Slight spoiler this installment for chapters 547-548 of the manga.

Naruto belongs to Kishimoto.

Chapter 2

Gaara yawned hugely and stretched as the bright morning sun peeked through his windows, curtains parted to allow the light to stream through. He had finally gotten to bed around 4:00am, having forced himself to finish his leftover paperwork before going to sleep. That meant he had gotten—he looked at his clock and groaned—one and a half hours of sleep. His eyeballs felt like they were on fire.

He doubted any of his guests were up yet. Not only had they traveled long and hard the day before, their revelries last night had been boisterous enough (he should know, as he had been forced to participate) and gone late into the night. He expected some of them (namely Kankuro, Konohamaru, and Naruto) would be sporting massive hangovers and wouldn't make their appearances until almost noon. Gaara was sorely tempted to bury his face back into his pillows and catch a few more hours' sleep, but he knew that he would pay for his irresponsibility later if he did.

He sighed loudly, sitting up and staring at the wall opposite, his legs tangled comfortably in the linens. Blearily blinking his eyes and willing them to stay open, he crawled out of bed and shuffled to his attached bathroom (he was one of the few lucky people in Suna to even have his own bathroom; with water scarce, public bathing was the norm), staggering through his morning ablutions. He exited slightly more awake and a lot more presentable.

Glancing outside, he decided a morning walk was in order before breakfast to clear his head and prepare himself for the daunting social interactions that lay ahead. He started on the empty morning streets, waving greetings to early-rising shop owners and nodding to the few citizens up and about so early.

He wound his way downtown, stopping at his favorite bakery for a breakfast pastry and coffee. He sipped his hot beverage, relishing the way the strong black liquid slipped down his throat, chewing thoughtfully on his croissant as he walked. After his friends had left his office yesterday he had been left to his own devices until after dinner. He had eaten little, his mind preoccupied not only with all the work that lay ahead of him, but inexplicably with Sakura.

He had known Sakura for a long time, practically as long as he had been friends with Naruto. He vaguely remembered almost killing her, along with the rest of her team, when he was twelve. Once in awhile, during some of his particularly awful nightmares, he would have flashes of slamming her into a tree, her limp form pinned with his sand, moaning in pain. He could also picture the Uchiha boy being thrown like a rag doll in the forest as a maniacal laughing and growling filled the air.

In the dreams, he was always a bystander, watching on the sidelines as his enemies were mercilessly attacked. He felt their fear and mirrored it, waiting for the insane monster with the disturbing laugh to turn on him as well. Inevitably, at some point in the dream, he would realize that he was the one laughing before waking in a cold sweat, panting and shivering as damp sheets twisted around his limbs.

The worst dream, by far, was of the night he killed Yashamaru. It twisted at the end so that when he pulled back the would-be assassin's mask and looked into his dead uncle's eyes, he instead saw his mother, slack jawed with blood trickling out the corner of her mouth, eyes still wet at the betrayal of her monstrous son.

The first time he dreamed it, he had awoken nauseous and shaking, leaning over his bed to vomit the remains of his dinner onto the floor. Baki found him—having heard the disturbance during a night patrol of the mansion—dry heaving on the edge of his king-sized bed, tears streaming down his face. Baki assumed him sick with the flu and Gaara had never corrected him. He was sixteen.

Some nightmares were worse than others. The one with his mother was recurring, and though he knew his long-held belief that his mother had hated him with every fiber of her being was a lie (thanks to the Kabuto-reincarnation of his father), he couldn't stop them coming. He knew consciously that she had loved him, but her hatred of him had been ingrained since a young age. He couldn't stop his subconscious mind pounding the image of her dead face, so like that of his uncle's, into his dreams.

He had trained himself enough now that he was no longer physically ill at the images his nightmares produced. Many of the dreams were bloody, simply reincarnations of actual battles he had fought. Though graphically violent, those dreams bothered him far less than the occasional nightmares he had concerning his friends.

While he had killed no one in his fight with Naruto's team, the image of Sakura's prone body pinned under Shukaku's sandy hand took him hours to forget, and then it was only by force. He supposed it was because they were all close now. Suna and Konoha had been fighting side by side for years, coming to each other's aide more times than Gaara could count.

The thought of anyone trying to hurt his friends made him boil with anger, a seething fury that would creep through his blood and make him recall a time when Shukaku still inhabited his body. The knowledge that once he would have been the one doing the hurting, that he still would be if not for them, made his heart ache with sadness.

(Actually, he mused, he would be dead if he had never made friends with any of them, and everyone would be glad and better off for it. No one would have bothered to resurrect him after the extraction if he had been the old Gaara.)

The idea that he very well could have killed any of them back then, that he could have foolishly destroyed what he now held so dear, was what made those dreams stick in his head. It was probably what made her stick in his head, to be honest.

It also made him wonder why he didn't kill her back then. Had he been drawn to her even then, had his subconscious somehow known that if he destroyed her, he would regret it? It was so unlike him, to keep his victims alive. Often, he would kill enemies so fast that his siblings barely had time to protest before the deed was done. So what was it that had stopped Gaara from doing the same to her?

He supposed he would never know, and that it didn't actually matter now at any rate. Sakura had long since forgiven any of them, aiding them in any way possible, saving lives on occasion with her marvelous medical skills (namely Kankuro), and happily befriending them all. The alliance between Suna and Konoha went far deeper than convenient political ties; the cities' leaders and shinobi were fast friends, something Gaara was beyond thankful for.

Gaara didn't really believe in karma, and he guessed that the way things turned out was simply good luck. It could have just as easily gone the other way, one wayward decision on his or Naruto's parts, or even the people before them—his siblings, his father, his mentors, Naruto's team, friends, teachers—could have drastically affected the way they both turned out.

But that was in the past and he did believe that that past should stay firmly in the past. There was too much evidence of shinobi who did otherwise and went bad because of it (read: Uchiha Sasuke), and Gaara wasn't about to join their ranks. It was good enough that everyone had forgiven him, and if they could move on, so could he.

Which brought him back to Sakura. She was kind enough to forgive someone like him of unspeakable acts. She was kind enough to travel days in order to save him and his brother from the Akatsuki (being assigned the task as a mission with other shinobi nothwithstanding), spend hours formulating rare antidotes for Sand, spend weeks training their medic nins. She was strong and courageous and beautiful.

When he looked at it that way, Gaara really shouldn't have been surprised to find himself attracted to her. As it was, though, he just felt confused. He had never been truly attracted to a woman before.

He had felt the usual hormonal pangs of a teenage boy, but between serving as the youngest Kazekage ever, dealing with the one-tailed beast inside his head, defeating the Akatsuki, being brought back to life, protecting his siblings and his country and Naruto, battling first with the complete inability to sleep and then learning to sleep through the nightmares, and adjusting to actually having to talk to people, the opposite sex didn't register high on his list of important things.

But yesterday had been different. Yesterday the opposite sex—or rather, one particular member of the opposite sex—had registered very high on his list of important things.

Gaara was fairly certain he had never had such charged thoughts about anyone, ever. Kissing was untested waters for him, and to find himself not only considering what it might feel like to press his lips against hers, but actually desiring for it to happen,took him completely by surprise.

His reaction to seeing her smile at him (at. him.) had been intense and unfamiliar. Normal guys didn't go around imagining kissing the daylights out of girls who just smiled prettily at them, did they?

Gaara could only conclude that he had been attracted to her for awhile and had simply never known it. They spoke in passing, and he had known her a long time, though he couldn't truly consider himself her close friend like Temari, Kankuro, Naruto, or any of her Konoha buddies.

They were colleagues, they respected each other, but neither had the time to pursue anything more than a mutual surface friendship based on like acquaintances.

That wasn't to say that Gaara didn't want to get to know her better. He simply didn't know how. Kankuro and Temari seemed to make friends quickly and easily, but Gaara stumbled through his interactions with others, hardly knowing what to say when in the presence of anyone other than his siblings or Baki. As a result, he usually just didn't say anything at all, resulting in his perceived unfriendly and aloof demeanor (or perhaps even not so perceived).

He had never found himself caring about this fact quite so much before.

Even his close tie with Naruto could largely be attributed to the blond, though Gaara honestly enjoyed his company and felt comfortable around him.

Maybe Naruto was the key to getting to know Sakura better. Gaara knew he had harbored a juvenile crush on her in their teens, but he was fairly certain that was long since gone. He thought he had heard Naruto was seeing another girl from Konoha, anyway. It certainly couldn't hurt to casually question Naruto on her preferences, feel the situation out through his exuberant friend.

Deciding that he would ask about Sakura at the first available opportunity, Gaara took stock of his surroundings. His musings had looped him through the entire village and he was rounding the corner that would take him back in the direction of the Kazekage Tower. He tossed the now-cold coffee in the nearest trash bin and shoved the last of the pastry into his mouth. On a last minute whim, he turned instead toward the hill that would take him to the training grounds.

Suna's training area was a series of fenced in sand dunes, each spanning several acres. The training area closest to the street contained a man-made desert oasis within, complete with palm trees and glistening watering hole. It was a wonderful place to sit and think, as long as a group of incompetent chunins weren't racing around the area trying to take each other's heads (and other body parts) off.

As Gaara neared the entrance, though, he slowed, spying someone already inside the area.

It looked as though whoever it was, was meditating instead of exercising, body relaxed into a perfect handstand on the sand near the oasis. She (it was quite obvious the person was female) was perfectly still, and as Gaara watched it became clear that the girl had not only perfect form, but admirable stamina as well. The day was warming quickly under the desert sun, and he imaged that only someone used to dry desert air and intense heat year-round could sustain such an uncomfortable position.

He watched for several more minutes, but her position remained unchanged. Just as he decided head back to the mansion as originally planned, she slowly began to lower her legs. As she did, the sun reflecting on the water caught her hair and Gaara started in surprise.

He only knew of one person in the world with hair that color.

She lowered her legs slowly to the ground, smoothly pushing them back and raising her lower body into the air to create a perfect "V" between her hands and feet. She held the new position for a few minutes and Gaara watched, mesmerized, as she drew herself down, the tops of her feet pressing into the ground with her upper body thrust into the air, arms straight.

She moved her legs up, body creating a perfect straight line, before drawing her legs in as she rested on her elbows.

Gaara was already impressed with her incredible flexibility, even for a shinobi, when she slowly arched her body up, lifting her legs and supporting herself with her forearms. As her legs curled up and around so that the tips of her toes almost touched the ground in front of her, Gaara felt his breath hitch in his throat.

Her stomach was bared and her pale skin shone in the morning sun, her small, lithe body displayed to perfection. Gaara felt a little bit like he was intruding on something private, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the enticing scene in front of him long enough to convince himself to leave.

She bent and stretched, her toes finally touching the ground as she rounded into a deep back bend. He couldn't believe there were people who could actually twist their bodies in such a way.

Normally, seeing someone bent like a pretzel might have alarmed him, but all he could register at the moment was the way her calves looked in that position, muscles pulled tight and hard before tapering into a thin, delicate ankle.

He focused on her stomach next. Her shirt had ridden up, exposing the lines of her belly, toned from years of training, yet somehow undeniably, deliciously feminine. He could see the small dip of her belly button even from the fence, and the way her arched back highlighted her small waist and pushed up pert breasts made a strangled groan twist from his low in his throat.

His eyes scanned to her neck, long and lean, leading to a face with a small chin, high cheekbones, and a wide forehead. Her startling green eyes were closed at the moment, and his gaze drifted down to full lips, which he suddenly wanted to run over and capture in his own.

Gaara imagined running his tongue over her throat, catching the sweat that was sure to be running down her neck, pressing sweet kisses up to her jaw line before finally reaching those perfect, delicious lips and covering them with his.

Heaven help him, he was unbelievably turned on.

He watched as she skillfully pulled out the bend, standing and spreading her legs, stretching low between them. Sakura stood straight then, lifting her arms high over her head, finishing her exercise.

As she bent over to roll up a mat she had been using, Gaara began to panic. He couldn't be caught gawking at her like a perverted teenager! He was the kazekage. He contemplated simply darting away in a flurry of sand, but she stood up suddenly and spotted him.

Gaara stood rooted to spot, unsure of how to explain his presence, extremely uncomfortable with the situation. He berated himself inwardly, scolding his wayward mind for being unable to get a grip and get out before things got so out of hand. He was still trying to come up with a reasonable excuse when she waved at him, fumbling clumsily with her mat, and then held up a finger at him, the universal sign for "one minute."

Gaara watched, intriged, as she bent down quickly to tug on her sandals, not bothering to push her heels into the backs before running awkwardly over to him. Gaara felt the breath he had been holding in expel with a whoosh as she got close enough that he could see she was smiling.

"Kazekage-sama!" she exclaimed when she approached the fence. "What brings you here so early in the morning? Were you waiting for this field to train?"

Gaara shook his head no, still unsure whether he could trust his voice, and realized belatedly that training was the perfect excuse for being at the training grounds. He could have smacked himself.

She looked confused, so he decided he had better take matters into his own hands and actually steer the conversation into safer territory before he made a big mess out of something that had to potential to actually be a good thing.

"I stopped by on my walk," he told her truthfully. "I noticed you meditating and was curious. I've never met a shinobi who trained that way before."

"Oh!" she exclaimed, surprised, "a lot of us in Konoha train that way. It's called yoga. It's not really meditating, though you can mediate while you do it. It's a method that strengthens your body and mind, plus it improves flexibility," she told him.

"Hn." Gaara thought it should be obvious to anyone with half a brain that the moves she had just pulled improved flexibility. She had bent her body in half.

Undeterred by his lack of response, Sakura pressed on.

"Of course, it takes years of practice to be able to hold some of those positions I was doing. But I find that yoga first thing in the morning really clears my mind and prepares me for the day. This desert air certainly does make it more difficult, though! Normally I try to go for at least two hours, but I could only manage about 45 minutes this morning."

Sakura nearly laughed at the expression of wonder on his face.

"You do that for two hours?"

"Well, not just those moves. I have a whole set that I follow. You just caught the tail end."

When his surprise didn't seem to diminish, she added, "Besides, an hour and half is nothing compared to the way Gai-sensei and Lee-kun train."

Gaara nodded, but privately, he was just as impressed with her; he had heard plenty of stories about Gai and Lee's training regimen and didn't think crazy was a good bar for everyone else to set their standards by.

"What did you think, Kazekage-sama?" she asked him.

What did he think? What did he think about what? Surely not what did he think about her little performance back there?

"Huh?" he responded eloquently, his voice coming out more like a strangled whine.

"What did you think of the yoga?" she repeated patiently.

Gaara wracked his brain. What did he think? He thought she was the most fucking beautiful thing he had ever seen, that's what he thought! But since he couldn't very well say what was actually on his mind, he responded instead to something that had been bothering him.

"Gaara."

"What?" she asked, her pretty green eyes blinking up at him.

"Call me Gaara."

"Oh," she said quietly, suddenly shy. "Alright... Gaara." She smiled at him, brilliant, and he felt like his heart might burst in two.

"I never really thought about it before," she confessed sheepishly. "I mean, I guess I never called my shishou or Naruto Hokage-sama, but it always seemed more appropriate to address the heads of other villages by their proper titles. And I know Lee and Naruto don't use your title, but I guess I just never thought that the invitation would apply to me. So thanks, that's really nice of you!"

Gaara nodded at her, and she continued to babble on, chattering about their trip and the differences in Konoha and Suna weather, restaurants and dinner from the night before, their night out, her friends. She reminded him of a buzzing bee flitting from topic to topic like flowers, happy and content.

He let himself bask in the sound of her voice, relieved to have escaped her question for the time being. As they rounded the corner to the mansion, she told him she had an appointment at the greenhouse and took her leave of him, giving him one last smile and a jaunty wave before running down the path toward the hospital and attached garden.

Gaara couldn't help but stare after her as she ran away, his stomach clenching unfamiliarly, making his heart pound and his head feel light. He shook himself to clear the feeling before turning into the cool halls of the Kazekage Tower, his thoughts a jumbled mess.

He knew he should be focusing on his tasks for the day, preparing to debrief Naruto on the plans for the exams, check on the delegates in charge of test preparation, make sure his teachers were prepared, and a whole host of other activities that needed to be done before next week.

But all Gaara could think of was how cute Sakura had looked in those tiny shorts and tank top, her face flushed from heat and exertion, her smile as bright as the Suna sun, and how unbelievably, unabashedly jealous he was of whoever it was she was going to meet.