No-Name Gaara was also known, in that small oceanside town, as the Sandman.
He was the resident drug dealer. Hinata––going by the name Hotaru at the time––met him while she was scouring the beach for Sand Dollars. She was collecting them: saving them as memorabilia to commemorate her first mission alone.
It had been a lonely one. She found herself missing Kiba and feeling scared of the leaves that brushed the windows of her converted van at night. She wasn't good at the parties; meeting people was hard, and the hippie role she had fallen into only half worked––she hated exposing her belly and the loose-fringed skirts. She missed her bed—at the time she was still living at the Hyuga Manor––even if she did not miss her family. There was safety in the familiarity.
In addition to it being her first solo mission, it was her first mission that was longer than two weeks. Her time would run out soon, however, and she was getting nowhere: a hippie with a van usually only stayed in one place for a couple weeks tops. The few connections she'd made would start doubting her legitimacy, soon.
And yet––Petunia was hungry. Yes, Petunia. She wasn't Dove yet. That would come two years later. Thank God, too––because Hinata had hated that rank and that codename.
It had been nighttime. The moon was heavy in the sky, looking like it would burst from how full it was. Hinata couldn't sleep––could never sleep at that time, always sleepwalking, always awake, and thought to pass the time by the sea's edge. Her heels dug into the sand as she passed her fingers over the rocks, shifting, looking for another lucky Sand Dollar.
She felt a presence then, as she siphoned one out between her fingertips. It glowed in the moonlight when she held it up, pretending to not see the stranger whom she had seen before. Because she was good at her job, she knew of No-Name Gaara. She'd been to the parties under the viaducts and in the abandoned train stations, and had watched him move around the rooms like a cat, green eyes lit like lanterns. He always had curious little bags with him––no gourd, no symbols––but bags nonetheless. Hinata had been waiting for an entry point to meet him, and here it was.
"That one's alive," he said, coming closer, his voice unexpectedly raspy, like it caught in the back of his throat. Or perhaps––like he wasn't used to speaking. "Look."
Carefully, he took the Sand Dollar from her palms and turned it over to reveal the tiny, purple spines. They were moving slowly, like grass turned over by wind. Hinata jumped when she saw, her eyes widening.
"And your fingers," No-Name Gaara said, gently, as he held the sea creature. "Are they yellow?"
"Y-yes," Hinata said, looking in shock at her hands, dusted at the tips like rust.
"That's their echinochrome," he said. "Don't worry; it's harmless."
Hinata exhaled and looked at No-Name Gaara from the corner of her eye. He was wearing a dark hoodie, shorts, and no shoes. He had a blunt in his left hand––out, now––and nothing else. He was watching her with those eyes––so bright, but angular, and short choppy eyelashes; so feline. His face was sharp, and his mouth was full, tilted downward, but he didn't look displeased exactly––just tired. He had a curious face. Hinata found herself liking it.
He handed the Sand Dollar back to her by the shell. Silently, Hinata took it and led it to the water where she dropped into a squat and released it into the coming wave. Her long tie-dye skirt caught the current and got wet too, but she didn't mind. The water was the best part of being a hippie.
"I've been seeing you around," No-Name Gaara said once Hinata stood back up.
"Me too," Hinata said, tucking a piece of braided hair behind her ear. She stuck out her hand. "I'm Hotaru."
'"That's pretty," Gaara shook it, and his hand was surprisingly warm, like a burning. Hinata blushed. "I'm Gaara. But people know me as the Sandman."
"Because––because of the drugs?" Hinata said, quite boldly, and she blamed it on Petunia.
Gaara chuckled. "Depends on who's asking. What about you? What's your story?"
Together, the two of them began to walk along the sea, their toes sinkling delightfully into the wet sand. The water was warm with summer. Always summer. Hinata loved summer.
"I just graduated," Hinata lied, telling her rehearsed story she'd memorized before departing. "I––I'm not into college. I worked all winter and spring to buy a van and convert it. Now I travel."
"I always wanted to travel," Gaara said, and he re-lit the blunt. His eyes were like prayer coins in the low light of the moon. "But I'm here, for now."
"How come?" Hinata asked. She took the offered smoking thing, but she only pretended to smoke it. Besides, Gaara was looking at the waves.
"Family stuff," No-Name Gaara said. "Proving something to myself."
"I can understand that," Hinata replied. "I'm doing t-that too," she said, and wasn't lying.
In the beachtown, Gaara had no known ties to anyone; that's why he was called No-Name. Most families had lived there for decades––except Gaara, who was said to have no ties, no name. And Hinata supposed the same went for her, who was a stranger to the dynamic. Tourists like you are normal, Gaara had told her once, when they sat on a braided blanket in the park, playing with each other's fingers, it's freaks like me the locals don't like, because I never leave.
Why don't you leave, again? Hinata had asked, holding his thumb up to the sun, then twisting her pointer finger around it. They were laying on their backs. They'd known each other for a week, then.
Business to take care of, Gaara always said.
He seemed to be good at his job; always running out of stock, and quickly. At parties, Hinata tried to follow his papertrail, liked to touch his arm and play with his hair––and he let her, leaning his head back, his sweaty forehead, her fingers cold to the touch there, and there, and there. The lights were electrifying, in the basement or the warehouse or the abandoned house party, dancing, skin touching there, and there, and there.
"I think I'm falling in love with you, Hotaru," Gaara had once said when they were sitting in the back of her van, smoking conspicuously from the mouth of a bong. Hinata didn't believe him because he was high, and because they'd never kissed, and because he didn't even know her real name. He only knew her sunflower skirt, and how she let it touch the water––he called that freedom.
She scoffed hard at that. Freedom. He got offended; he didn't know what was funny.
"You don't even k-know me," Hinata said, turning pink as her fingers curled themselves into his wild, red hair––more heat here, always heat. He was something fiery in her heart, there was no lie in that.
"I can taste it," Gaara said, blowing out smoke. He laid back in her makeshift bed. The door was open and the breeze rolled in and kissed them like a mother would. Oh, Mothers. What a sore topic for the both of them. "The love."
Hinata tried to dot her i's and cross her t's, but there was no No-Name Gaara in the Bingo Book. He didn't seem to be associated with Suna from how she'd been watching him. When she trailed him, he often disappeared into this one small building, reappearing with new drugs like magic. Was he the source? She wondered. Was he the chemist? Is this who she was after?
But he was so young, she thought. And alone. Surely, this wasn't a one-man operation. She was looking for the entryway to an entire syndicate. No-Name Gaara was not that. He couldn't be.
The only way to find out was to take the drugs and test it, and for that she'd need to buy some from him. But the Sandman wouldn't sell it to her––he refused. "Anyone but you," he said, his face dark. Flat. "I don't want you touching this stuff."
"Because y-you love me?" She found herself teasing. Surprisingly, Gaara was easy to tease. Maybe it was because she felt this power of not saying it back, of allowing herself her own feelings, of being protective of her young mind. For once, she felt fearless. It was because she was alone.
That mission was an awakening in many ways. Gaara grabbed her hands, held them, and said: "Yes. That's the reason." Her body tingled. An awakening, indeed.
Hinata stayed longer than she should have in that town. Kiba was her Hermes––her messenger, and he kept asking when she was coming back. Instead, Hinata burrowed under the blankets with No-Name Gaara and they rubbed their feet together. Instead, she watched him take drugs by the mouthful, his pupils dilating. Instead, she asked about his life––over and over––and got nothing back. He was like a galaxy, waxing and huge and full of things that she didn't have the answers to.
His mystery seduced her. Perhaps, she was seeing herself in his limited answers. Perhaps, when their lips finally did touch––just once, but deep, like the waves of a current brushing to meet the mouth of a cliff––they kissed hard. Hinata almost felt herself get buried. Drowned. Never again, she said to herself, after he left, taking an urgent call she could not get further details about. Never. Again.
Then, one night, at the end of a rave on the beach, Gaara fell. They had been dancing to the thumping of serpentine bass––a celebration for the Summer Solstice. The longest day of the year. Gaara had had his hands wrapped around her waist as they danced, belly to belly, chest to chest––but then he became slow, his body moving like he was walking through cement. Hinata released him and he stopped. Closed his eyes. And fell.
The sand went up in thick plumes. It was a new moon. Besides the stars and the light from the cell phones, it was dark.
Hinata screamed when she saw him seizing, white froth bubbling up in his mouth like seafoam. She cradled his head as his body contorted, her eyes tracing the love tattoo over and over and over again as she yelled Call an ambulance! He's overdosing! Please!
Everyone stood, watching the Sandman shudder and struggle, his hips shifting sand, digging deeper, deeper, creating his own grave. Help him! Hinata cried, lowering, doing CPR. When her tears wet his chest––she knew. She knew she was in too deep. She was in so deep it scared her. Please, somebody! Don't just fucking stand there!
The ambulance appeared like lightning, blue and red, over the hump in the sand. When she saw them carrying the stretcher, she touched the tattoo on his forehead, kissed his cheeks three times each, and swiped all the pills from his pocket.
She ran over the hill. She drove her van away. Five hours later, she arrived back in Konoha, where she went straight to B6. She cleaned the tears away from her face and presented the drugs to Command. A few days later, the results were positive for the antiviral they had been looking for.
When they asked Hinata where she found them––what happened––she named the building she saw the Sandman go into, but she never said who he was. She said she didn't know him––she lied to the sketch artists about his appearance.
She didn't even know if he was still alive. But she wanted him for herself, close to her heart, like a dream.
And so, the mission was a success. That division of Suna was busted. Hinata slowly earned a name for herself, and No-Name Gaara never entered the Bingo Book. He got to remain anonymous, and hopefully, alive.
And alive, he was. But he was no nameless––he was Sabuka fucking Gaara. Head of the Suna Syndicate, standing tall and proud in a tailored black suit. And he was looking right at her. Fuck.
-:-
Hinata felt herself sink when Gaara looked at her. His eyes were as green as she remembered them to be when the moonlight hit them and they shined like emeralds. He still had the same tattoo on his forehead. His face was more angular; he'd lost all the baby fat he'd had. What was more was that he was alive alive alive.
And he was watching her as she wavered on Sasuke's arm. He was sitting beside the old woman––the birthday girl, it appeared, because she was wearing a funny little crown––when they walked in. He stood when they entered and Hinata followed his height with her eyes. Taller, now, too. Hinata hadn't grown since she was 18.
"Gaara-sama, Chiyo-sama," Sasuke spoke suddenly, surprising her out of her thoughts. He released her hand and bowed politely. When Hinata didn't move, she felt his eye on her, and she bowed to––quickly bending, eyes on the floor. "It's a pleasure to be welcomed into your family home, and to finally meet you. Shikamaru speaks highly of you."
"Of you as well," Gaara spoke then, his voice even deeper than Hinata remembered it. She needed to hold on to something so she didn't fall over––but all she could see was him seizing on the sand, his eyes rolling. She never did get the closure she needed. And now, here he was.
Tighten up, Dove yelled at her as even Ino gave her a concerned look. Hinata breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth and stood taller. She could not look at Gaara a second longer. She had passed that mission, and she would pass this one, too––though it did concern her, this pattern of kissing the men that she was haunting.
That was a later problem. Right now, everyone in the room was looking at her, and she had said nothing. Quickly, she dropped into yet another low bow as she was being introduced to Chiyo.
"M-y name is Hyuga Hinata and I am an assistant to Uchiha-san," Hinata said formally, pink rising to her cheeks. "I wish you the happiest of birthdays, Chiyo-sama!"
Hinata felt like she was suffocating, like the temperature had gone up a thousand degrees and she needed to desperately get out of this satin dress. Chiyo looked at her mildly, unimpressed, and turned to Ino who introduced herself with more grace than Hinata could muster in that moment.
"I'm happy to finally see representatives of the famed Uchiha clan here," Chiyo said, once introductions were done. Temari went to sit beside her grandmother and handed her a glass of water, which Chiyo took graciously and began gulping before she spoke again. "You all act so uppity, sometimes. It would behoove Fugaku-san to pay more attention to public relations. Maybe he, too, could start business in Italy."
When Sasuke smiled––showing teeth––it was enough to root Hinata in reality, because it was hiding a scowl. "Thank you for your grace, Chiyo-sama. I will relay your sentiments to my Father. He's a bit of a traditionalist, you understand."
"Trust me, I understand," Chiyo laughed. Her eyes wandered to Ino and Hinata, who stood quietly near the door. "You both are quite striking. You Uchiha men chose well."
Again, Hinata felt Gaara's eyes on her. She avoided him and blushed prettily, lowering her head, "Thank you, Chiyo-sama."
"I always say women make the world spin," Chiyo said. "Are you both full members? I always tell Temari that we need to recruit so that––"
There was a knock at the door. A man with face-tattoos had a group of well-dressed people behind him. More birthday greeters.
"Oh Kankuro, there are more?" Chiyo exclaimed, finally looking away from Hinata and Ino, who shifted awkwardly behind their Uchiha men.
"Of course, grandmother, it's your party," the man said, tiredly, as if they had been over this a thousand times already. "If you would sit in the ballroom we wouldn't have to keep doing this––"
"Nonsense! My comfortable couch is right here, Kankuro. Why would I go out there?"
"We could move the––"
"I will escort you to your dining table," Temari said, collecting the ends of her red dress in her hands and standing swifty as Kankuro and Chiyo's argument––if you could call it that––began escalating.
"No, I will," Gaara said, cutting his sister off. "The Uchiha and I have much to discuss."
"Yes," Temari said, eyes flickering between Sasuke and Gaara as if she was sensing some unknown tension. Sasuke was staring defiantly back. "But I thought we were going to talk––"
"It's so hot," Chiyo complained as more people bubbled in. Hinata felt the same, the sweat gathering on the back of her neck by the bucket, as Gaara kept looking at her with such intensity in his gaze that she flamed red. Shit, Shit, Shit. He was going to try to talk to her. What was she supposed to do?
Hinata touched Sasuke's arm and was surprised with how safe she felt the moment she made contact. When he looked at her, his eyes warmed––nothing like the insolent glare he gave to Gaara––and he asked what she needed.
She told him she was going to the bathroom and would find them at their table. When she slipped out of the room, air finally filled her lungs, and she almost cried.
-:-
It had been over fifteen minutes, and Hinata still hadn't found their table.
Ino and Shikamaru were standing next to the bar while they watched Sasuke add Chiyo's gift to the growing pile near the seat she was supposed to be occupying, instead of that tiny room she made everyone go to.
Gaara––mighty fine in that suit, Ino thought––had curtly dropped them at the table after arranging a meeting time for a Syndicate discussion later that evening. He seemed to be looking for something that was not there, eyes searching, before departing. Sasuke seemed to have gotten his feathers ruffled, because he was short with the man––shorter than he needed to be. From what Ino understood, the Uchiha were asking the Suna for something. Sasuke could be kinder.
Then again…Gaara's eyes had sat heavily on Hinata. That was hard for anyone to ignore. Internally, this drama delighted Ino. It would've been even more fun if it wasn't so fucking dangerous. Soon, she'd have to go searching for her friend in a minefield. Jesus Christ.
She turned to Shikamaru and straightened his bowtie, appreciating how his hand rested on the small of her back. "You clean up well," she offered. The entire night, his eyebrows had been creased. He hadn't wanted Hinata––or Ino, for that matter––to come, and she knew it.
"Your girl is falling apart," Shikamaru said, frowning as he pressed Ino into him when he spoke.
Heat flashed through Ino, and she called it frustration. "Well, yes," Ino said, hand to his chest. "That's because you––for some reason––told that blonde bitch that Sasuke and Hinata are practically having an affair!"
"They are having an affair," Shikamaru said, breathing heavily out of his nose. Stress lines appeared. "This whole situation has gotten out of control. And don't call Temari a bitch."
Ino's eyebrows lifted as she took a step back. Suddenly, she got goosebumps. She didn't know what to address first––the fact that Temari had slid her red fingernails across Shikamaru's shoulders in front of her and she wasn't supposed to call the lady a bitch, or the fact that Shikamaru was jeopardizing the integrity of the mission. Whatever the mission was! Goddamnit. Ino was frustrated. You don't just reveal that to someone and expect––
She took a deep breath. Clear thinking, clear thinking. People were watching them. "Shikamaru. Are we still working together or not?"
"Ino-chan," Shikamaru said sweetly, sarcastically, slipping a finger under her chin and lifting her face. "Sweet, sweet Ino. Can you confirm that your friend Hinata has never met Sabaku Gaara before? Because I can't."
"I––" Ino blinked at him, startled by the feeling of his fingers on her skin, the intensity of the look in his eyes, the closeness of his breath. "What do you mean?"
Shikamaru turned her head for her. Gaara was speaking to Hinata just outside the bathroom, his face far too emotional for it to be anything less than personal. Ino had just met the man and could tell that this was an irregularity. Hinata's eyes were wide with panic. She looked like she'd just been caught in the crossfire of something bigger than her.
"You," Shikamaru said, releasing her chin harder than he needed to. Anger flashed in Ino, but it was replaced by alarm when she saw the serious set of his face. "Are a master bullshitter. I should have known that from the start."
-:-
Hinata composed herself quite well in the bathroom. She did some breathing work, she checked her phone, and she applied wax to her flyaway hairs. Once she felt refreshed and not flushed from her previous interaction, she exited, intending to get back to Sasuke as fast as she could.
Instead, she was grabbed. She had to shut down her reflexes to not go into fight-mode; instead, she gave minimal resistance. When she snatched her arm back she was staring right into those feline eyes: Gaara.
Hinata had to decide: did she pretend to not know him, or did she acknowledge their past? Panicking, Dove combed through their interactions from almost eight years ago, trying to recall every single detail that had almost been painstakingly erased by years of counseling at B6. To her memory, nothing Hinata had done had implicated her as an agent. To Gaara, she had just been a normal girl. Right?
Or was that too big of a gamble? Hinata had her back against the wall here, literally and metaphorically. Her best move would be to just be quiet. And so, she said nothing, just looked at him.
In this looking, she found the familiar shape of his nose––plump, just so, almost childish against his adult, chiseled face. His full lips still knew their way into a frown. His eyes were just as quick as he looked her over, from her slick-backed hair to her curvaceous dress and then finally––back to her eyes. He had once said her eyes reminded him of the moon in daylight––where it shouldn't appear, but chose to, instead.
"Hinata," Gaara said, as if tasting the name on his mouth for the first time, trying it out, wanting to see if it fit. "Or Hotaru. Which is real? Or is it neither?"
Hinata's mouth dried out. She was so caught off guard she didn't know what to say. What could she say? I'm sorry I lied? I'm sorry I disappeared? I'm sorry I didn't implicate you in any way?
Words failed her. Even Dove was a quiet force in the back of her mind––she felt cavernous as she remembered his fingers through her hair. "I'm a lost child," he said, young, just 19, and alone. So young, the naivety dripped off them both like sugar. Oh, so sweet. "I think you are, too."
It was like those movies––you know the ones. Just like those. Hinata felt her eyes water against her will. The memory of that time in her life, she had held it so preciously, tight against her stomach…but she let it be erased, taken from her, by B6's hardened training, after evaluation. After No-Name Gaara, she fell into the deepest depression of her life. It confused everyone, because she had succeeded. Nonetheless, her mindstate got her put into counseling. Leave nothing behind, they said. Leave no trace. But Hinata had left a whole lifetime. An entire person.
She wanted to swear. She wanted to break something in half. Instead, she took a deep breath and said, "My name is Hinata. When we met, Gaara-sama, I––"
"Sama?" Gaara barked a laugh without humor and it sounded hollow––cold. "Oh, so you know who I am, now? And is that fair?"
"I––I don't know what is fair in this word," Hinata said, her hands flattening in surrender, though she wasn't sure what she was surrendering. "But I––"
"I looked for you for years."
The statement was said in a monotone, but the effect was searing. Hinata swallowed as she backed into the wall, wanting to be gone from this conversation. She wanted to be back in Konoha, tucked in her bed. She wanted to be in Osaka, at her uncle's kitchen table. She wanted––she wanted–––
Gaara's stare was intense and Hinata could not get away from it. It was like he was trying to make sure she was real. She hiccuped strangely when she lifted her voice to say, "I didn't want to leave you, Gaara. I panicked––I was young and I––"
"You left me to die," Gaara said, face tight, voice stricken––the first emotional response Hinata had gotten from him, and it rendered her hopefulness. Her throat closed, but she shook her head, her hands up now.
"No, no, no no," she cried with no tears. "I didn't. I––I gave you CPR. I k-kept your heart beating. I c-called the ambulance. When they arrived––I panicked, I––"
"Left me," Gaara repeated. "Lied to me. Stole my drugs. And went away. And now you're here. Why?"
He stood tall, shoulders squared. His face went blank again––composed, and every bit like a Yakuza boss he was supposed to be. Hinata saw his fists clenched and wondered what he would do to her. Was she still a civilian to him, or something evil? Something grotesque?
"I'm s-so sorry, Gaara," Hinata said, eyes lowering, voice trembling with memory. In flashes, she saw her van and how their bodies crowded in the kitchen, sweating over the eclectic heating plate, making grilled cheese. "At that time in my life I was a runaway––you knew that. I was scared of b-being arrested and disappointing my father so I ran, I––"
The lie felt like hot lard on her tongue. But the truth was worse. Did Gaara know that he got to be who he was because of her? If she had turned in his name to B6, what would have become of Suna? None of this she could say, of course, but she had protected him, right? Can't he see that she had protected him?
And now he towered over her, face erupting like split ceramics. There were so many emotions there––betrayal, anxiety, nostalgia, fear, and love––just there, the love, the heartbreak, making his eyes jewel; that sweet jade color, the jade Hinata had wanted to hang around her neck like a pendant. Her love, her adventure, her departure all standing in front of her like the fist of history, reckoning. He could grab her and take her down if he wanted to.
Would she let him? Would she let him take her by the hair, and tell everyone that she was a fraud amongst frauds? The worst of them all? Would she let him? She hadn't known if he lived or died, and she kept moving along with her life, didn't she? Hadn't she? She kept on living? She buried him. Sabaku Gaara lived in the cemetery of her mind. Fucking hell, she had burried him and moved on.
She opened and closed her mouth like a fish meeting oxygen as Gaara's face colored with disgust. He was sick. She was making him sick.
"I hate liars," he said, voice scratching the back of his throat. "I deserved––"
Better.
Better, was what Hinata thought he might have said, if Uchiha Sasuke had not stepped between them, body like a sword, to go nose-to-nose with Sabaku Gaara.
When Sasuke looked down at Hinata, just for a second, she saw something she had never seen before. Intent, in its purest forms, rising off his body in dark waves. Intent to kill.
AN. Way Way back in the day, I wrote an unfinished fanfiction (don't pester me to finish it–it's dead!) called The Sandman. Imagine that as an alternative universe to this for temporary GaaHina feels.
This was mostly fanservice for my gaahina fans out there, but I'm sure Gaara will work his way back, in ways we both won't expect. Until next week!