Since Ryūken worked between her and the door, the majority of the time, he made it out to the tips before she did. However, he was occasionally busy with one of the meager customers, and Sabuka was able to slip outside.

Gaara didn't show.

Apparently, there was no set closing time for the café, but there were approaching it nonetheless. Sabuka wasn't sure how much a new shuriken holster, plus the accompanying weapons, would cost to an outsider, but she was pretty certain the money in her possession was not enough.

Ryūken was just about to slam the shutter closed when a swirl of sand adorned the edge of the pool of light. Gaara had come.

Sabuka didn't hesitate. If she had, Ryūken would have been out there, as much as he didn't want to be. Only after she was on her way to Gaara's table did Sabuka debate the wisdom of her decision. By then, it was too late.

"How can I help you tonight, sir?"

Gaara turned his cold, piercing gaze on her. "I could kill you where you stand," he said in a low, dangerous voice.

"Yes, sir. What would you like?"

"Some might call you brave for coming back," he hissed. "But - "

"But most would call me fool, including you," Sabuka interrupted, dropping the servile act. "Did you actually want to order something, or did you just come to gloat?"

Sand twined around her. Damn. Me and my big mouth.

"I am under no obligation to spare you. Last time was on my whim alone..."

"Good," said Sabuka calmly. "Then the blood debt has not been repaid, and I can use the life that you owe me this time. Please don't destroy my clothes again. I only have them because of charity, and my debts to Ms. Kaido are piling up."

"I don't owe you anything!" Gaara snarled. "The predator does not owe anything to the prey!"

Sabuka now wore a golden, gritty robe of sand; her panic was not far below the surface. However, she maintained self-control as best she could.

"Would you like the same thing as last time, or something else, sir?"

For a moment, she thought he was going to leave. But apparently, the insomniac needed his caffeine, and he sank down, a sandy chair rising to meet him.

"Tea," he whispered wearily, "and oden." Then his eyes hardened. "And don't come back out here, or I will kill you."

--

"You must have a terrible memory," Ryūken snapped, "if you've already forgotten what happened last time."

"Mine's obviously better than yours," Sabuka retorted, "because I remember that I only got hurt when I went out after him. But," she added, "you better deliver the food. I'm inclined to take his threats seriously."

Ryūken snatched the order when it came out and stormed outside, though he softened his step near Gaara. Sabuka gazed after him, but remained sensible. Though she technically hadn't promised Ora that she wouldn't follow Gaara, it was safer to wait.

So the kunoichi stayed inside.

--

"Am I going to be forced into dishwashing?" Sabuka asked blearily as hot desert sun shone on her closed eyelids. No one answered, because no one was in the room, so Sabuka rolled over and tried to go back to sleep.

Half an hour later, her eyelids were weighted closed and her brain was slipping into dormancy when something thudded into her back.

"That is the second time you've done that," Sabuka admonished into her pillow, "and I'd appreciate if you refrained from doing it again."

"Then get up before I come in here," said Ora.

"I was up half an hour ago," Sabuka protested. Remembering the question she had asked when she first awoke, the kunoichi repeated it.

"Not unless you want to be," Ora responded. "You'll be forced out to run errands otherwise."

"Works for me." Sabuka rolled over and sat up. The package that had hit her turned out to be two scrolls and a pouch of money. One scroll was a list and the other was a map.

"I can do this."

"Good."

--

Sabuka exchanged the simple black clothing she had worn to bed for yet another short-sleeved white top and knee-length, light grey shorts. Both were too large, but she belted them with a length of rope found in what seemed to be the junk drawer of the dresser.

Outside, the streets were almost empty, undoubtedly due to the heat. She was pretty crazy to be out herself at this time of day; sweat trickled into her eyes as the kunoichi peered at the map.

Every once in a while, Sabuka would duck into a shop to pick up what Ora needed. The shopkeepers were usually wary of her, at the very least, but Sabuka was courteous and remembered to curb her tongue; often, they relaxed slightly.
When Ora's errands were done, Sabuka searched for a little while until she found a shinobi supplier. It was a small place, dark and cool; giant shuriken and enormous swords adorned the walls, although they were mostly for show.

The kunoichi strolled around the room, pretending to ignore the woman who was leaning against the wall, reading a scroll, and idly twirling a kunai. The woman glanced up and raked her eyes across Sabuka: Taking in her lack of headband, no doubt.

"What do you want?" the woman asked coolly.

"Just looking," Sabuka replied blandly.

"You're too old to begin shinobi training. There's nothing here for non-shinobi."

All she said was, "I'm younger than I look."

For a few minutes, Sabuka wandered around, examining the large weapons. When she'd judged a suitable amount of time to have passed, the kunoichi said, "Headbands."

"What?"

"Hitai-ate. Ninja headbands. Can I get one here?"

"Only shinobi can wear those," the woman said nastily. "You can't just get one."

"I am a shinobi. I lost my headband in the desert on the way here."

"We give headbands to shinobi from our own village. Go home to get a new one." The shopkeeper obviously didn't believe the younger kunoichi.

"Fine," Sabuka said mildly. "Then I need shuriken and a new holster."

"Look," said the woman irritably. "I can't go giving out tools to each and every kid who wants to play ninja, or to any person stopping by who wants to impersonate a shinobi. Go away."

"What if I show you that I can manipulate chakra?"

"That proves nothing. You could be only a student at the Academy."

"But you could sell me weapons," Sabuka said somewhat triumphantly, sounding satisfied. She raised one hand in front of her face, her middle and first fingers in the air, the others folded. The area around them began to shimmer crimson; it shivered, and a glowing sphere detached from the aura.

Sabuka continued to manipulate it into a variety of shapes. In the end, the woman grudgingly sold her shuriken and holster, and the younger kunoichi had some money left after all, so she bought kunai and pouch, too.

--

That night, Gaara did not come to the café at all. When she slipped into dreams an hour past midnight, the kunoichi dreamed of chasing the sand shinobi through an endless cavern, and even though he was moving as slowly as ice melts she she was running, he still kept getting farther and farther away. Sand swirled around her, but it did not attack her, because she was controlling it, except that it wasn't listening to her.

Then Gaara turned to face her at last, but before Sabuka could cry that she only wanted to know what had happened to him, the sand turned on her and closed around her and killed her in a spray of gold-spattered scarlet.

--

Sabuka leapt from the pallet, shedding the sheet that had a stranglehold on her in the same was as a snake sheds its skin. Her bare feet slapped against the gritty floor; she didn't know where to find Ora at this time of night, but she did know that she had to.

Or maybe she didn't.

Sabuka skidded to a stop, her momentum carrying her into a wall. There was no time, no time at all, to search this maze of a building.

She pivoted and raced back to her room. Scrabbling through the junk drawer in her dresser, she extracted a bent piece of paper and a decidedly contrite pen.

With frequent shaking of the pen, Sabuka finally got a somewhat-sketchy note scratched out. She dropped it on her pillow.

Ora -
Thanks.
It's the only word I have. For once.
Sabuka Keiteri

Quickly, she changed and fished the last few coins from her pocket, dropping them by the note. Making sure the black cloth was tired securely around her arm, Sabuka fled the house.

Gaara had left town.

--

Beneath her bare feet, the sand was icy grit. She shivered uncontrollably in the bone-chilling cold of the desert, her teeth chattering nonstop. Why hadn't she at least grabbed socks?

She had no way to know where he'd gone, no way to follow, and no way to know how long ago he'd left. The desert was no small place: Miles and miles of sand stretched away from her.

Deciding she had to waste chakra or freeze to death, Sabuka concentrated it into her feet once more. Oh, was she a fool.

"Gaara?"

A frigid night breeze carried her words across the sandy expanse; they echoed in the emptiness, then fell flat, unanswered.

--

Sand wove its way into her cardinal red hair as she lay flat on her back, arms splayed. The brilliance of the stars was fading in a glorious evanescence as the sun began to rise above the golden horizon. Her throat was so dry that she could barely swallow, but at least, the kunoichi reflected, she would be warm soon. Then she would be burning again, but before that, she'd be warm.

She was not going to survive this day.

Sabuka, slowly as stone erodes, got to her feet. Stumbling a little - and once again, free of chakra, having used it all to keep her warm through the night - she began to walk in a random direction, any random direction.

--

Several hours later, she was surprised that she wasn't yet dead. She was, however, lying on the ground, having given up on reaching any sort of destination. Actually, she had basically given up on moving at all, and was mumbling to herself, although it made her thirstier. While she had been sensible enough to grab her canteen, it hadn't been full, and it was gone.

"S'not a bad place to die, the desert. Kin see for miles, y'can, miles of glittering gold, like treasure. And the sky's such a... an excruciating blue. You kin see it all. Especially," she added, still sharp enough to catch it, "when the sand moves toward you by itself."

The sand kept moving, but it wasn't that close anyway - nevermind the fact that sand was actually all around her - so she closed her eyes and ignored it.

She dreamed that a shadow moved over her, except that she wasn't really asleep, so it was actually just wishful thinking again. But when she opened her eyes, it was neither, because Gaara was standing over her.

They stared at each other, Sabuka's gaze slightly wild, Gaara's sharper and colder than ever.

"Gonna kill me now?" Sabuka rasped.

"Yes."

"Right. Wait a minute while I stand please. I don't mind dying in the desert, but I'd rather be killed on my feet."

As she struggled to rise, the kunoichi whispered hoarsely, "Sorry, mother." But it was quiet enough that Gaara didn't hear.

In a circle around her, ten writhing, grainy snakes formed from the sand. Just as they lunged, Sabuka raised her left arm so that the gritty fangs sank into her scar.

--

Blood spiraled from the opened scar, while her other wounds simply bled normally. Sabuka's left arm hung limply, but her right arm bent across it, palm facing outward. The hovering blood twined around her rigid fingers almost lovingly; Sabuka narrowed her eyes in concentration and it began coating her in an unnaturally deep crimson robe.

The feeling of being wrapped in her own blood was absolutely vile; Sabuka dry-retched violently. Gaara's sand continued to barrage her, but it no longer inflicted any wounds, bouncing off instead.

Eventually, the crimson rose to cover her face, pouring into her mouth, her nose, her eyes. She looked like she was underwater in an ocean of blood.

Then, before she could stop it, a thick tentacle shot from the coating, its glistening scarlet point aimed straight for Gaara's heart.

--