Disclaimer: I do not, will not, have never, and shall never own Naruto. Nuff said.

Fair WARNING: Rated M. (sex, drugs, cigarettes, alcohol and bad language.) Yaoi.

Pairings: Neji/Gaara

A/N: Alright… you can kill me now. Honestly, a 2+ year hiatus? I should probably commit hara-kiri or something… Anyway, I'm sorry for the inexcusably late update of this story, and I promise I will do my best to update it regularly from now on. I beg your forgiveness, and hope you are still interested in reading it…

This chapter is slightly shorter than the others (page count: 15) because reasons. The next chapter has been initiated though (!) and I finally feel that I want to write this story again. I do have a rather limited amount of time though, so how regular the updates will be I cannot promise. (Not every two years though, I swear!)

Since it has been a while, I'll start the chapter with a small summary and what happened at the end of last chapter. Once again: I'm really, really sorry.

Summary: Gaara, 19, meets Neji outside a nightclub in downtown Konoha and the two engage in a part-lust part-powergame relationship, in which Gaara is struggling to keep up. Meanwhile Gaara's best friend, the popular Naruto, is behaving strangely in the face of Gaara's new relationship.

End of last chapter: After a night at the opera Gaara decides it's time to take charge, asking Neji to meet him Thursday night at the old university gates.

05
In the Shadows
"Sometimes I Feel Like I Should Go and Play With the Thunder"

Is it not spectacular how life tends to act like a Siamese twin who secretly hates you? It can't get rid of you, but it has interesting ways to make you miserable. In Gaara's case, this had been true for most of his years on earth, and although he realised that life at the moment was blissfully good; he still agonised himself.

It was a matter of wrestling with himself over the embarrassing events of the previous night. He knew that it was crucial not to let it bother him –and yet the scene kept replaying in his mind like an infinite loop of sluggish regrets. He slammed the carton of juice down on the kitchen counter.

'Alright', he thought to himself, 'this stops now. Don't think about it. Clear the mind. Think about… too late', he realised as the loop re-started –even more forceful than before. Oh, what he wouldn't give for a distraction to keep him afloat until he was due to meet Naruto at three. He glanced at the oven. 13:02. Fuck everything.

With the exception of his mental torture, Gaara was quite content with his day. He had a date with Neji tomorrow, he was meeting his best friend –alone for once –that afternoon and Kankuro had been nice enough to bring home food from Hashirama for lunch. Still, no human is ever completely content. It's in the nature of an intelligent yet nowhere near perfect being.

He was startled out of his reveries by a soft knock on the front door. He could only think of one person who would ever show up at his house uninvited –though Naruto usually barged right in hollering the name of the youngest Sabaku at the top of his voice. Still, he trudged into the hallway and opened the door. On their front step he found…

'What was her name again?'

"Uh… hi.", said the pretty brunette, "I- I believe we met the other day? I'm Kin?" Gaara nodded, glad that she had decided to introduce herself.

"Yeah", he replied to the flustered girl, wondering what in god's name she was doing there, "did you come to pick something up?" She looked even more uncomfortable –he had that effect on people.

"No! No, I'm here to see Kankuro", she explained quickly. Gaara cocked an eyebrow sceptically.

"He went out half an hour ago. To the store I think." He said, feeling a little bad for Kin who obviously found the whole ordeal very awkward.

"He's not back yet?", she asked, "he told me he'd be back by one." Aha, so his brother had actually invited her… unfortunately that left Gaara in a horrible predicament. At least, he thought it was. He would now have to let her in, and then endure the time until his chronically late brother's arrival in uncomfortable small-talk, or else leave her sitting in the living room alone without anything to do. Not much of a choice really.

"He'll probably be back in a while then. You can come inside and wait for him", he said resignedly and stepped aside to let her into the house.

"Thank you", she replied politely.

'And so it begins', Gaara thought darkly, 'I'll kill Kankuro for this.'

"Want some coffee?", he asked, walking towards the kitchen. Never mind if she wanted coffee –he needed it.

"Ah, yes. Thanks." He heard her reply behind him. Brilliant.

"My brother", he told her while readying the machine, "always arrives twenty to forty minutes late." She smiled a little at him.

"I'll remember that from now on", she said sweetly, "next time I'll show up eighty minutes late –for revenge." Gaara looked over at her and smirked. His brother usually dragged home worthless imbeciles with big boobs and small brains, but this time it seemed he had actually found someone with a sense of humour. Who would've thought?

It took thirty minutes before his brother deemed it time to come home. In the meantime the two of them drank coffee in the backyard and discussed safe subjects like the weather, food and public transportation. Gaara found that Kin was actually half-decent company. Not too bright but certainly not stupid, and once she had lost the initial nervousness she gave the impression of being quite the strong-willed young woman.

Ten minutes of sheepish apologies and excuses followed when Kankuro finally emerged from the house to find the two of them in peaceful conversation. Kin, Gaara noticed, didn't fawn over his brother like his other girls tended to do, but instead berated him for his tardiness. Not that he would ever willingly spend time with any woman who freely slept with his brother, but he probably wouldn't mind having Kin in his house as much as he did… certain others.

Gaara left them both to their devices –whatever they might've been –and disappeared to the second floor to pack his bag and change. At half past two he closed the door behind him and set off towards Naruto's apartment.

They were comfortably stuffed after wolfing down pizza, ice-cream, candy and chocolate cake –food Gaara normally despised but found fitting during movie-nights. The sofa was sinfully cosy and the film –X-men: the last stand –provided a nice background noise for their sugar-induced coma. It was nearing ten 'o'clock and the day had gone by without a glitch. It had felt like old times –just the two of them; no interruptions, no fights, no drama. Gaara yawned widely and let his head fall back against the armrest. They were facing each-other, feet propped up on the cushy pillows since the table was so occupied by empty cartons and wrappers that it couldn't serve as support for their legs.

"Hey", it felt like an extreme effort for both lungs and muscles to pronounce that single word, "where's Iruka tonight?" It had bothered the red-head for the last fifteen minutes but he hadn't been able to work up the energy to ask about the absence of Naruto's kindly guardian until now.

"Dunno", the blonde answered sleepily, "he's been sneaking away lately. Mak'n up these stupid see-through excuses…", Naruto scoffed, "you know how bad he is at lying." Gaara felt a sting of guilt. This was the first time he'd heard of Iruka acting strange, perhaps he really was neglecting his best friend. As little as Naruto liked to admit it, he loved his adoptive dad a lot and worried for him. That Gaara had missed something that worried Naruto made him feel like the rift between them was greater than he had thought, and that he was a terrible friend.

"Really?" He asked. "Any clue what it's about?" He raised his head to look at his best friend who was lying back with his eyes closed.

"Nope", Naruto replied lightly, "s'pose I'll get to know sooner or later. Maybe he's working on a secret surprise?"

"Secret surprise?" Gaara questioned drily. "Sounds like an ice-cream flavour." Naruto groaned.

"Don't talk about ice-cream", he pleaded, "I feel sick… and it could be a surprise for my birthday." Gaara raised his head to throw Naruto a sceptical glance.

"Your birthday is in October."

"Still… well, I don't know! You think of something, you're supposed to be the smart one." Gaara rolled his eyes and let his head fall back against the armrest.

"Not right now I'm not…"

"Pah!" Naruto scoffed. "Excuses!" He wiggled a little on the couch to make himself more comfortable. "Speaking of excuses, how's it going with the rich bastard?" Gaara felt a sliver of annoyance at the nickname, but he knew it was Naruto's way of coping with subjects he'd rather avoid.

"Forwards", he answered simply, "I'll tell you when I know." Naruto dropped the subject and they relapsed into blissful sugar-coated sloth. After a while Naruto inhaled deeply, as if to speak. Gaara waited patiently as the silence dragged on while the blonde considered how to phrase himself.

"…you'll let me know, right?" Naruto finally asked, "if… if he treats you bad?" Gaara's previous annoyance shattered and disappeared, replaced by a warm fondness for his best friend.

"Of course." He replied.

"…the children…"

"…too soon…"

"…such a good man."

"…never the same after she died, you know…"

The world was colourless. Around him giants nestled like a forest, mumbling condolences and whispering words of pity between themselves. His sister was probably there, somewhere, straight-backed and proud as was to be expected of her, thanking the attending mass politely for their support. He had seen Kankuro earlier, curled up on the floor in the back room, staring ahead at the opposite wall.

They had both cried. As they should. He hadn't.

He knew people were staring. Not directly –it would be uncouth to do so –but still their gazes burned, the many glances from the corners of many eyes dug into him like needles. They pitied him. Pitied. Like he was some wounded animal.

So young they said.

So fragile.

He boiled with rage.

"Are you alright son?" The hand on his shoulder was large and heavy. He struggled under the pressure, directed his scorching gaze to the man in front of him. He had never seen him before, but he could tell immediately what kind of man he was. His big frame was held with pride and skilled control, his eyes sharp and intelligent as the glimmered darkly beneath auburn eyebrows. He was a man of power and confidence, a man who demanded respect.

A dangerous man.

He found himself closing every gate to anger, leaving only chilly calm. He narrowed his eyes.

"Do I appear otherwise?" He answered evenly, staring straight into the depths of the dark eyes above. The man's voice lashed out again; deep and strong.

"One might assume you would be badly affected", he removed his hand, "but it appears that would be a false preconception." He turned away, joining a woman a few feet away. Gaara could hear the words he spoke to her across the short distance: "He'll be fine. He is his father's son." The woman nodded, glancing at the small redhead. Gaara concentrated and managed to catch the next sentence, the very words which would confound him for years to come:

"It is like he said: out of the three that one will be a threat in the future –though to himself or to others remains to be seen."

Gaara pushed the unwanted memory aside, chastising himself for reliving it once more. It was well-visited and crawled much too easily to the front of his mind at times when he should be entirely focused on the task at hand. Uncertainty was what brought it out, insecurity in his own abilities or convictions. The words spoken so long ago haunted him when he questioned his objectives; his actions. Right now he was hesitant in regards to the evening ahead. He was meeting Neji in less than an hour and entangled in the eager expectations he carried were awkwardness and doubt. Doubt that he could actually manage this –manage to overthrow such a powerful man. And yet, he was also unsure as to whether his choices –playing the game, risking so much –was actually favourable to him. Perhaps he was in fact a threat to himself more than others; perhaps he would end up destroying himself.

The thought was not a pleasant one.

He sighed, watching as his reflection did the same inside the bathroom mirror. He had often wondered about that man; who he was, what relation he had to Gaara's father and most importantly: who had he talked to about the siblings?

'No use in thinking about it now', he thought resolutely. He had things to do, and getting caught up in the past would not help.

The wind was warm and smelled vaguely of blossoming flowers. The skies were still light, but darkness bled slowly into them with the lateness of the hour and the moon was clearly visible; a white contrast against the indigo background. He stared at it where he stood, his back supported by the old archway. The old university gates were, as implied, the old entrance to the university area; a wide archway of stone, now overgrown in places by wiry ivy and moss. He was standing underneath the arch, thrown into shadows by the structure above him, a cigarette dangling leisurely from his lips. He flicked some ashes from the tip, watching as they swirled to the ground next to his sneakers. His clothing differed greatly from their last date; the expensive fabric and stiff attire abandoned in favour of ripped jeans and a comfortable hoodie. For once, he wasn't the one who had to wonder about wearing a suitable outfit for the occasion. It felt good, he decided, being in control for once.

He saw Neji the moment the older man appeared in his peripheral.

There weren't many people around, since this was no longer the main entryway into the district, but Gaara had a feeling that he would have been able to spot Neji through any kind of crowd. He had that air around him, an aura demanding attention. His hair was pulled up into a high ponytail this evening and the redhead found that along with the casual clothes it made an image that he quite liked. He enjoyed seeing Neji like this, without the extravagance and luxury. He had probably left his car somewhere nearby because he was arriving on foot and Gaara had a hard time imagining the Hyuuga would actually walk anywhere.

He pushed away from the wall when his date reached him, smirking.

"Evening", he greeted.

"Evening, Gaara", Neji replied. The redhead had to suppress a shiver as his name rolled out like velvet from the other's lips. He inclined his head towards the old district and they set out, walking slowly along the cobbled streets.

"How was work?" Gaara asked conversationally. Neji smirked.

"As always. Boring." He answered.

"I would have thought you enjoyed your occupation." Gaara commented carelessly as he led them around a corner and into an alley.

"I do. Some aspects of it are very interesting… others are not." The redhead nearly rolled his eyes at the evasive answer.

"And today it wasn't?" He inquired. Neji chuckled.

"No…", he paused, "since I'm not actually a lawyer yet I mostly get to observe and do paperwork." Gaara smirked.

"Sounds tedious alright", he replied, turning into another alley and stopping at their destination. He could feel Neji's curiosity as the older man surveyed their location. Nestled into the maze of alleyways lay this rather strange and obscure place, with no indication of its presence more than a small sign at the feet of a metal staircase announcing: 'Saikō Zettai Bōgyo'.

Gaara gave no comment, instead starting to climb the stairs assuming that the Hyuuga would follow. He was right. They reached the top which sported nothing more than an iron platform and a lop-sided old door, Gaara pushed it open and led his date inside.

Beside him, Neji raised a delicate eyebrow as he surveyed the scenery they had stepped into. Wooden floors, smoothened by the steps of many feet over many years seemed to creep upwards halfway on the walls, only to be replaced by off-white stone. The other end of the room sported a row of large windows, providing view of the small square below. All across the room mis-matched sofas, chinz chairs, booths and rickety tables were scattered haphazardly and to their left, beside a bar made of polished mahogany, was a small stage. Soft blues music permeated the area on a low volume through hidden speakers and the lamps and lanterns decorating the tables gave off a dim light, giving the space a mystic feeling. There were a handful of other people there, dispersed all over the room.

Gaara felt himself relax, the insecurity and tension fading away as he basked in the uniqueness of his favourite café. He'd spent many afternoons and evenings here; studying, thinking, hiding from his problems…

He walked up to the bar, Neji trailing behind him. The barista greeted him with a smile, walking over to them.

"Good to see you, Gaara", he said warmly, "haven't seen you in weeks."

"Exams are over", the redhead replied, "how's business?" The man shrugged.

"As usual. Coffee?" Gaara nodded. The barkeep turned to Neji.

"And for you?" The redhead very nearly laughed at his companion's expression; Neji was clearly out of his element. He did a good job of covering it up, but his confused gaze and the slight hesitation before he answered gave it away.

"For me as well, thank you."

They remained silent while the barista readied their beverages. When they had received them they made their way to one of the more secluded booths, sliding down on the seats opposite one another. Gaara sipped his coffee with relish, basking in the warmth of the drink and the soft leather beneath him. Neji mimicked him, his pale eyes surveying the décor thoughtfully.

"I have never heard of this place before", he commented softly. Gaara smirked.

"It's a local place. Part of the underground scene if you so like", he replied. Neji nodded. The redhead felt a twinge of uncertainty; he had believed that the Hyuuga would appreciate the novel atmosphere, but so far he could not tell if he had been correct. Neji hummed.

"It's nice", he said, "though unexpected." Gaara felt a rush of relief which was instantly quelled when he took note of the dangerous glint in Neji's eyes. "How did you come by it?" The redhead felt a heavy weight on his mind at the question. Tendrils of black swirled in his psyche, shadows of memories which had once been his harsh reality. Images of a young man prowling the streets of the old quarter for hours on end on a quest to find nothing; blinded by himself, by the obscurity of his world, desperately clawing away from a refuge turned prison, brokenly crawling from hell's gates only to return when time and fatigue made his wandering impossible. Dark wishes and desires of escape, tangled with the unavoidable surrender at the knowledge that it was unescapable.

Temari's worried frown as he left. Her relief when he returned. His hate, his disgust towards all things and all people, but none so much as his own house, his own family, himself.

He pushed it away, forcing memories of old feelings crash and burn in his mind. The answer was simple, yet incredibly complex; he had found this place long ago, when his mind was black and broken; when his body was the very metal bars he sought to break, when life was bleak and meaningless.

"I've always liked exploring the old quarter", he answered. He saw that his momentary hesitation had not gone unnoticed, and it made him curse inwardly. He needed to turn this around, before it was too late. To his immense surprise, Neji let it slide.

"Sasuke would like this place", he said thoughtfully. Gaara gripped the opportunity to change the subject with shaky hands.

"You seem close", he remarked and the brunette nodded, "what's he like?" The hint of a smile –or maybe a smirk –graced the older man's lips.

"Entirely too free-spoken and crass to be an Uchiha", he replied, a sliver of fondness colouring his voice.

"Oh?" Gaara said conversationally, taking another sip of his coffee, "how so?"

"The Uchiha and the Hyuuga have certain expectations placed on them at birth", Neji explained, "Sasuke tend to refuse those…", he paused, a small chuckle escaping him, "a welcome change of pace, in all honesty." Gaara nodded.

"What about his brother?" He prodded carefully. Neji raised an eyebrow.

"He is the embodiment of a proper Uchiha", he answered simply, "Sasuke's mirror image, if you so wish." He fell silent, his gaze thoughtful, for a long while before adding: "They are as brothers to me, Itachi the older, responsible one and Sasuke the younger, less touched by the obligations of the world." Gaara watched he seemed to return from his place of contemplation, face slipping into a smirk. "Why the sudden interest?" The redhead shrugged.

"They are close to you", he said neutrally, "naturally I'd be curious about them." Neji looked slightly amused at this.

"And your friends? I have not heard much of them either." But Gaara refused to have the conversation turned around on him. With a shrug he replied:

"My friends are ordinary people, not sons and daughters of prestigious families. They bore me, I'd hardly want to guess what talking about them would do to you." His offhanded, arrogant tone was definitely noted. Gaara felt a sense of satisfaction bloom in his chest; let Neji believe he thought little of his friends, it would only simplify making the Hyuuga underestimate him. His mind clearer than he'd ever experienced in Neji's presence, he launched himself into attack-mode; set on unearthing as much information as possible.

"Invincibility lies in the defence; the possibility of victory in the attack."
- Sun Tzu

He had to give a certain amount of information himself, as is the nature of conversation, but he made sure it didn't involve any essential facts and a few hours later his file of data on the young Hyuuga had grown substantially more detailed. He had partaken in stories of Neji's younger years, his special relationship with his cousins and his complex family-politics.

The evening had matured into night, the sky outside dark enough to allow the lanterns inside the café to cast reflections in the windows. The chairs and sofas had slowly been filling up while they spoke and now the room was permeated by the soft buzz of conversation whilst the entertainment for the evening –a local jazz-band –set up on the stage. Unwilling to stay and listen to sub-par musicians Gaara decided that it was time to take their leave. Neji, hands now clasped around a cup of tea, seemed genuinely interested in the band, following their movements with rapt attention. The redhead contemplated his options: he could simply state that they were leaving, or else stay and let Neji decide for himself… though he was quite finished letting the brunet make all calls in this budding… whatever it was. There was another option as well, carefully calling his attention from the back of his mind. It was a risk, though, game-wise, and definitely out of his comfort-zone. Gaara was known to be crude and unapologetic and what he had in mind would more likely fall into Naruto's repertoire of skills. Still, he had seen the blond do it enough times to know it was effective, at least when Naruto did it, and the impact should be greater when contrasted against his normal behaviour.

Somewhere in his head a voice was hissing at him that if he ever wanted to control his relations with Neji, he'd have to grow a spine and start taking some risks. And then, as if called by his indecisive mood, the old memory from his father's funeral surfaced again. For once, it didn't inspire further doubts in him, but rather brought with it a steely determination.

'I'll never amount to anything, never be a danger to anyone, not even myself, if I don't get started.', he thought defiantly and the decision was made. With a small sideways tilt of his head and the sharpening of his aquamarine eyes he effortlessly called Neji's attention. When he had it he blinked slowly, the kind of blink that speaks of relaxed contentment, when you're too calm to blink swiftly. With the softest voice he could master, the words almost musical, he addressed his date:

"Do you think we could take a walk? I'm not much for Jazz." He let the uncharacteristic question hang in the air, making sure to keep his gaze calm and unobtrusive, entirely focused on Neji. The ploy rewarded itself when he noticed the tiny twitch in the muscles around lilac eyes, unmasking the Hyuuga's confusion and surprise and the abrupt turn. He gleaned something else as well; something significantly more primal in nature.

Gaara reminded himself to give Naruto more credit; his best friend might be somewhat of an airhead but he certainly knew what he was doing when it came to seduction. Regaining his mental footing alarmingly fast, Neji sent him a soft smile –of the well-practiced kind –and nodded slightly.

"Of course", he replied smoothly and rose from the table, every inch the perfect aristocrat. Gaara felt a thrill of fear and excitement run through him as he realised that he had entirely changed the premises of their date. He had played the submissive, soft and attentive lover, and in return Neji had morphed into the gentleman protector. Both of them had donned new masks, and at the moment neither of them would remove them. A new game with new rules was building around them. He should back down, unsure of the new territory. And yet, all he could feel was a raging mix of exhilaration and arousal before the prospect of this new venture.

Rising as well, he followed Neji to the door and when the brunet held it open for him, he replied only with a soft smile and gracious nod of the head.

They walked along the river, revelling in their new roles. Gaara wasn't entirely sure whether they were even playing anymore. The situation in itself was unclear; they were both well aware of the falseness of the façade, and yet they both refused to be the first to give in. And there were parts of it that were most definitely real: the electrifying interest in seeing a new version of the other, and the subsequent touches.

Somewhere along the way Neji, doubtlessly in a spontaneous bout of acting-enthusiasm, had completed his 'prince-charming'-persona by gallantly buying Gaara a red rose from a street-salesman. So nauseating was the gesture that it had very nearly been the undoing of his own act. Finally their stroll ended on one of the timeworn stone bridges connecting the old quarter with the southern merchants' quarter. The water glittered with the distorted reflections of light from street-lamps and city-lights as they gazed into it in comfortable silence. Gaara was desperately trying to figure out who had the upper hand and coming up blank. Unknown ground indeed. Suddenly, he heard a low chuckle from his companion. He looked up inquiringly. Neji's amused eyes stared down at him.

"I wouldn't have thought you'd make such a convincingly stereotypical date", he said. Gaara quirked an eyebrow.

"Proves you're not always right, doesn't it?" He replied evenly. His comment only seemed to further entertain the brunet.

"I much prefer your normal personality", he commented off-handedly, "it's far more… stimulating." Gaara felt a chill travel along his spine at the last word, adrenaline pumping in his veins at the rather unsubtle allusion. Gathering his wits about him with what he could only describe as a will of iron and granite, he forced his heart to calm down and his lips to quirk ever so slightly into a smirk-like smile.

"I'm glad you feel that way", he said, his tone a pleasant purr, much unlike his previous soft-spoken act and yet vastly different from his usual voice. With what he hoped to be an air of nonchalance he continued: "It is getting late, I should head home." Neji's face morphed into one of carefully constructed inquiry.

'Let him be the one to lose his footing for once', Gaara thought gleefully, in what could in no way be described as a carefully calculated part of the plan.

"Maybe you're right", Neji acquiesced, "it is Thursday after all, and I do have to work tomorrow." Gaara didn't miss the insinuation of the statement; the brunet was a busy man and time with him was scarce and precious. He ignored the comment, selecting instead to trail his hand up Neji's chest, catching him behind the neck he brought the older man down for a kiss. It wasn't particularly deep or recklessly passionate; he chose to let it be sweet and perfectly calm, breaking away slowly.

"Goodnight." He said, and with the same careful control he inclined his head and turned around, leaving along the bridge towards south quarter. His muscles twitched with electrical tension while he forcefully demanded that they walk unhurriedly, his whole being crying out to him to glance backwards, but he refused.

'The game', he chanted to himself, overriding his instincts which were screaming at him about the foolishness of turning your back on a predator, 'the game.'

As he reached the end of the bridge he paused. He didn't have to turn to know that Neji remained where he had left him; his intuition told him that. Now came the finishing touch to his new, aggressive approach to their intricate dance. It was a frightening concept, being in charge. He had spent so long passively watching that devising a plan for going on the offence made him jittery, and this particular one wasn't even that thought through.

'It is simple enough, though', he told himself, 'and I've used the tools before…' the only questions remaining were: would his acting suffice to fool the Hyuuga heir? And if he managed: would it have the desired effect? Squashing these doubts with the reckless hammer of a man who had already initiated ill-advised business before contemplating its consequences, he faced the bridge once more.

Neji stood where he knew he would; looking at the redhead with something contemplative in his expression. Gaara locked eyes with him and, with less effort than he would've liked, let his mask crumble; replacing it with a genuine smile. As suddenly as he had turned back, he spun and left, ambling towards the main thoroughfare of the south district. He did not turn away quickly enough, however, to miss the look passing across Neji's façade like a shadow.

Turning the corner and disappearing from the brunet's sight he felt some of the energy manifest itself into his feet as he quickened the pace, a ruthless smile crashing through his control and unto his face. He felt powerful, energetic and intensely alive.

He felt like visiting his father's grave.

The graveyard was still, the iron gates firmly closed, not that that would ever hinder the best friend of Uzumaki Naruto: troublemaker extraordinaire. He followed the left wall until he found a suitable tree to climb, and mounted the stony divider with effort. He hated physical labour. Walking along the top of the wall he searched for a place on the inside where he would be able to get out later, and located a bench placed right by it. That would do; the construction wasn't that high to begin with, only slightly taller than him. Satisfied, he descended into the darkness and made his way back to the gate. The night was quiet, his footsteps accompanied only by the whisper of the wind rushing through leaves overhead. He had not set foot there for six years, not since his father's burial. Before then the family had ventured there a few times a year to visit his mother's grave, but afterwards the trips had stopped; though Gaara knew that Temari and Kankuro went from time to time.

From the gates he slowly trekked the winding paths, attempting to retrace the steps of his younger self. He lost his way a few times, but in the end he stood before the twin graves of his parents, the stones glowing eerily with reflected moonlight.

He stared down at his father's name, remembering the last time he had been there: the hole in the ground, the vibrant colour of autumn leaves dancing about his feet, the quiet tears of his siblings, the deadness growing in his heart. Sitting down, he contemplated what he should be doing next. Should he cry? Pray? Reminisce? Nowhere in his life had he been taught the proper decorum to observe when visiting graves alone in the middle of the night.

"Uh… hi", he told the silent night. It didn't answer. He was beginning to feel stupid. When the urge had struck him he had acted impulsively, not really considering what he wanted to accomplish with his visit. Why did people visit graveyards?

'To pay respect to the dead', he thought to himself. But that wasn't he he'd come. For six years he had avoided coming there, for no reason that he could name except that he hadn't wanted to. And now he did. Why?

He thought about what had brought the feeling to him; about Neji, about the game. Perhaps that was it. For years he had been pushing the game aside, refusing to participate out of fear. Fear of the game, fear of losing, fear of losing himself. And now, when he was caught up in it he felt –in a way –closer to his father than he had in a long time. This was something they had shared; one of precious few things they had in common. Was that why he'd come; the sudden imagined camaraderie? Did he somehow think that his father would have been proud of him now, if he had lived?

Maybe, he pondered, it was the other way around. Maybe, for the first time in his life, did he wish to seek his father's counsel? An older, more experienced gamer's advice? A father's advice. He stared unblinkingly at the pale stone. When he was younger very little had been said while they visited his mother's resting place, none of it by him; he hadn't known her, after all. Maybe it was considered crude to talk too much in a graveyard? It was very unlikely that his parents would pop up and berate him for rambling though. Decisively, he began to speak.

Initially he talked mostly about every-day things: how Temari and Kankuro were doing, how they'd changed. Slowly, the subject shifted to him; how his life had progressed over the past couple of years. He talked about graduation, his grades, his time in middle school and high school. He told them about his friends, how he had evolved socially and possibly even emotionally. Finally his words faded away into the night and he found himself once more silently considering the grave in front of him.

Digging through his pockets, he extracted his pack of cigarettes and lit one, spending a moment deliberating whether he should apologise for smoking before banishing the notion with a snort. The smoke danced from his lips, slithering through the air like a pale snake. He fixed his eyes on it, hardening his resolve as he continued speaking. These words didn't flow in the easy manner of the previous ones, but forced themselves out in a rough voice not entirely his own. Little by little, he began to weave the webbed tale of himself and Hyuuga Neji; of his game, his plans and his resolve. He confessed every defeat, every doubt, every weakness and the great amount of restrained fear he faced at every turn.

At the end of it, the sky was getting lighter, informing him that it was getting close to two in the morning. He felt lighter, somehow, after letting it out into the open. Telling someone, even if they couldn't answer, made him more confident, stronger in a way he couldn't explain.

He rose from the ground, stretching his aching limbs in an attempt to loosen them, and looked down at his parents' resting place with a small smile.

"I need to go", he told them, "thank you for listening." He paused before adding: "I think… I can handle it now. I won't let him toss me around. I'll beat him." He let his eyes stray to his father's name, directing to him the same words he had been told once, when he had faced down a bully and came to his father for aid: "I'm a Sabaku. Sabakus do not bow. Sabakus do not lose."

His father's office was impressive: dark wood and murky colours giving it a feeling of power strong enough to affect even a child. Gaara regarded it silently. His father had brought him there on their way back from a doctor's appointment. Some big meeting that could not wait, apparently. Hence, he had been left amongst the imposing furniture with the order to 'stay put and not cause any trouble'. It had been close to an hour, however, and he had been getting decidedly antsy, which in turn led to the investigative mission he was currently undertaking. The bookshelf had offered nothing of interest and he was weighing the risks of rummaging through his father's desk.

Curiosity claimed victory in his inner battle, and he tip-toed around the massive chunk of wood, carefully opening the top drawer. Papers. Boring. The second and third produced similar results: stapler, pens, lots of papers. Starting to fear that his father's office might in fact be as dull as his father's job seemed to be, he opened the last drawer and struck gold. There were a few photos lying on top, he rifled through them and found that they portrayed his siblings, the mother he had never met, and himself. Pushing them aside, he unearthed an older picture. Intrigued, he picked it up, studying it carefully. It depicted two people. His father and grandfather, he realised suddenly. He had never met his grandfather, the man had died before he was born, but he had seen pictures. He looked older in those, though, whereas here he looked middle-aged, his hands grasping his son's shoulder, an expression of pride on his face.

His own father, Gaara realised, was graduating in the photograph. He looked strangely young and… happy. Happier than Gaara had ever seen him.

'Maybe people become unhappy when they get older', the redhead mused, turning the photo over. There was something written on the back. In the corner there was a date, and in slanted writing across the thick paper black letters proclaimed:

'Build me a son, O Lord, who will be strong enough to know when he is weak, and brave enough to face himself when he is afraid, one who will be proud and unbending in honest defeat, and humble and gentle in victory'

He stared at the prideful words, trying to make sense of them, when the sound of the door shutting ripped his attention from the paper in his hands. His father stood before him, as cold and calculating as ever. Gaara froze, staring into his father's brown eyes while silence stretched and grew around them. At last, his father stepped forward, taking the photo from his hands and laying it down on the desk with the written words facing the ceiling.

"My father", he said, "gave me those words to live by." He stared at his small son who, realising that he was supposed to give an indication of understanding, nodded. "Remember them", his father told him. There was a pause. "Put that back", he gestured to the photograph, "we're going home." Without further comment, his father turned and left the room.

He hadn't remembered the words. Not all of them. But he had found the photograph again, years later when he was helping Temari sort through their father's things. Then, he had put it in his pocket and ever since it had found its home in the bottom drawer of his own desk. The memory had come to him unbidden as he walked home from the graveyard, calling to his attention just how little he had really understood his father in life. For the first time in many years, the thought brought him a shade of sorrow; a melancholy longing echoing from an opportunity lost and then forgotten.

It was past two when he reached his house to find a few lights still on. He slipped into the hallway, toeing off his shoes and quietly making his way to the kitchen. The strange elation he had been feeling was wearing off, morphing gradually into hunger and fatigue.

"You're back", the statement held neither relief nor resentment, only warmth as his sister let her gaze fall on him from across the room where she sat, cradling a cup of tea in her hands. He nodded, a smile crawling onto his face unbidden. He rarely admitted to himself how glad he actually was for his siblings, but tonight was a rare occasion. Tonight was the night he broke free of the past, at least for an instant.

"Don't you have work in the morning?" he asked her. She should have been well asleep at this hour. She inclined her head in agreement.

"I wanted to make sure you got back all right", she told him. He felt surprise at the admission; Temari was rarely worried enough to stay up this late waiting for his return. "And I had to make some late minute preparations", she added, "we have a meeting with our new suppliers in the morning." Gaara tilted his head, confusion furrowing his brow.

"I didn't know you had something big going on at work", he said, silently berating himself for failing to notice. Temari had probably been more stressed than usual lately and somehow he had missed it. "What company?" She rose from the table and disposed her empty cup in the sink before heading past him towards the doorway.

"Hyuuga corp." She replied. "Goodnight. Sleep well."

A/N: Obviously, since it has been two years my writing style has changed. (The first part of the chapter was written in 2013, the last in 2015). My hope is that this has not disrupted the story. Note however that the plot was basically finished in 2012, and so has not changed.

Anyways, send me a review. Even if it only is to yell at me for my stupidness.

Lots o' Love

DoD

Chapter title: In the Shadows – The Rasmus.

Saikō Zettai Bōgyo – Literal English translation: Ultimately Hard Absolute Defence. Derived from Gaara's ultimate defence attack with Shukaku (Saikō Zettai Bōgyo: Shukaku no Tate/ Ultimately Hard Absolute Defence: Shield of Shukaku). I thought it a fitting name for his favourite coffee-shop, his own field so to speak. (Source: NarutoWiki!)

"Build me a son, O Lord, who will be strong enough to know when he is weak, and brave enough to face himself when he is afraid, one who will be proud and unbending in honest defeat, and humble and gentle in victory." –Douglas MacArthur (1880-1964)