, interrupting her.
"Show it to me," Chiyo said roughly, her face hardening.
Paling, Ayano hesitated then took her phone out of her white coat. She unlocked the screen of her phone, her nail clicking against the screen as she retrieve the email. She then presented it to Chiyo with both hands, attempting one last innocent smile.
Chiyo dropped her reading glasses on the tip of her nose. After a moment, she dropped the phone on her desk and took off her glasses. Heavily, she leaned back on her seat, her hands crossed over her stomach.
"Natsuko-san, step forward."
Stiffly, she bowed.
"Chiyo-sama."
"The rest of the team, get out. Not you, Ayano!" She snapped when the blonde was about to move with the rest of the crowd.
She flushed, bright pink, and returned to her place with a sheepish smile.
Chiyo waited until Nozomi had closed the last of the other students and physicians had left. She licked her cracked lips.
"Do I look dead to you?" she said quietly and Sakura winced at her tone.
Natsuko attempted a short-lived nervous laughter.
"No, of course, Chiyo-sama, not."
"IT WAS A RHETORICAL QUESTION!"
Natsuko opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Her face shone waxy, completely white, frozen.
"How dare you reassign students? Huh?" Chiyo got up to her feet and pressed a finger to the spread sheet. "I pick the students and the order of rotations with the dean according to grades. Did you speak to the dean after I did, huh?"
Natsuko didn't move.
"You're fired. Effective immediately. Get the hell out of my sight."
"Chiyo-sama!" Natsuko cried out, desperately. "Sakura was a poor fit for the team. Clearly-"
"Clearly," Chiyo spoke above her, her tone chilling. "You don't care about hierarchy and process and even less team spirit. Sakura isn't a resident. She doesn't need to be a good fit! She just needs to learn! Going behind my back like that... Tch."
Chiyo panted and waved her hand at Ayano.
"And for your dimwit cousin of all people!"
They both gaped at her, the others startling.
Chiyo stared at Natsuko, breathing hard, disgusted.
"I wouldn't trust you with my life, why would I trust you with any patient's life?" Chiyo straightened her suit jacket with shaking hands and sat down back on her chair.
She motioned toward the door, panting, her face flushed with sweat and anger.
"Security is already waiting for you outside," she added tonelessly. "Get out."
Chiyo turned her gaze toward Ayano just as Natsuko exited the room, her face blank. She didn't bow. The blonde blinked rapidly gazing after her cousin.
"Where were you assigned beforehand?" Chiyo asked roughly and pushed Ayano's phone across the desk toward her. "Family medicine or somewhere else I had no knowledge of?"
"I was in Family medicine, Chiyo-sama," Ayano said quietly and retrieved her phone.
"You're headed back there after your two week suspension."
"Chiyo-sama, I-"
Chiyo erupted laughing and Ayano took a step back, blanching.
Sakura stiffened, and she felt Namyio do the same. Chiyo's high-pitched laughter rang uncomfortable, feral, and her wide eyes darted past them at her collection of diplomas and awards. Briefly, she looked devastated, her face shedding emotions, unstable, her jaw opened too wide.
She closed her mouth, the silence stretching, chaotic and raw.
"What is it with anyone of you opening your mouth to speak back to me? Do I look dead?" She knocked her knuckles on the desk. Her movement haltered, then her fist dropped on the desk, soundlessly, without force.
Sakura swallowed hard.
"It's not a coincidence you were the one reassigned," Chiyo continued, her lips pinched. She stared at her fist. Her skin was covered in deep blue veins dotted by aging spots.
It never bothered her before.
Death didn't bother her before she was dying.
"'With your family name and connections, you probably thought you could get away with it," she said, irritate. "When you come back from suspension, you'll meet with both the dean and me, and we'll decide whether we kick you out of the program."
Ayano paled and cocked her head to the side, her lips moving restlessly as if she were repeating the words to herself. When she still didn't move, Chiyo dismissed her with a sharp wave of the hand.
"Get out!"
'Do I look dead,' Chiyo wanted to scream endlessly. She felt dead. Her tongue was thick, dry, barely fitting in her mouth, and her vision swayed so easily. Her skin was flushed, but she was cold.
Nozomi closed the door after Ayano, and Sakura briefly closed her eyes.
"Namiyo!" Chiyo shouted and interlocked her fingers together to prevent her hands from shaking.
"Hai, Chiyo-sama." he bowed, his face unreadable, his tone levelled.
'She's a sandstorm, and he's still water,' the thought formed chaotically in Sakura's mind. Then, nothing.
"I'm surprised you didn't report this to me."
"I'll take full responsibility, Chiyo-sama," Namiyo bowed deeply. "I assumed Sakura was reassigned because something happened in surgery. My lab has been used in the past to straighten out troublemakers. I thought you had reassigned her. I apologize," he bowed again, stilling in the posture as he awaited the director's answer, and suddenly, Sakura was exposed.
She met Chiyo's dark gaze. It mercilessly bore through her.
"Sakura," Chiyo breathed out her name.
Sakura side-stepped and bowed.
"Chiyo-sama."
"You're suspended two weeks," Chiyo said coldly.
The floor swayed, her palms prickled. Sakura counted the seconds passing by, frozen in place.
"You chose not to speak up, so it shouldn't be too hard for you to shut your mouth now. I've told you this before: You need to learn to work with a team. You're not alone in this hospital, and you're not alone when you are providing care. You acted like this..." she pushed away the spread sheet and they scattered noisily.
Sakura watched some of the pages drifted off the desk, Chiyo's unwavering gaze still piercing through her.
"You acted like this whole mess only affected you. And working as you did... If you can't take of yourself, you can't take care of a patient. This is why I'm not going to let Namiyo-sensei take responsibility for you. You should have known better. Now, get out."
Sakura barely felt herself bow again.
Namiyo squeezed her shoulder, pushing her toward the door. That too, she barely felt it. She raised her head again, but Chiyo had spun her chair to face the windows.
Her eyes stung. Her head throbbed. Her chest was crushed.
Gently, Namiyo guided her outside of the office. Nozomi closed the doors after them without a word and returned to her desk. Her face was drawn, illuminated by the blue light of her computer screen. Sakura noted these details, absentmindedly.
"You thought I didn't know what it was like to be a misfit?" Namiyo asked and shook his head. "Chiyo-sama was harsh, but she was right."
Namiyo walked away, slowly, closer to his former self. His back bent as he held his hands behind his back.
Sakura watched him go, farther away from her former self. She forced herself to move toward the elevators.
She stopped.
Ayano met her eyes. She tapped her foot impatiently, her arms crossed over her chest. Sakura kept walking, unbalanced, numb. She pressed the button to call the elevator.
"This is all your fault," Ayano hissed and straightened her back.
"How?" Sakura asked blankly.
"What?"
Sakura mechanically turned her head toward her. Dully, she felt her neck's muscle stiffened, corded, contorted
She tried to see it, on her face, the impact of Chiyo's words. She tried to see the ravages of their sentences ricocheting, hammering against her skull. She tried to see it, on the face of a girl who already had everything, but still chose to take from others.
Nothing.
Her chest shook, drawing in breath. Nothing.
"What?" Ayano snapped again.
"It's funny because I thought if I don't say anything, it would make a difference to you and the others, but now, I see that it all means nothing," Sakura laughed dryly and ran a hand through her hair.
Lifelessly, her arm dropped back to her side and the elevator clang.
"The only difference is that you could have reassigned me to any department," Sakura continued, "and I would still have done a good job. Wherever you are, you are still a student who won't make it in a surgery residency with your worth alone."
Ayano reddened. Her small fists shook at her sides. Her face peeled like a mask, anger jerking, stretching her muscles until she was barely recognizable.
"You think you can speak to me like that?" Ayano panted.
"I think I can clock you right now," Sakura replied tonelessly and stepped in the elevator. "I'm Cinderella from the ghetto, remember? I'm not good with big words." She pressed the button to close the elevator's doors. "You should probably wait for the next elevator."
Ayano pinched her lips, her face drawn in, blanching with anger.
"You'll regret this."
The elevator doors slid shut.
Sakura opened her mouth. Silently, she screamed. There were four of her, reflected on each side of the elevator. Four of her screaming without words, without blame, ragged breath, dishevelled pink locks whirling in all directions.
'I understand anger,' Gaara's voice sneaked in the silence of her mind.
'I understand anger.'
Sakura froze, between his voice and the director's voice, the world throbbed.
In the entrance of her house, she squeezed her eyes shut, her hand on the wall supporting her. Her nails scrapped the paint. She clumsily stepped out of her shoes and they thudded on the floor. She shook her head, pressing a cold hand to her forehead.
Numb, Sakura pushed her shoes to the side and stepped in the main room. Every room was dark.
She breathed out, shakily, relieved that she was alone.
'You need to learn to work with a team. You're not alone in this hospital, and you're not alone when you are providing care.'
Sakura rubbed her arm, walking toward the refrigerator. She opened the door and stared blankly at the plastic containers neatly stacked. Milk, butter, other essentials. Nothing registered. She didn't know what she wanted.
"But I'm alone," she mumbled.
There was this voice in her head that whispered she didn't want to be alone, and there was this other voice, the stronger of the two, that didn't need anyone. Nothing had changed.
She didn't want anything.
Sakura startled when the refrigerator beeped loudly. She gasped for air, lost.
She slowly closed the door, holding the door handle tight. She leaned in, breathing shallow breath, lowering her forehead to the cool metal.
She didn't want to cry. She didn't want to be cry-baby Sakura. She didn't want to be herself, at all, for a short while. She wanted to lie down and wake up as someone else.
'But I've already moved away from home. Away from my past,' she sneered inwardly. 'How many times, will I have to reinvent myself?'
With a shuddering breath, Sakura let go of the door handle and turned around. She was about to walk upstairs to her bedroom, when she glimpsed at a black box on the table. With hesitant steps, she drew nearer. A key was set neatly atop the box and the box itself was atop a note.
She laughed quietly, spinning the note toward her with two fingers. Nothing had changed. They were worlds apart.
'I'm away on business for a few days. A cleaning lady will come every day.
The watch is for you.
They key opens a storage unit with your things.
Temari wants you to be a bridesmaid.
Call Matsuri if you need anything.'
Sakura lightly touched the key, then the box.
'You should have known better.'
'I understand anger.'
She balled the paper.
How could she have been so blind?
In frustration, she turned to aim at the recycling bin. The ball of paper missed and ricochetted across the kitchen, near the sliding doors leading to the garden.
The bin was overflowing with notes.
Sakura approached it, choking on more thoughts, on more emotions. They spun and spun as she bent down and dug a hand in the crumbled notes in the recycling bin. She took them out, barely breathing, split open, smoothing them one by one.
'Where are you coming home?' Gaara had wrote and rewrote a dozen times. Most of the notes were incomplete, crossed out neatly, but they all asked the same thing. 'Where are you coming home?'
'You acted like this whole mess only affected you.'
Choking, she held her head, letting the notes bounced around her.
She gulped for air, her throat constricted.
Then, she took her phone out of her pocket and tried calling Gaara. Her fingers slid clumsily across the screen. Wet and blurry, swaying, the phone shook in her grasp. She touched her cheeks, her mouth stretched in the same silent scream. She screamed and screamed, inwardly.
She pressed the phone to her cheek, her vision as blurry.
It rang only once.
"The person you're trying to reach is not available."
The edge of her phone dug in her ear.
Sakura lowered her arm and hung up.
'Now, I'm alone,' she thought, and parts of her recoiled, hissing. Parts of her refused to have their walls, their protection, stripped away.
Especially not for a man.
Sakura didn't open the jewelry box.
She slept fitfully, on the couch, startling awake every hour or so, sometimes calling his name. She looked and grazed the key and the jewelry box. In her dreams. When she awoke. The key gleamed, bathed in cool moonlight, then in warm sunlight.
The morning rose and Sakura held the key once more above her eyes. She floated, she drifted. She had thought he had lied. She could barely explain to herself all everything she thought she knew, everything she had learned, researched, didn't seem to apply to marriage or him.
She had thought she understood him.
She reached for her phone and turned it over. No new messages. No new calls. She removed silent mode with a swipe of her fingers and turned on her back.
The phone vibrated on her midsection, then rang, shrill.
Sakura brought the phone to her face and frowned when she saw the caller ID. She bit her below lip, as it rang, and again, she wondered if she should avoid it. Avoid it all. The phone kept ringing, mercilessly. It stopped, then began again.
Sakura answered, but found she couldn't say anything. She held the phone to her ear, waiting for clarity, the right words.
'I'm angry at you.'
'You made a spectacle of me.'
"Where are you?" Chiyo barked and cackled. "Sleeping in next to Gaara, are you?"
"I'm home, I'm suspended-" she forced the words out, her insides twisted into tight knots.
"Yes, and you owe me hours of private session," Chiyo snapped, interrupting her. "Get yourself here. Now."
"Chiyo-sama!" Sakura stammered with a booming voice and sat up.
She paused. Her tongue thick in her mouth. Lead. She was lead. Her features sharpened in the light filtering through the curtains.
"You can't-" she started through gritted teeth.
"Ah yes, one last thing," Chiyo interrupted her again. "Have you heard from Gaara?"
"No," she said caught off guard. "He's away on business."
"That punk..." Chiyo snorted. "Whenever I can't reach him, he goes and does something stupid. Now, hurry up. I'm old, I can't wait all day. Tik tok. One day away from death."
She burst out laughing then, she was gone.
Sakura breathed heavily staring at her phone.
Now she had clarity.
Her mind had stopped screaming.
In Chiyo's office, they faced each other, without speaking, across the coffee table.
The leather of the chair was cool against Sakura's thigh. She had dressed in simple clothes, her hair pulled up in a messy bun atop her head. Her green eyes gleamed, sharp, directly meeting Chiyo's.
The old woman sighed.
"Are you going to sulk until the end of times?" Chiyo asked and blew the steam over her cup of tea.
"You didn't just punish me," Sakura said calmly. "You made an example of me."
She had recited the words endlessly on the couch after hanging up, then in the shower. In her head, on the bus ride. She had still expected the words to fail her.
Chiyo leaned back in her chair and stared at her, unreadable. Her cup clicked delicately against the saucer as she sipped her tea.
"You're smart enough to understand why," she said coolly.
Sakura clenched her jaw and her fists curled on her thighs.
"I don't want you to use me that way again, Chiyo-sama."
Grunting, Chiyo bent down and set the saucer with her teacup on the coffee table. She was used to veiled political games. Temari played her cards, fast, jealously holding them against her chest. She discarded them with voracious calculated patience. She built house cards to watch them crumble.
Sakura didn't play. She aimed and made direct hits, leaving her unprotected.
Chiyo shook her head. 'She'll have to learn. They'll eat her alive.'
"But I will," she hardened her voice, her face, and stared back at her. Sakura didn't look away. "Regardless of your relationship with my grandson, I would have used you, Sakura. You're too angry to see it, or maybe you don't believe me, but there are limits to what I can and cannot do. Even for you. Even for family. The world is full of vultures preying on weak old people."
"I know how it would have looked if you hadn't punished me…"
"But?"
Sakura glanced away.
"See? I had a choice, but I made the right one. Now, stop sulking, and start reading that MRI scan. You're behind in our private studies, and I haven't gotten all day."
Sakura pinched her lips, her face shaking as she tried to collect herself. She glanced back at her with the same openness, the same implacable gaze.
"I thought it would be enough to be a good student."
"Of course, it isn't!" Chiyo shouted and cackled, and Sakura bore the laughter without moving. "You have to be the best student. Don't you dare stop until you sit on that chair." She thrust her thumb toward her desk at the end of her office.
"Chiyo-sama…" Sakura persisted.
"Start reading that scan," Chiyo grumbled, but her face softened. "You must have noticed we don't do emotional conversations in this family."
She waved her hand at her teacup.
"And drink up. Don't make me waste perfectly good tea on you."
Sakura stared at the teacup.
"Atrophy to the medial temporal lobes, possibly due to neurodegeneration as in Alzheimer's," she said about the scan, then she drank.
Chiyo nodded.
"Keep going."
Sakura smiled with a hunger she had never allowed herself to have. She wanted it. The chair.
Someday, she wanted to sit in Chiyo's chair.
Gaara picked up his rent car one hour after he landed in Roran in the morning.
The wind flickered with red sand as he drove through the city. The city was surrounded by tall dunes, the tip of crooked towers and thin elongated buildings swaying in the wind. The Desert shone, red, sparkling under the rising sun.
Gaara turned up the radio, readjusting his grip over the wheel. His knuckles ached dully.
The city, the desert, they sank into him, his back burning up. Gaara tapped his left shoulder as if it to tame the beast tattooed across his back. But it was also a promise. 'Soon.' It had been a long time since he had wanted to fight. His hand fell back to the wheel, at the perfect angle.
Gaara sped up, changing lanes, putting distance between him and the heart of the city. The factory was in the outskirts of Roran, by one of the underground river, at the entrance of the desert.
He parked the car and leaned in over the wheel to appraise the building. He had only visited the factory once before purchasing it. The building was painted in soft yellow and orange colours and disappeared, a mirage, when sun rays hit it at a certain angle.
Gaara turned off the ignition and grabbed his briefcase from under the passenger seat. He got out of the car, narrowing his eyes at the blinding light. He closed the door and hurried up the stairs to the entrance of the factory.
The owner, Kazama Daisuke, was waiting for him. He was short old man with a receding hairline. His charisma was in his warm manners, his hands moving constantly when he worked alongside his workers or when he spoke. As Gaara approached him, he stood, stiff, his face paling.
Mr Kazama bowed to Gaara.
"Gaara-sama, I apologize we haven't had much time to prepare for your arrival," he started formally and blinked a few times, hesitating.
Gaara said nothing, his eyes drifting across the glass windows revealing the machines working noisily. He clenched his jaw.
Nervously, Mr Kazama wiped the sweat from his brow. His handkerchief disappeared in his pocket, and he gestured for Gaara to follow him.
The air was cooler in the small room they entered. There was water and a basket of fruit in the centre of the table, and Mr Kazama indicated them with formality.
"Please..." he said holding up both his hands.
"What happened?" Gaara asked and glanced at his watch.
In his breast pocket, he felt his phone vibrated, but he didn't reach for it.
"I tried to reach you, but you were already on the plane when we learned..." Mr Kazama gritted his teeth, his eyes staring hard at the floor. He bowed stiffly before talking again: "I apologize, Gaara-sama, but I think everything is lost."
Gaara unclasped his watch with swift hand movements, fingers caressing the frame, holding back the bracelet, before setting it on the table.
"The Uchiha Group is not going to send you what you need to finish," Gaara stated, unperturbed and Mr Kazama nodded roughly.
"I waited for you, but it seems there's little we can do, Gaara-sama. We tried to argue with our lawyer that they can't terminate the contract they signed, but they said they aren't terminating the contract. They said that there's only a delay."
Calmly, Gaara removed his suit jacket, the hot desperate stare of Mr Kazama searching his face. Next, he unbuttoned his cufflink. Mr Kazama's confusion grew.
"You saved us, once, Gaara-sama. That is enough for me and my family," he bowed. "It wouldn't feel right to ask for more."
Gaara rolled his sleeves up his arms.
"To the death," he said softly and his pale gaze met his darker one. "That's how I fight."
Mr Kazama paled, his chest deflated.
"I-I..."
"Give me a landline phone."
Mr Kazama hesitated then pushed a phone in Gaara's direction.
"I just don't see what we can do," the old man stammered and wiped at his forehead again.
"How many products can we finish?" Gaara asked roughly.
"Maybe 100... If I go higher, the quality..."
"What do you need?"
"Quartz from the North."
"I'll find you enough to make another 100. Then, we'll sale it as a luxury item. Make sure each item is unique."
"They are just watches and clocks..." Mr Kazama grimaced, the wave of his hands bolder as they punctuate his words.
Gaara reached for the phone and started dialling a phone number. He leaned back on the chair.
"Rarity drives up the demand, sometimes. I suggest you make sure the 100 are ready to ship as soon as possible."
He pressed the phone to his ear.
"Hello, cousin, I need you to sell me quartz."
His phone vibrated in his breast pocket vibrated two more times during his meeting with investors in the afternoon.
The atmosphere of the hotel conference room buzzed, pushing back against him; waves of foreign languages promptly translated. Gaara had made arrangements for the new product, coordinating the work at the factory and the investors.
They were running out of time.
Around him, the investors offered the same portrait as the board of directors. They picked at him; clinging to the image of Gaara, imperturbable, now flinching for a woman who didn't come from old money. They watched him warily with renewed respect. He was now a man who had defeated all traditions. A man who didn't need a rich woman to be rich.
"Congratulations on your recent wedding, Gaara-sama," Chouza Akimichi said through his translator. "But this new product... It's different from the one you promise."
Gaara lowered his gaze to his watch's gleaming frame. Time lapsed, a blurred reflection that brought no sense of urgency or comfortable rhythm.
"Hn," he pinched his lips, his fingers pressing and rubbing his tattooed forehead. "You asked for a more lucrative product proposal, so this is what I'm giving to you. 200 items will be ready by Monday and shipped out to the locations listed at page 5..."
No one turned the pages of the document he had prepared. By his side, Mr Kazama held his breath, his body growing rigid.
"Did she come with you?"
"Who?" Gaara asked flatly.
He hoped they would drop the subject sensing his darkening mood. He fixed his unflinching gaze on them, letting the silence built, a bubbling tension. Informal. They spoke to him, their shoulders relaxed, leaned back on their seat, like they were at a social club instead of a business meeting.
Gaara was one of them now, they thought.
"Newly weds shouldn't be apart this early in the marriage." Mr Akimichi smiled to himself, shaking his head, and he played with his wedding band.
Gaara narrowed his eyes at the paperwork in front of him. Would they ever get to it?
"She works."
"My wife is eager to meet her. She's from Konoha, yes? You need to come visit with her soon."
His jaw twitched.
Gaara hated how a chorus of agreement was echoed by the two other investors. They nodded sagely. Their wives wanted to meet the woman who had breached through Gaara's defense. A nameless woman now rich.
They respected her.
They envied her.
They hated her.
None of them had ever worked.
"Sakura was disappointed not to come," Gaara said stoically.
Mr Akimichi smiled satisfied and finally reached for the paperwork.
"I suppose she calls you every night to check up on your diet?"
Gaara stared intently at him. He wondered what they would say if he admitted he hadn't returned his wife's call.
"Ahh! Look at how embarrassed he is!" Mr Akimichi laughed broadly.
They went through the paperwork fast, outlining some changes before they stood up.
Gaara put his watch back on, his face quivering with frustration and displeasure.
He had been young, careless, someone to fight and mercilessly argued with before his wedding.
Now they trusted him.
They clapped his back, asking him if he wanted a home cooked meal from their wife since his wasn't present?
Mr Kazama bowed deeply, thanking him, before he left to return to the factory. Gaara felt himself nod, but he didn't move from his seat.
Once everyone was gone, Gaara slammed his leather file folder shut. His hands whitened, stiff, shaking, curling around the back of his chair. His nails ripped at the leather in white marks.
He breathed in deeply for a moment.
He straightened his back, and buttoned back his suit jacket.
Gaara left the room, their laughter following him. He took out his phone. He scrolled down through his grandmother's voicemails and missed calls. He grimaced. Instead, he called Sakura back first.
"Yes?" Sakura said hesitantly when she picked up the phone.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, his back hitting the handrail in the elevator.
"Are you done for the day?" he asked.
"You haven't spoken to Chiyo-sama," she said slowly after a brief silence.
Another silence stretched and stretched.
Gaara licked his lips, the muscle of his jaw twitching as he loosened his tie.
"She called thrice, but I have been busy. What's going on?"
"Hmm."
They weren't out of wavelength. Out of patience, still circulating like vultures, tiptoeing like predators. Their discussions, the silence nested between them, they were all charged. Couldn't they stand still? Couldn't they meet half-way? Gaara wondered.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, tension building inside his skull, his chest splitting open with each heartbeat. 'What do you want from me?' he had already asked her, but at that moment, he didn't know what he wanted from her.
He wanted to hang up.
He wanted to tell her about Mr Akimichi's invitation.
He wanted to hang up.
He wanted to tell her about the desert, how it burnt, red, here.
"Sakura..." Gaara breathed out, part dying laughter, part desperate plea.
Sakura sighed.
His grip shook around the phone. He looked around him. The hallway on the floor of his room was empty.
"Don't be mad," she said quietly.
Eyes narrowing, Gaara roughly pressed his card key to the card reader by his hotel room. The door hissed, and he pushed it open with his shoulder, his phone still to his ear, his leather file folder pressed under his armpit.
"What happened?"
Gaara threw his leather file on the bed and approached the balcony.
"I made a mistake..."
"What kind of mistake?" Gaara said, at loss, and his body pounded, ticked and clicked as he paced.
He was one minute to one hour. Sleepless. Angry. Terrified.
"Gaara-sama..." she sighed and shifted.
She sounded tired, resigned, and farther away than ever.
"Hn."
"Are you alone?"
His lips twisted in a snarl, her whisper booming, piercing through him.
"You don't trust me," he replied dully, dry-mouthed.
"I didn't mean a woman. I meant... an audience," Sakura said but her voice was brittle, scattered through the distance between them. It sizzled with static. "I'm sorry... I just wanted to say, I'm sorry."
Gaara froze.
He wanted to snort like Temari did when he was little, but it felt wrong. He didn't want to reassure her, he wanted to reassure himself. 'Are you still mine?' Their marriage was uncomfortable. She was uncomfortable. He passed a moist hand over his face. His fist dug in his hip.
"What kind of mistake?" he repeated thickly, and his eyes darted to today's newspaper folded neatly on his desk.
He approached the desk with one step and quickly scanned the front page, terrified of what he may read.
'Are you still mine?'
The pages snapped, flipped through. He released a sharp breath and stepped back. Her name wasn't there. His name wasn't there.
Gaara leaned on the desk, one hand covering the front page, his eyes closed. His pants rang loudly to his ears.
"Whatever it is, Kankuro will fix it," he said. "You just need to tell me fast."
"Kankuro-sama?" Sakura repeated slowly. "I don't understand."
"Sakura, what did you do?" his voice whipped, hardened.
"Don't speak to me like that," she replied coldly.
"I can't do anything if you don't tell me," he hissed.
"I don't need your help, Gaara-sama. I just don't want you to be mad at your grandmother." Sakura laughed quietly, bitterly, when he didn't answer.
He cocked his head to the side, haltered.
"My grandmother?"
"I'm suspended two weeks from the hospital," she said and her voice didn't waver this time.
The muscles of his jaw and neck working, he unbuttoned his collar.
"You should have let me handle it," he said darkly at last.
"That's the one thing, I wouldn't have done differently," she replied firmly.
Gaara closed his eyes, the muted sound of the city washing over him. To him, it meant they still didn't belong to each other. They still didn't belong with each other. Then, why did she sound so sure of herself, so strong? Why was he the one who was always vulnerable?
"When are you coming home?" Sakura asked tentatively.
"I'm back on Tuesday. It's on the note I left."
"Right..." she hummed to herself.
"Do you need anything?"
He lowered the phone from his ear, his heart pounding, his face stiffening in the silence that followed. He hated this part of him. The child who craved love. The teenager who tattooed his forehead. The man who was still wounded and alone.
"You've already given me enough, Gaara-sama," she said with a sobered voice.
"Hn. Good night," Gaara said, and he hung up without waiting for her reply.
It possessed him, the same way insomnia and anger still consumed him; solitude. It possessed him that she didn't understand, nor reach for him when they became unbearable.
It wasn't natural to neither of them.
The next day, Sakura lifted the metallic door of the storage unit. The metal wrinkled, clicking loudly before the door stilled above her head. She panted and readjusted the earphones in her ears.
"You've so much junk, god." Ino said with disgust.
"How can you tell, Ino-Pig?" Sakura asked, annoyed, her left eyebrow twitching. "You can't even see!"
"Well, I can hear the dust, Forehead! And I know you, you hoarder!"
Sakura rolled her eyes. Ino rambled on about a toy she refused to throw out when they were children.
"It was ruined!" Ino continued, her voice rising in crescendo. "My dad bought you a new one for your birthday two years later, so you would just give it up. Holes, Sakura! It had holes!"
Sakura dusted her hands and took a step in the unit. It was less than half empty. Her furniture was covered with thick moving blankets. She touched them lightly.
"You should throw everything out," Ino said flippantly.
Sakura smirked.
"Awww... You want something?"
"Hell no," Ino snorted. "You've nothing but junk."
"In the trash and donation center, then. I'm thinking of keeping a few things still..."
"Sakura?"
"Hmm?"
"Do you still have them?"
"What?" Sakura asked, distracted.
She weighed her pink stapler Ino had given her in her hands. She carefully set it on top of the things she wanted to keep.
"The letters," Ino said softly and Sakura froze. "I thought maybe you still had them and that's why you were scared about Gaara going through your things."
'Yes.'
"No," Sakura said with a toneless voice.
"Fine," Ino said in a sing-song voice. "So, are you okay?"
Sakura wiped her sweaty face with the back of her arm, her knees buckling. Ino had a gift for sensing people's emotions and thoughts, making sense of her always conflicted mind.
"Yes, I just…" Sakura started and closed her eyes briefly to compose herself.
She had briefly explained to Ino what had happened at the hospital, unwilling to add more lies to the mounting pile. But it kept growing. Inside her. Between them. Between Gaara and her.
Sakura shook her head and moved a box to the side.
"She was right," she admitted softly. "I thought being strong meant to fight for myself. It never occurred to ask anyone for help or that it would affect others. I even thought that Namiyo-sensei was being a bad attending because it was easier."
"Hmmm, I should have taught you better."
Sakura gasped loudly.
Then, they laughed easily.
For a while, they were silent. Sakura worked through her things dividing her things in three separate piles: things she would keep, things to donate and things to throw out.
"Any news from Tenten?" Ino hummed and Sakura heard her flipped through pages.
She smiled, picturing Ino flopped on her stomach, flipping through some fashion magazine.
"She's in one of her mysterious missions, I guess," Sakura replied. "I tried calling her after we last hung up, and I couldn't reach her."
Ino clicked her tongue.
"She's a pilot."
"She's an astronaut."
They settled back in their familiar routine, and Sakura was grateful for the distraction. It was time to let so many things go, she feared she had lost herself. But this. This was home.
"She's an alien."
"She's this jet set mystery woman," Ino cried out suddenly and Sakura heard her tossed her magazine to the side. "I can't believe the bitch isn't sharing her wealth with us."
They giggled.
Sakura closed another box.
"I hope she's okay," she muttered.
"She's always fine," Ino sighed, "but I feel better when she's here, munching god knows how many calories."
She paused for another dramatic sigh.
"I would feel better if you were here too. I mean you're free for the next two weeks..."
Sakura munched on her lips and forced herself to keep moving stuff around. She sorted through picture frames when she found the baby blue box. The box was another gift from Ino.
Sakura pulled it toward her, her hands trembling, as she lifted the lid.
Square your shoulders. Straighten your back. Chin up. Move on, the box sang back to her. She let her fingers ran across the letters. All returned and never opened. She faltered when she touched the last envelope. 'You're annoying,' he had written in caps on it.
"I'll think about it," Sakura said quietly and put the lid back on.
"Good," Ino said and Sakura could hear the smile in her voice.
"Move on," she mouthed to herself, and she returned to her sorting.
Sakura spent the next morning with Chiyo again.
In the afternoon, she had put away the things she had kept from the storage unit. Now, she was in the garden, sweating, and pulling at a large bag of soil. She swore as she managed to drag it to wear she wanted to plant the flowers she had bought under Ino's suggestion.
The sun was hot on the back of her beck, the garden buzzing with flailing insects.
Sakura panted, resting her hands on her knees, brows knitted together. She knew this house would never be home if she didn't start taking over it, piece by piece. She had scattered her things across her study, her bedroom, claiming them both.
The garden was beautiful, but it also made her terribly uneasy. No matter how she thought about it, she couldn't imagine Gaara sitting on the ground, his hands shifting, rolling the soil.
From her back pockets, Sakura removed a pair of garden glove. She put them on.
"Let's do this," she said, unconvinced.
Before she could start digging a hole next in the ground, her phone rang. She straightened her back, growling.
"Hello, honey," Sakura answered with fake cheerfulness. "What are you doing?"
"What are you doing?" Gaara countered icily.
Sakura rolled her eyes.
"I'm in the garden. I'm about to plant-"
"I know you are," Gaara interrupted her. "Stop, that right now. You're going to kill my plants."
Sakura slowly turned on herself, narrowed eyes drifting across the yard.
"You're spying on me?" she asked darkly.
"Squirrels."
"What?"
"I'm spying on squirrels," he enunciated, annoyance bleeding through his words. "They destroyed the tomatoes last year. You activated the movement detectors."
Annoyed, Sakura nudged the bag of soil with her foot.
"Why can't I plant what I bought?"
Gaara sighed impatiently.
"Because that flower will grow taller than the orchids and cast shadow on them. It took me months to figure it out. They don't normally grow in this weather. Don't ruin my garden with your reckless planting."
Sakura's jaw twitched with annoyance, her temper rising.
"Our garden, honey," she corrected through gritted teeth.
"And why aren't you wearing a cap?" he continued, an edge to his voice.
"Say, "our garden"."
"This isn't funny, Sakura," he raised his voice for the first time, his words pressed together, agitated. "This is Suna, not Konoha. Put a cap on. Now."
"Yes, well, I was trying for hilarious. Now, say-"
Gaara remotely activated the sprinklers.
Sakura yelped. She cursed. Instinctively, she covered her face with her arms as she ran through the jets of water. She reached She panted, wiping at the wet screen of her phone as well as she could on her soaked through clothes.
She swore loudly.
"WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU?" Sakura shouted in the phone, holding out her drenched shirt from her skin.
"Wasn't that hilarious, honey?"
Speechless, Sakura merely gaped, a single drop falling down her nose.
Gaara laughed quietly, then he hung up.
She widened her eyes at her phone, then she looked around her once more trying to spot the camera.
"Son of a..."
Wiping at her wet face, her mood darkened. She swore again. Her sandals slapped, wet, against the wooden terrace. She passed by the table when she noticed a package of cigarettes hidden in the bushes by the sliding door.
"What is he? A 16 year old delinquent?" Sakura swore under her breath and shook her head.
Her pink locks stuck to her neck and jaw, and she brushed them out of the way.
"Son of a..." she repeated and roughly slid the doors open.
On Tuesday night, Sakura sat on her bed with the blue box. Her skin was still damp from the shower under her pyjamas.
'You're annoying.'
The red ink poked and pierced through her ribcage, her heart out of reach.
Sakura shut her eyes, her hands gripping at the box. It was the one thing she couldn't let go. Maybe there was no getting rid of the lovestruck girl she had been. Maybe there was no shedding skin. Things changed, people didn't. Smiling sadly, she pushed the box away and stood up. She hid the box behind her night table.
She slipped under the covers. Toying with a loose strand of her hair, she stared at the ceiling fan.
The front door beeped.
She sprang up, frowning in the darkness. Her breathing was deafening as she waited but the stairs didn't creak. She had lost counts of how many times he had glared at her at breakfast or during supper, asking her why she didn't use the study.
"But he lives in the living room," Sakura growled under her breath and kicked off the covers.
In two steps, she reached the door of the bedroom and opened it.
She walked down the hallway, mumbling to herself.
From the top of the stairs, Sakura couldn't see him, but she felt the light breeze of the night. As she climbed down the stairs, she heard him rummaged on terrace.
She fought a smirk.
Gaara had left his suitcase by the entrance, neatly tucked out of the way, but he had tossed his jacket and tie on the couch. She grabbed the jewelry box off the coffee table.
He swore under his breath. The branches of the bushes moved more violently.
Sakura leaned on the doorframe of the sliding doors overseeing the terrace.
Sensing her, Gaara stilled and looked at her over his shoulder. He buried his hands in his pockets, straightening his back. His face was cast in utter darkness.
She crossed her arms over her chest.
"I don't want to fight," he said and the corner of his mouth twitched.
He sat down at the table, his face now turned toward the garden.
"Okay, but you should know that I threw out your cigarettes."
He grunted.
"They are Shikamaru's cigarettes."
"I don't want to fight either. We've done too much of it lately." she sighed loudly.
With one hand, he pulled a chair out for her. The back legs of the chair squeaked, rattling the wood of the terrace.
Nodding her head in thanks, Sakura sat down. They avoided looking at each other, turned toward the peacefulness of the garden. Crickets chirped and small birds sang back to each other. Sakura raised her head toward the sky.
The clouds completely obscured the stars.
"Do you think we'll be alright?" she asked quietly.
"Don't worry. Whatever happens, I've enough money to cover everything you need."
"I wasn't talking about money, Gaara."
He turned his head toward her.
"Obaasan didn't lie when she said you were one of a kind. You've known financial struggles, but money doesn't worry you?"
'Another thing I've misunderstood,' she thought and it saddened her. It angered. She was angry at herself. At him. She hugged herself tighter.
"You don't sign things lightly," she said quietly.
It was the one thing, she had believed from the start.
Gaara nodded slowly to himself, a small smile tugging at his lips.
"I think we'll be alright," he whispered. "I just don't think it'll be easy."
"Hmm."
"What?"
"Here."
She put the box on the table.
Gaara frowned at the jewelry box. Sakura stared at him, openly, half her face illuminated the neighbour's light.
"That's yours," he said.
She pushed it closer to him.
"Offer it to me."
Gaara cocked his head to the side, brows knitted together.
"I thought I already did," he said slowly.
"No, you left it on the dinning table. I want you to offer it to me properly."
Sakura thrust her chin out, her limpid eyes shrouded in shadows.
Gaara nodded solemnly. He took back the box, turning it in his hands.
"Are you sad about the hospital?"
"I had accumulated too many hours..." she said sheepishly.
His face hardened.
"Don't do that."
Her shoulders sank.
"I'm bored," she admitted quietly. "And ashamed. And sorry."
"Hn." Gaara reached across the table and gave her the box. "I got you a watch," he said quietly.
He hesitated and opened the box. He gestured for her to reach for it.
"Do you like it?" he asked, his voice extinguished, when she didn't move.
Her face cracked open, jumbled shadows and islands of weak light.
"It's pretty," she said with a shy smile, but her hard gaze didn't waver.
She held out her wrist toward him.
"You're bossy," he smirked and removed the watch from the jewelry box.
Slowly, Gaara reached for her, hesitating. He met her gaze before touching her. He turned her wrist on the side to fasten the watch. She stilled in his grasp, goosebumps raising, her skin warm against his. He glanced up at her again.
She stared at the watch or his hand around her arm, he couldn't tell.
Gaara carefully moved the bracelet.
"It's a bit loose," she said and her hand shook in his when she laughed.
Gaara slid one finger under the bracelet, and she stilled once more, her lips parted. He looked up at her. Her cheeks were flushed.
"I think they only need to remove two links," Gaara said and carefully unfastened the watch. "I'll have it fixed tomorrow."
"Okay..." she breathed out, her hand still suspended between them.
It still burnt from his touch.
Catching herself, Sakura whipped her arm back toward her. She cleared her throat, glancing away.
"It's getting late," she said, her voice, her heart wobbly, drumming at the back of her throat. "Well... good night."
"Night," he said glancing after her.
As I mentioned before, I'll be taking a short break from updating to focus on other projects that I've been neglecting *side glances*. I made it so that the end of this chapter sends no one on a war path for my head. No cliffhanger or anything. XD
I'll see you all soon :)) I hope everyone is staying safe and taking care of their health and others' by staying home as much as possible. Much, much love to all of you!