Short Note: So… here we are again, with my sorry self apologetically presenting a drabble that should have been presented eons ago. Interesting how this idea came to me though, I was at work (I just started a new job at a barn in a town near me - two horses, a half a dozen chickens, a dickhead rooster, and three dogs) and a song came on and wallah! new idea. The song is Next Contestant by Nickelback. I like it enough, but I like it even more for giving me this idea.

So, for this drabble only, the roles are reversed. Sakura is a bartender working at Sabaku and Gaara is the CEO of his own company. I guess because of that you can say this is AU.

Stranger Than Fiction

By Socially Suicidal

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto

Drabble #12

Gaara remembered the first night she began working behind the bar. If he had known then what he knew now, he'd have known that night was the beginning of the end. The beginning of her employment translated directly into the end of his sister's night club being his haven of relaxation after a long, stiff day in his office.

Sabaku had been the redhead's sanctuary ever since he had been thrust into his father's seat at the head of Suna Corps., the company that had risen to the top of weapons development and production industry at an incredible pace over the last five or so years. While Gaara loved his company, the anti-social young man could only stand so many tense, diplomatic dealings with the monkeys in suits he called co-workers per day before he needed more liquor than his tall, lean form could handle (which, to his pride, was quite a lot). So, when Temari finally achieved her dream and opened up her nightclub about a year before his promotion, it had been absolute perfect timing and her younger brother had been a content presence at her bar nightly ever since. But, something he had been forced to learn very early on in life, good things have a way of ending violently and far before their time. And the end comes in the strangest, sneakiest of forms. Enter: Temari's newest choice of bartender.

On her very first day, she had made it abundantly clear that she had never worked at a club before. She showed up to work with her hair clipped to the back of her head, some wispy strands of pink loose around her face and forehead, wearing a pair of conservative black dress pants (that, in retrospect, had at least framed her figure well) and a black button up long sleeved shirt. Her fair peachy skin was clear and healthy and her round, alert green eyes were accented with very little makeup. She was of average, if not a little below average, height with a slight frame, the true slightness of which was hidden under her modest, but professional, choice of attire.

In summary, the girl had little to no sex appeal, and even if she did, it was hidden behind a curtain of professionalism that no night club bartender (that wanted to make any money, at least) should have.

It wasn't until she began taking and completing the orders of her skeptical bar guests that Gaara understood just why Temari had hired her. Her polished look did not translate into the harshness of demeanor that it suggested in the slightest bit; she was in fact friendly, cheerful, and all around pleasant to every guest, to every walk of life that approached her bar. Even more impressive than her disposition, however, was her efficiency in filling all of the orders quickly and correctly, even as the night continued and the bar got fuller and fuller with the rowdy, intoxicated guests and the more respectful ones.

When she had first arrived to the club, five minutes early, of course, and Gaara saw that she would be working the perpetually hectic Friday night shift alone, he was sure she would get eaten alive and had to wonder about his sister's sadistic flare in setting the new girl up for failure from the get-go. However, after watching her work from the safety of his usual dark corner of the bar, Gaara only too fully understood Temari's decision to hire this petite, pink headed girl, regardless of her sex appeal, or lack thereof. He knew he shouldn't have doubted his sister's head for business but, looking again at the smiling bartender as she wiped down her bar, he could hardly blame himself.

How could he have known that this prudish, plain Jane girl would be the best bartender he'd ever seen? It was preposterous, but grudgingly he knew it to be true.

It was on that very first night, after the busy hours had faded and only a few guests remained seated at the bar, that his sister slinked up behind him and threw her arm around his shoulder. "So, little brother," she began, smirk audible in her voice, "What do you think of my new girl? She's pretty good, huh?"

Gaara nearly grunted in affirmation, knowing well that Temari had predicted his initial distaste regarding the pinkette, "She's not much to look at."

Withdrawing her arm, the blonde merely shrugged, "She's got plenty of potential, just got to get her out of those clothes. She used to work at some fancy restaurant, but she's the type that learns pretty quick."

As his sister sauntered off, Gaara considered her words and decided he agreed completely. As he inclined his now empty glass, which immediately earned him the attention of the new bartender, who quickly began making him yet another of the same drink, he considered how amusing it would be to watch this girl sink or swim.

In hindsight, he should have known that nothing ever goes that simply for him.

Over the next few weeks, Gaara watched silently as the newest addition to Sabaku grew more comfortable behind the bar. He figured Temari had spoken to her about her choice of attire because slowly, very slowly, she began coming in to work in clothes that gradually bared more and more skin. A week or so saw her in halter and tube tops, the colors of which gradually got a little brighter and the cuts of which inched their way toward revealing. It had taken three weeks for her to wear something other than her fitted black dress pants, and when she came in with a tight black skirt that ended a few inches above the knee and heeled boots, her normally attentive bar guests were downright rapt.

Her new venturous clothing revealed the body that she had been hiding under business like clothes. Her torso was toned, legs long and lean, with a plump and rounded set of assets that he immediately decided were a sin to keep hidden away. She still never wore much makeup beyond mascara and the occasional eye shadow, but wore her short pink locks down more often than not and occasionally she applied a shade of lipstick that accented the plump, rose petal like quality of her mouth.

At first Gaara was glad for the increased interest the pink haired girl had earned from her regular guests. While they had gotten along with her well before, their attention was now fully grasped as the bartender with a friendly personality, who was capable of witty banter and deep conversation, was now quite the hot piece of ass too. The result was an increased number of idiots spending an increased amount of time and money at the bar ordering drinks, which translated to more money to the club and more in the bartender's pocket.

From her conversations with her guests, Gaara learned a good bit about her. She was twenty five, his own age, and a recent graduate of medical school, two years early with honors. Her guests balked and demanded to know why she was working as a bartender (though, they made sure to tell her they were not complaining about her presence) and she laughed and said something vague about student loans kicking her ass before changing the subject. She was from the outskirts of the city of Konoha, from a small suburb where she had grown up and gone to high school, a town in which both of her parents still resided, before going away to Iwa for university and medical school. She had a cat named Whiskers whom she loved dearly, and took the mocking that particular bit of information produced with a smile. Her favorite color was green, she loved to play Shogi, she wanted a garden more than anything but her apartment lacked even the most basic balcony to hold a single flower, her drink of choice was cranberry vodka, and she loved rainy days. A fantastic conversationalist and exceptional bartender with a perfectly toned body and quick smile and an even quicker wit, the pink haired bartender came across very few bar guests who didn't want to sit at her bar for hours on end.

However, one night, the night he had finally learned her proper name (he had mentally dubbed her "Pinky" and had even heard a few drunk gentleman refer to her as such one night), his view on the entire ordeal flipped drastically.

It was this particular night, about a month and half into her employment at the night club, on which the pink haired bartender came to work wearing a bright red mini skirt and black, naval exposing halter top with, what appeared to be, her favorite pair of black heels. It was also this night that the club was hosting an especially rowdy group of men, for some occasion like a birthday or a promotion that Gaara didn't care very much to know about, who immediately took rapt interest in the bartender who came on for the night shift.

Their attentions were acceptable for a while, but as the night wore on and more alcohol found its way into their glasses, one of the men stood out for his especially aggressive interest in the pinkette. It was around two in the morning and the bulk of the guests had gone home for the night, either too tired or too drunk to continue dancing and drinking and the original party of men were still at the bar. Gaara had planned to leave about an hour or so prior, but something about the way the one man leaned across the bar and something about the way he smirked and leered at the bartender compelled him to remain in his stool.

It was not long before the redhead learned his instinct was not unwarranted. The brutish and extremely intoxicated male was giving his best drunken effort in convincing the polite but visibly irritated female into escorting him home at the end of her shift, much to the amusement of the rest of his party who also urged the pinkette to indulge their friend. Smiling coyly, she attempted to shrug off his attempts with jokes and playful teasing, but soon it became apparent that her tactics were of no use when he grabbed her wrist as she took an empty glass away. "C'mon Pinky," Gaara could hear him slur in what he must have thought was a whisper, "Just let me see if you're pink everywhere, that's all I wanna know."

The look of utter and complete revulsion that exploded, though only briefly, over her face before she could yank her arm free had Gaara on his feet and approaching the cluster of drunken men faster than he could process. Grabbing him by the shoulder, the redhead shoved the man away from the bar and to the floor swiftly and forcefully. "Are you too arrogant or too stupid to see when a woman is clearly not interested?" He demanded before he pulled the shocked man by the collar to his feet, "Get out of here before I have to force you," Gaara addressed not only the arrogant brute but the entire group of his cronies with a narrow sea foam glare.

The man looked fully prepared to protest, chest puffing up and face going red, before one of his (clearly wiser) friends urged him to depart, apologizing to both Gaara and the bartender on his friend's behalf before the entire group filed out.

Grudgingly, Gaara turned toward the bartender to find her frowning and staring back at him. He inclined his head in a way that asked, "Are you okay?"

Nodding, she sighed, "I'm fine. Thanks and all, but I could have handled him," she replied as she produced a can of mace from behind the bar with a slight smirk of her own. Against his volition, his eyebrow quirked and he was almost impressed, but had an inkling of doubt at her will to use the stuff. Shrugging, she put it back to wherever it came from, "Picked it up last week after some douche went to slap my ass but missed and hit his friend's instead," she explained with a soft chuckle.

Gaara remembered the exact incident but had not realized the man's intention was her and not his fruity looking friend. He returned his gaze to her as she began to speak again.

"You know, you come here every night and I don't know your name." She mused as she began her final cleaning routine, seeing as it was nearly ten minutes to closing. When he made no move to respond, she paused and stared at him thoughtfully before continuing. "Hi, my name is Sakura, and you are?" Punctuating her greeting by leaning across the bar and offering her hand, she offered a polite smile.

He contemplated both her name and the cleavage she was producing by leaning in such a way before he stepped forward and briefly shook her hand, muttering, "Gaara."

"Well then, Gaara, you must really like this place to drag your ass here every single night." Sakura said conversationally as she went back to tidying up.

Returning to his seat with the intention of finishing the last of his drink before she took the empty glass away, Gaara considered telling her that she in fact worked for his sister but instead took to staring at her rear as she raised herself on her toes to put the last of the glasses in the cabinet.

After a few moments of his silence, everything behind the bar was placed back in its rightful place and she retrieved her coat and bag from one of the shelves. Turning back to him with a smile, despite his lack of response, she addressed him again, "Regardless, I'm glad you've found something to like about it. Having regulars is kind of comforting, you know? Especially when idiots like that get rowdy. Thanks again, for that, you didn't have to."

Shrugging, he stood as well, realizing only now that they were the last two left in the entire building and she had to close up. Sakura smiled ruefully up at him as they walked out of the club together, looking somewhat deep in thought. He nearly tripped when her next words reached his ears and the truth in them was violently immediate, "You know now though, that's going to happen all the time. Once you take a dog's toy away, even if it hadn't been playing with it, it will never give up trying to get it." She sighed as she locked the door and turned toward him, "Oh well though, these things happen. See you tomorrow night!" Sakura pulled her jacket on and began her brisk walk home without waiting for a reply, proving what a quick learner she truly was as she already knew not to expect one. Gaara stood for a moment, considering that she was probably right about the incident becoming a reoccurring one.

If he had only known how right she was, he may not have returned the next night.

The next evening, Sakura's shift had already begun by the time Gaara got out of his office and to the club. Loosening his tie and settling in at his custom spot at the very end of the bar, Gaara tuned all of the thoughts from the especially irritating day he had in his office out and tuned in to whatever had set the club particularly abuzz that evening.

Apparently, one of the idiot's friends had told the story of how he was shut down by the Sabaku bartender to one of his friends, who told his friend, who told her friend, who told his friend, and so on and so forth until the entire club knew just how the shady reheaded drunk who always sat in the corner had beat the day lights out of some jerk who had dared lay a hand on his girlfriend, the bartender. The entire tale had been exaggerated to such an extent beyond his comprehension, and he wished he had seen Sakura's initial reaction to it all.

It was a never a wonder why Gaara detested humanity. The redhead had barely shoved the guy to the ground, and he only toppled so easily because of how piss drunk he had been, and the idiots surrounding the bar seemed to have the idea that Gaara had sent the man home with a newly acquired limp. And the assertion that Sakura was his girlfriend! If any of them had the slightest bit of brain in their heads, they would have realized that he had not been seen exchanging words with the bartender beyond his nightly order of liquor before the ordeal. But of course, as the case with most humans, none of the gossip crazy morons had a bit of sense in their heads, which was just his luck.

Thankfully, the one good thing to come out of the hyped up version of the story of which everyone was so convinced, Gaara's unapproachable reputation had never been more fierce. He had always been given his space at the club, his perpetually sour expression and agitated demeanor had kept even the most intoxicated club dwellers from bothering him. However, given the escalation of his reputation from broody drunk to bloodthirsty jealous demon, not a single person wanted to be caught glancing in his direction. Oddly enough, though, the same could not be said in regard to the pink haired bartender.

Gaara nearly laughed at the irony of the situation – or perhaps at the stupidity of the male bar guests openly ogling his alleged "girlfriend." So, by idiot logic, it was considered smart to avoid his attention by giving him a wide berth and avoiding eye contact, but it was safe to continue griping for the attention of the girl that had supposedly set him off to begin with? Sakura had been irritatingly accurate in her assertion the night prior. All it took was Gaara's showing the dogs that the toy was unavailable for all of them to flock to it, clawing over one another in their starved attempts to get to it first.

Sakura seemed to be regretting her choice of attire for the evening, constantly tugging the hem of her tight, cropped long sleeve shirt in between taking orders and filling them, an action that merely increased the number and intensity of the stares directed at her. While she didn't look outright uncomfortable, as someone that saw her every night for nearly two months Gaara recognized the slight changes in her demeanor. She avoided leaning across the counter to talk for extended periods of time and was more prone to moving quickly from one customer to the next with fewer exchanges than usual. It wasn't until she was coming back from a short break that Gaara learned the reason for her change in behavior.

As she walked by him, a man leaning his back against the bar boldly reached out and grabbed her ass, inciting a startled noise from the pinkette and causing her to drop her coat on the floor. She whirled on him with wide, surprised eyes, sputtering indignantly in her ire. Gaara could make out some garbage about her being sexy when she was angry as the tipsy male reached for her before he made the rationalized decision that if they wanted a bloodthirsty jealous demon, then a bloodthirsty jealous demon they would damn well get.

Gaara approached silently from behind the pink haired bartender who swatted at the man as she began telling him just where he could shove his opinion in a clipped but hushed tone, as to avoid any more unwanted attention. Such an endeavor was admirable but futile as the redhead who loomed behind her garnered the stares of everyone in the immediate proximity. Blinking, Sakura peeked over her shoulder to be met with the surprisingly intimidating image of a rather smoldering redhead.

Staring wickedly down at the shorter man, Gaara crossed his arms in front of his chest before inquiring, "Is that your hand on my girlfriend?"

Eyes widening, the man began stuttering as he retracted the in question appendage as if it had been burned. "I-uh, no I mean, I'm not the first guy to-" He realized he had chosen his words poorly too late as Gaara stepped around the still gaping bartender and grabbed his collar, yanking him forward to drag him toward the door with the gazes of a dozen people following him.

When Gaara came back in several moments later, looking barely worse for the wear with just a small splatter of blood that clearly did not belong to him on his dress shirt, the bar was unnaturally quiet as the guests seated around it had trained their eyes everywhere but him and spoke to one another tensely.

A shot was sitting at his usual spot next to a very smug looking Temari. Nearly groaning in agitation, the redhead squared his shoulders and stiffly sat down, ignoring her. He caught the eye of the pink haired bartender, who frowned at him with a glare that clearly said "We need to talk" before her attention was diverted by one of her guests.

Temari was smirking as she spoke, "Ya know, little brother, if ya ever get tired of working at the company, I may have a spot for you here as a bouncer."

Gaara growled at her teasing, knocking back the last of his whiskey with barely even a grimace and a sarcastic mutter of, "Yeah, right."

Unbeknownst to him, that was only one of many shirts he would have to have dry cleaned in the coming months of Sakura's employment at the night club. And so went his peaceful nights of drinking alone at the bar.