Gaara bored a gaping hole through the wall with his glare. His elbows propped on the table, his entwined fingers covered the severe frown on the Kazekage's pallid features. He was angry. Why wouldn't the woman just sleep in the bed?
She was like Temari's double! 'Women can do anything a man can but better' all over again.
The red haired boy thought back on their recent conversation: (flashback)
"NOOO!!" Kankuro leapt from the Kazekage tower, escaping Temari's clutc- grasp.
"Chikusho! I almost had him," his pregnant sister cursed. "Small wonder none of the ANBU could find him. He was hiding in your office!"
Gaara ignored the accusation and asked, "I estimate you found a suitable candidate for Kankuro?"
The kunoichi smiled unpleasantly, leaning on her fan which she used as more of a staff to lean upon these days. Her stomach was huge. "A rather nice princess from the Hidden Village of Grass will suit that puppeteer just fine."
"From the Grass Village? Are you sure she agreed?"
"She was the only one that accepted my proposal to meet Kankuro. Although I feel rather guilty pairing her with that lazy ass baboon, I believe the princess might be able to handle him," Temari chuckled.
Gaara smiled. Temari perceived her brother's amusement.
"Don't laugh at Kankuro's misfortune, Gaara. I brought my case to the Elders and they decided you must find a bride within a year or else you settle for one of their choice. Remember the girl must fulfill the First Lady of Sunagakure and, of course, your own standards," Temari smirked.
Gaara couldn't move. He felt ill. His mouth wouldn't budge. The expression was priceless.
"What did you scheme this time, Temari?" The Kazekage moaned, hiding his face in his hands. Perhaps Kankuro had been smart to run away after all…
"I rounded up twenty women from around the world. They will be arriving in two weeks. Besides them, you have the single village women. A ball is being held in Sunagakure in seven months. Princesses will arrive from different villages. These are your choices for brides."
Why me? Gaara wondered. "One year?"
"One year," she nodded, face calm, but inside she was overjoyed her youngest brother was actually considering it. The prospect of her being an aunt in a year or two was overwhelming.
On the other hand, Gaara felt this marriage business outweighed his backed paperwork or any of his other current problems. This was not something he was looking forward to. The fangirl populace in Suna would double, no triple!
"I have my own terms," the Kazekage spoke up.
Temari's happy moment shattered. "What about?" she asked dazedly.
Gaara had to think fast.
(end flashback) One year and a ball in seven months. Actually, a series of balls: one to celebrate Shikamaru and his sister's marriage, another for the baby shower, a third for the actual arrival of the damned thing, and a fourth for his wedding rehearsal. The fifth was his wedding.
Because of one damned little baby Suna's tax payers were going to suffer. It was illogical. Women were illogical. How could his sibling expect him to choose one woman to spend the rest of his life in one year?
The ANBU Kankuro had sent to investigate Hannah discovered she was one of the twenty, yet Gaara found it odd she wasn't even giving him a second glance. The American only seemed to glare at him.
Gaara watched Hannah stalk out of the bedroom with a large comforter under her arm like a sack of potatoes. She flung it onto the couch, muttering under breath. The red haired nin didn't doubt it was about him.
It was only male of him to realize his capricious hostess had changed into her pajamas. She wore a baggy velvety teal jacket zipped up that fell to mid thigh.
Gaara blushed faintly because her shorts- if she was wearing any- were not visible. His poor male, hormonal-driven imagination was going bananas.
And it was only male to appreciate her long legs. The tempting exposed skin was smooth, long, captivating, long, slim but not twig thin, and long. They were the vaguest hint of tan and perfectly shaped. Freckled on them, even from this distance, Gaara spotted moles.
"Why are you dressed like that?" he asked. He needed a distraction from the mischievous suggestions from naughty Gaara, who had suddenly appeared. "You sleep like that?"
"Yeah, why? Does it look bad on me?"
"No," Gaara said, averting his eyes. He had nearly choked on his words. Those long legs were tormenting him, testing his self control. It was a good thing Gaara was a master of self control.
"It does look horrible on me!" Hannah cried out in a tone of dismay that turned the Kazekage's head. "You're looking away because it's ugly!"
The red haired boy blinked. "What's ugly?"
"My legs!"
Gaara nearly laughed, but kept a straight face. He stood, keeping his back to her legs, and picked up the cold pizza. "No, its fine," he assured with little emotion in his voice. The image of her bare legs burned before his eyes, the moles taunting him.
Like little chocolate kisses. Gaara wanted to lick them off her.
The Kazekage unceremoniously barred naughty Gaara back into a room for that unhelpful thought. Coughing slightly, he turned around and expertly concentrated on her face in the dim candlelight.
Hannah lay sideways, taking up the entire couch, covered in a hefty, dark blanket. She blew out her candle. For extra safety measure, she licked her fingers and touched the wick. The American flashed him a smile. "Oyasuminasai, Kazekage-sama."
"Good night," he replied.
"Oh, and Kazekage-sama, the score is Hannah: two; Gaara: zero."
He started. Two points?! The first for flipping him over her shoulder. The second for winning the couch. Gaara blew out both candles with silent amusement. Hannah was an opponent not to be underestimated.
P-p-P-p-P-p-P-p-P
Hannah kept her eyes closed as she woke up. The covers constricted around her body, especially her chest, and exposing her legs. She shivered and rubbed an eye. Since when was the couch so concrete and flat?
She opened her eyes- and quizzically stared at upside down black rings. It took Hannah's sleep-confounded mind a few minutes to register that her eyes were extremely close to the Kazekage's upside down shut ones. Hannah stiffened and contemplated moving slowly so as not to disturb him or quickly to simply escape when something brushed her hair.
Her eyes shrunk with horror and Hannah stifled a horrified gasp. Gaara's hand was entangled in her hair! And her hand was entwined in his locks!
Hannah's hand gently removed itself from the leader of Suna's flaming- not to mention incredibly soft baby- hair before flying to her side. Now Gaara made an 'nnnhn' grumble and his forehead touched hers.
The American had never realized how long the Kazekage's spiky yet floppy hair was until it poked her eyes. Even in his sleep, the sand nin exerted a soothing calmness that could tranquilize the most panicky being.
Such was the effect on Hannah- high strung and laid back. They were mere inches apart and the hostess could barely breathe for fear of waking him up and finding them both in awkward positions.
They were lying opposite of one another. Hannah's body laid on its right side and his laid on his left, causing their foreheads to touch. Thankfully, she wasn't lying by his side. That would have been a thousand-fold worse. As it was, steam was coming out of Hannah's red head. Gaara's spindly fingers flowed effortlessly between her locks and he murmured something, causing her to hold her breath for dear life.
"Mhn…silky…" He sighed.
Hannah nearly screamed because she was freakin' out. No one ever told her that her hair was silky. No one ever ran their fingers through her hair. And no one had ever been this close to Hannah's lips in her entire life.
The mortified American bolted upright and replaced where she had been with a pillow. Apparently Gaara noticed the change in his sleep because he began to wake. Hannah burst into the bathroom and, with aching slowness (she didn't want to alarm him), shut the door.
Her fingers dug into the edges of the counter top as she gulped deep breaths of stress-relieving air. Hannah's muscles felt tense, pumped full of adrenaline. She ran a shaky hand through her auburn hair.
Gaara's words echoed in her ears. "Mhn…silky."
Of course, he had been asleep and wouldn't remember a thing, but Hannah felt as though she'd been scarred for life. She'd always thought of herself as an all-around average-looking person, neither worth attention nor praise. Hannah knew she had low self esteem, but people…just didn't…just weren't nice to her. She didn't know why they were so cruel, calling her beautiful in fake sincere tones.
After several minutes of hair pulling and silent screaming, Hannah composed herself and opened the door. Gaara was sitting up, leaning on one arm, in the process of rubbing an eye.
"Oh my gosh!" Hannah practically shouted. "Your arm!"
His left arm had a puncture mark and oozy, dry blood trailed down his dark plum purple sleeve. The blue and white Kage robes revealed a blood stain on a folded sleeve.
Hannah snatched a roll of gauze bandages and duct tape. She wetted a tissue and plopped down beside her injured guest. "Lift your sleeve," she ordered. "I'm going to clean your wound so it doesn't get infected."
It turned out Gaara's sleeve didn't roll up too well. "Take off those clothes and change into your Kage robes," Hannah suggested. "In the bathroom," she added, hastily covering her eyes as Gaara's hand went to take off his brown vest.
She missed his smirk. Hannah uncovered her eyes as the bathroom door closed. There were maroon stains on his ceremonial Kage robes down his white sleeve where it had been ripped. The American resolved to hide the robes and patch them up for him.
Gaara remerged from the restroom in his Kage robes and Hannah could see his discarded clothing in a heap on the bathroom floor. Fighting dirty thoughts, she concentrated as the Kazekage sat down.
He rolled up his voluminous, stained sleeve. Hannah ignored how the action of rolling up his sleeve piqued her hormones, which had been acting up lately. The American gingerly cleaned the wound because she was afraid of hurting Gaara. She wrapped the gauze bandages around his forearm slowly and gently. With a grin, Hannah duct taped the bandage in place.
Gaara arched a nonexistent eyebrow. "Duct tape?"
She giggled. "'Silence is golden; duct tape is silver; rope is bronze.'"
The German saying with her own addition at the end amused the Kazekage. Hannah stood up and went into the kitchen, planning on scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon.
"That smells delicious," the red haired boy sniffed as he reappeared by her side in his normal outfit. He was so close. Hannah gulped uneasily and focused on the sizzling bacon.
"The eggs and toast are done," she announced, "the bacon is almost finished too."
As she filled his plate, Gaara scratched his hair. His soft-as-a-baby's-hair. "Feeding my army too?" he smirked, taking a bite out of the toast.
"Nah, just you," Hannah retorted with a smile.
"I don't want to lose my figure and resemble a pig," The Kazekage made a face.
"And a fiery, sour, cute pig you'd make," laughed the cook.
He stared at her. "You think I'm cute?" Gaara whispered with a small smirk. Hannah's cheeks tinted and she snorted, "If pigs can be considered cute."
Both could see she was faking. Gaara's wounded ego perked at the compliment. "Do you starve yourself?" asked the Kazekage.
"No, why?"
"You are incredibly thin," the red haired boy pointed out. "There are dark circles under your eyes, too. It's not intelligent to dwell on a shallow thing."
Hannah stiffened. "For your information, I only 'starved' myself because I had to pay astronomical bills to repair this place. I have circles under my eyes because I'm an insomniac and I have no intention of oogling at myself in the mirror for hours, Kazekage-sama."
Gaara was surprised to find another insomniac, but then again not surprising. A woman as dedicated as Hannah had a lot on her mind. So did he. "Do you think yourself beautiful?" the Kazekage inquired on impulse.
"Why would you care about my opinion, Kazekage-sama?" Hannah snorted. The American had adapted to having her ideas suppressed all her life and being repressed into what she was now. Why should anyone care what she had to say? It wasn't going to make a difference…
The red haired boy pushed his empty plate away and nearly smiled. "I am the Kazekage. It is my job to care about my people. You are no exception."
Hannah felt thrown off guard by this unexpected gesture. Someone was asking her opinion… "Well, personally, no," she admitted. "I'm just average, plain, normal. Why should I blow up my pride on a false image?"
"You are one of the twenty," Gaara put in slyly.
Hannah didn't start; she had expected him to find out eventually. "Took you that long to figure out, Kazekage-sama?" She arched her eyebrows.
"Anyways, I saw my competitors and I know I'll never win. And I doubt you like being hunted as a trophy, Kazekage-sama. No sane person does. So I'll hang here and do what I can for your little village and help its economical issues."
The leader of Suna felt as though his burden had been lightened. A little. "Thank you."
"Don't mention it." Hannah shrugged, standing up and placing their dishes in the sink.
Gaara stood. "I will be leaving," he told her. "The shinobi should be watching the enemy, not searching for their Kazekage."
Hannah led him to the door and opened it for him. Aqua marine eyes glanced down on her and the American felt herself blush, averting her face. Slowly, painfully slowly, she wrapped her arms around his middle.
The Kazekage, on the other hand, found himself at a loss for what to do. He awkwardly patted her back until she let go. Now her green-grey eyes couldn't meet his figure.
"G-Good bye, Kazekage-sama," she stammered, face flaming.
"Good-bye, Hannah."
Chikusho- dammit
Oyasuminasai- good night