She twitched, blinked, jerked away. The woman hovering over her had a face like a hatchet and chin-length, ragged oak hair. Her sharp black eyes were stern, but there was a kindness in their depths.

"Er, good morning," Sabuka tried.

"Afternoon," the woman corrected. "Do you remember what happened?"

"Yes," Sabuka replied promptly, sitting up. She was on a pallet on a wood floor, covered with a thin white sheet. "I came to Sand Village around sundown. I walk walking like a drunk person. Then I collapsed and dreamed of Gaar - dening, and then I woke up here."

"That's a relief. Amnesia is ever so troublesome."

"I also remember, Sabuka went on, "that people were pulling away from me. Now, I've only been here once before, but I don't remember either drunks or travelers being so terrifying."

The woman sat back on her heels and was silent.

"Ah," said Sabuka understandingly. "Is it because I look similar to Gaara?"

"You know this?"

"I've been told." Sabuka paused. "What can you tell me about Gaara? I don't know much."

The woman shrugged. "He is a son of the Kazekage. There is a demon inside of him. He believes that the killing of everyone else is his reason for existence."

"But why?" Sabuka pressed.

The woman shrugged again. "Because he is a monster," she spat.

That can't be it. There has to be a reason. I saw the pain. But Sabuka bowed her head and left it at that.

After a brief silence, the woman shifted uncomfortably and stood. "I'm Ora Kaido," she began.

"Why aren't you afraid of me?" Sabuka asked. "Why did you bring me home?"

Ora shrugged once more, still uncomfortable. "Because I know you're not related. I was at the birth's of the Kazekage's children, a midwife. Three: Temari, Kankuro. and..." She paused, then spat out the last word. "...Gaara. The Kazekage's brother-in-law had no children. No other relatives of Gaara. Your resemblance is purely coincidental."

Sabuka was silent, then nodded. "I'm Sabuka Keiteri. I... want to stay here, in town, for a while. Do you know of a place I can stay? Work?"

"You can stay with me," Ora offered, "if you'll work for me."

"Yes ma'am." Sabuka saluted her. "Ready for duty, whatever it is."

"You are not. Did you forget that you collapsed?"

It was Sabuka's turn to shrug. "I cam to Sand Village on foot. I was tired, that's all. Besides, it's only - what did you say I'd be doing?"

"I own a café, I suppose you could call it."

"I don't think waiting tables is the best job for me," Sabuka pointed out.

"Don't worry." A mischievous spark lit in Ora's black eyes. "You'll be washing dishes."

"My favorite," Sabuka said dryly as Ora headed for the room's only door. Ora nodded solemnly.

"Wait." Ora paused, looked back.

"Yes?"

"Is... Is Gaara in town?"

"Yes. He just got back." Ora's eyes hardened. "It'd be best if you avoided him."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Good. Stay here and sleep more now."

"Sleep? How much more do you want me to sleep? I've been sleeping for nearly twenty-four hours," Sabuka protested wryly.

"Fine. Don't sleep." Ora looked around, then picked up a thick book from the room's only dresser and chucked it and Sabuka, who caught it deftly, if cautiously. "Read."

Sabuka looked down. A History of Shinobi.

"I learned this back at the Ninja Academy," she sighed, but Ora was already gone.

--

Several long and tedious hours later, Sabuka was about halfway through the book. There were, actually, some interesting tidbits tucked away in the pages. (For example, the fact that kunai had originally been garden tools. Sabuka wondered if the teachers had left that out in an attempt to preserve the "romantic" shinobi legends.) However, the majority of the information was stuff she'd learned once already.

Sabuka flipped a few pages in a dull, desultory sort of way, then sighed and leaned back, closing the book with a snap. Resting on the pillow, Sabuka stared at the ceiling. It was still sometime before sunset, but she was starting to feel tired again; apparently, running from Leaf to Sand Village took more than twenty-four hours of sleep to recover from.

Her eyes were just drifting closed when something scratchy and muffling landed on her face. Startled back awake, Sabuka sat up and caught the small pile of folded clothes that fell into her hands.

Ora's head was poking through the doorway. "Your clothes are ripped and - though it isn't particularly easy to avoid in the desert - sandy, not to mention far unsuitable for this weather. Wear those."

Sabuka held the shirt up; it was pure ivory and sleeveless. No good. The shorts were knee-length, baggy, and dark blue-grey. No good either.

"I can't wear these."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm hideously disfigured beneath my clothing," Sabuka said dryly, "and need something less revealing."

"I don't consider those particularly revealing," Ora replied, obviously not believing her.

"I do."

"Wear them anyway." Ora's head vanished, but her voice floated back. "And hurry up."

After a few moments of indecision, Sabuka did change shirts, but tied a strip of ebony cloth around her arm, just below her elbow, rather like a tourniquet. As for pants, she kept her own.

Now ready, Sabuka figured it was probably best to wait for Ora to return and fetch her. However, what was best and what she wanted to do were not the same just now. Sabuka was bored, and a jaunt through unknown territory seemed like a fine way to end the bed's captivity of her.

Striding out the doorway, Sabuka immediately turned left without pausing to consider. The hallway stretched on; obviously, the house was larger than it appeared from one room.

Excellent.

Sabuka wandered carelessly through a multitude of corridors, poking her head into each doorway. A few people were sleeping on pallets similar to the one she was borrowing, assuring Sabuka that Ora wasn't the only one living here. The hallways were dark, with no candles adding to the desert's heat, which lingered despite the falling sun, although it was fading.

Sabuka found Ora at last, talking to a man in a kitchen. Ora looked up, glanced at Sabuka's clothing, frowned, said one more thing, then strode over to Sabuka.

"I was about to come get you."

Sabuka smiled innocently. "The book wasn't enough of a challenge. I needed the maze."

Ora led the way through more hallways, Sabuka trailing in her wake. The woman dropped back and nodded to the black cloth.

"Are you in mourning?"

"Yes," Sabuka lied; it was far easier than explaining. Ora waited, but Sabuka volunteered no more information. Instead, the kunoichi asked, in what was probably the politest tone she'd ever used, for some water.

"I don't know whether you gave me any while I was unconscious...?" Ora nodded as if this were obvious, which it was, and Sabuka went on, "But that still makes it several hours since, and it is the desert." Her voice cracked and died, illustrating her point.

Ora looked irritated with herself and ducked into a doorway. Sabuka heard the murmur of a hurried conversation with the inhabitant and the woman came back with a canteen.

"Don't drink too fast," Ora warned as Sabuka tilted it back.

Sabuka came away coughing, but was careful not to spill any. It was the desert.

"Keep the canteen. There's a well in the center of town. That's probably the best place to refill it," Ora said, starting down the hallway again.

"Because no one will refill it for me," said Sabuka flatly.

"On the contrary," Ora sighed. "If Gaara demanded water, they'd give it to him for fear of death, because he would kill them if they refused. I believe that, due to your resemblance, they would have the same reaction. People are very, very suspicious, and" - her eyes hardened - "Gaara gave them a lot of reasons to be scared."

"The well is the best place," Sabuka repeated blandly, and left it at that.

--

Ora led Sabuka outside just to show her what the café looked like - if it could be called a café. It was, essentially, just an open air bar and several scattered tables with umbrellas spreading their webbed fingers to shield the casual customer from the sun.

Sabuka took a deep breath of the refreshing, cooling night air. She shivered and Ora handed her a thick, blue-grey coat off a hook, slipping on a second one for herself. The cloth fell halfway down Sabuka's thighs, but it protected her from the penetrating chill.

"Desert nights get cold," Ora said, though Sabuka already knew this, "which is why I haven't yet gotten on her case for retaining your pants, since it took you long enough." Sabuka met her glare with a bland smile and didn't say anything.

A dry wind gusted and the red-haired girl pulled the coat tighter around her. "People show up at night?" She could only see one person at a table.

"Business is slow, but not nonexistent. We serve hot food and drinks once it gets cold. Those crazy enough to venture out in the freezing air or those without a home for the night, whatever the reason, come here more often than not."

Both seemed to apply to the sand ninja, so Sabuka asked the obvious question. "And Gaar - "

Ora anticipated the inquiry and answered it before it was completely out of Sabuka's mouth. "Gaara comes here, too."

Out of curiosity, Sabuka asked, "Do you charge him?"

"He is the Kazekage's son," said Ora stiffly. "I do not charge him." Recognizing when to let go for once, Sabuka simply nodded.

Ora turned to lead the kunoichi back inside, but the girl hesitated. "Ora?"

"What?"

"Since it's only the crazy and the homeless who show up" - she glanced behind her; a few stragglers had shown up - "they can hardly complain about Gaara's new long-lost sister taking their orders, can they? And it's dark enough that maybe they won't be able to see me clearly."

Ora turned sharply and regarded Sabuka suspiciously. "Why?"

"I think dish-washing would drive me insane."

The woman watched her with narrowed eyes. "Night shift only," she allowed at last.

Sabuka hid a smile and saluted; it was impossible to tell whether it was mocking or not. "Instruct me."

Ora directed her inside and immediately through a door. They were then behind the counter that served as the bar, although no one was drinking at it.

"Sabuka will take over for you," Ora informed a girl who was cloaked instead of coated. She nodded, pulled up her hood, and left; Ora turned to the only remaining person, a young man with sandy hair and emerald eyes.

"This is Sabuka Keiteri. She works here now and says dish-washing will drive her insane," the woman explained shortly. "Ryūken, deal with her. I have business to attend to." Then Ora stalked out.

Ryūken shoved a notebook and a pen into Sabuka's hands and pointed to a dazed-looking man at the counter, his own eyes cast downward, as if he were ashamed to look at her. "They come up," Ryūken explained to the ground. "They tell you what they want. You write it down. Put it here." He pointed to a ledge beneath a slot in the wall perpendicular to the door; Sabuka could see movement behind it. "Food, drinks come out there." He pointed to a larger, square hole beside it. "They hand you money, which you give to me." (The kunoichi thought that seemed pretty troublesome for both of them, but apparently newcomers weren't to be trusted.) "They go off to eat wherever. Sometimes you have to go collect dirty dishes, sometimes not."

Obviously finished, Ryūken shoved Sabuka toward the dazed man and went to help a seemingly impatient woman. "I won't eat you," Sabuka muttered at Ryūken, who still avoided looking at her, and went.

The man mumbled something that Sabuka was able to decipher reasonably well; she jotted it down, her handwriting a scrawl, but rather readable nonetheless. Dropping it off at the slot, where it quickly vanished, Sabuka then sidetracked over to Ryūken. She prodded him and waited for the customer to be helped so he could look at her.

"Am I to accept money, no matter the amount, or are there specific prices?"

Ryūken frowned at her, the rifled around in his coat pocket and pulled out a scroll with prices. Sabuka tucked it into her own pocket, but grabbed Ryūken's arm before he could turn away.

"Dirty dishes," she stated succinctly, since he obviously disliked talking to her. "Where?"

The young man pointed to a hole similar to the one that food allegedly came through, although the dish slot was in the wall parallel to the door. Sabuka nodded, retrieved the food slot's offering, checked its price one-handed, and delivered it.

The customer tossed Sabuka some coins; she looked sourly at them, then at Ryūken. The girl stalked over and slammed them on the counter by his elbow.

Ryūken turned to glare at her. "Enough interrupt - "

"I am not going to walk over here every time someone pays," Sabuka cut in. "It's ridiculous. I'm not going to steal your money."

"Fine," he snapped. Ripping the top page out of the notebook, Ryūken slapped it on the ledge and directed her to take care of a weary woman waiting at the counter. He strode out the door and returned a few minutes later with a cardboard box. The youth held it out irritably.

"There's a shelf under the counter. Keep it there."

Sabuka nodded shortly and took it. "Thank you."

She spent the next hour or so taking and filling orders some of the time and standing around the rest of it. The majority of the time, Ryūken hurried out for the used plates, cups, and cutlery. Sabuka wasn't sure why, but she didn't particularly mind, although it would have been nice to walk around.

Suddenly, Ryūken swore. Sabuka looked up from the bored doodles in her notebook to see what was wrong; she caught fear in his emerald eyes.

"Gaara's here. He doesn't come up; someone has to go to him."

Sabuka was around Ryūken and out the door before the sandy-haired youth could move, her call of "I got it" floating back.

--