It had been fifteen years since she last stood in this exact spot.

She bent down slowly, so as not to jostle the plain clay vase she held in her hands. She set it down on the ground in front of her, fussing with the arrangement of its petty contents. Barren and merciless, the desert allowed no foothold for even the most simple, understated flowers. So some dry sandy weeds and a small, hardy succulent would have to make do. She even had to resort to using some of the small marigolds in her own care. Even then the flowers hadn't yet bloomed. Instead they remained closed buds too scared to open up to the harshness around them.

"It's really not much," she stated aloud, staring down at the measly foliage in front of her. She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, before she finally peeled them open to focus on the worn stone beyond the flowers.

She didn't know what she expected. After fifteen years, the only thing she could think was how unimpressionable it was. Its surface was battered with layers upon layers of sand. Exposure to the wind and desert had made the last half of the once legible writing look like runes from the ancient past.

Her gaze slid to the left to rest upon another stone. She hadn't brought anything to put in front of it. This one was more fresh, it's contents still readable and imposing. His stature - their stature - in life had risen him above others. But now, he was as significant as the rest of them. If she hadn't known where this was, it could have easily looked like any other squat forgettable stone dotting the desert's surface like unnatural tumors.

She remembered three years ago - had it already been that long? - when they had buried him. She didn't hear in her silence the sobs and murmured condolences; they were background, as impactful as flies. She had made it a point to watch as they lowered him into the ground, tucked away neatly in his box. And she also had made it a point to only watch him, never to look beyond at the other stone or the spot she was in now. Her griefs, frustrations, sorrows, relief - he could have it all. But in that moment of finality, he would never taint those memories and feelings she had of her. Those were hers to keep.

Whatever she had left to remember anyway.

'I can barely see your face now. I won't remember your smile, your hands, your embrace...and even you, soon I'll forget your coldness, your disappointment. In time, I won't remember either of you. Life will go on and you won't be anymore because I will have forgotten, and the only proof of your existence will be here, obscured husks swallowed by the earth.'

Her gaze wandered to the right. There was nothing there. Just sand. But she knew what that emptiness in space was capable of.

What it was waiting for.

If things had been different, she wondered if they would've started to fade away too.

Her fists clenched and her stomach tightened. Mechanically she rose. She turned her head in the direction of her offerings, at the stone before her, but she couldn't see. The world was blurry.

And then, she simply turned around and walked away.

She never looked back.

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The sun had just started peaking beyond the ridge walls of their village when she made it back home. She turned the knob and pushed on the door gingerly, being careful not to break the morning silence. She slipped inside and removed her sandals, and turned the corner.

"Mornin' sunshine. You're up early."

Two pairs of eyes looked up at her from the kitchen table. An image of that empty space of sand flashed in her mind, superimposing over her brothers. Trying to keep her gaze even, she walked over to them.

"Where did you go?" Kankurou asked.

"Border patrol," she responded. It wasn't a lie - she was asked last minute to join the night before by the patrol team's captain. She had agreed, anything to keep busy. It was just afterwards, she had taken an impulsive detour.

Her brothers stared at her. She knew the reason for their stillness - she had come home without her tessen. She had dropped it off before her little trip. But they didn't know that. And they didn't need to.

Coolly, she took a seat at the table with them, purposefully avoiding the intensity of Kankurou's gaze across from her. She turned to her youngest brother, though she took care not to look him in the eyes either. "That's a lot of mail," she said, gesturing to the pile of envelopes and folded papers in front of him. "What is it?"

Gaara set down his tea cup. He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Kankurou piped up, "It's fanmail." He chuckled to himself, and Gaara shot him a glance, furrowing his brow.

"It's letters asking me how I'm doing and wishing me well," Gaara said, frowning down at the papers before him. "Though I don't understand why majority of them are from female genin and chuunin."

Kankurou snorted, clearly trying not to laugh. And even she couldn't suppress the smile that creeped across her lips. "Is that so?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Looks like you have a lot of writing to do."

Gaara furrowed his brow even more. Paired with the frown, it made him look younger, childish almost.

Something sliding across the table made her turn her head. Kankurou was pushing a letter in her direction. She picked it up, looking at him. "Oh? What's this? Did you get fanmail too?" she sniggered.

"Almost, but not quite." His mouth was a straight line.

She skimmed through the first paragraph, biting her lower lip. "It's from the northern outpost...why are they contacting you?"

"It's from Captain Utau. They've encountered some missing nin who specialize in poisonous assaults, and are having some difficulties up there. So, because of my skills they've reached out to me for help. Gaara and I have already discussed it."

She ground her teeth as Gaara spoke. "The med nins have been tracking his progress and tell me that he's only getting better."

"But does better mean fully recovered?"

"My final check up is today ya know," Kankurou said. "They'll tell me if I'm capable. Though I have been feeling fine."

She looked at him. He was lying down, placed on a bed. Where was his breath? She saw the bandages on him, his face agony. Then he twisted, and she knew that fire flowed through his veins. But all she could do was watch.

She blinked. He was across from her at their table, sitting. Breathing. She didn't feel the chair against her back or the floor beneath her feet. "When would you go?"

"I could leave in a couple of days depending on my checkup. If all goes well, I should be back in a week and a half or so. Two and a half if shit really hits the fan."

"I see."

A chair screeched along the floor as Kankurou pushed himself off the table. He stretched, and for a moment his shirt lifted. She caught a peak of white across his midriff. She wondered how many bandages he really wore still. "Well, I should get going to that appointment."

Gaara shifted in his seat. "You'll let me know immediately what the verdict is?"

"Of course."

"You know that I wouldn't be choosing this if we weren't spread so thin. Just..." The redhead looked down at his hands before turning to the older boy. "Don't hesitate to say something if it's too much, and I'll find someone else to do the mission."

Kankurou clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it. Focus on recovering yourself and what you need to do. I'll be fine."

She watched as he lifted his hand from Gaara's shoulder and made his way to the entrance. Slipping his sandals on, he opened the door. As he crossed the threshold he casually tossed a hand up. "See you guys later," he called over his shoulder.

"See you," she murmured as Gaara nodded once. And then the door closed with a click, and Kankurou was gone.

Gaara slumped in his chair - not by much, but she could see the difference. He exhaled deeply, pressing his left temple with his hand.

She leaned in closer to him. "Need to take some pills for that headache?" she asked.

He looked up at her. "I already did," he responded, low and monotonous.

"How much sleep have you been getting?"

"Too much."

"Well," she started, hesitating. "Going from about fifteen years of no sleep to suddenly having to-"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "That's not it. Now that Shukaku is gone, I understand it is necessary. But how it feels…"

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

He was quiet for a moment. She could practically see the fog growing in his eyes. Still, he said nothing, and just as she thought he deliberately ignored the question, he finally spoke. "I've only ever understood sleep through what I've read in the past. Throughout the day, I'll feel it, the weariness. It's different from battle weariness, as if I can't keep my eyes open anymore. And yet, when it comes time to lay my head down, there is no relief. Only this sinking feeling of loss. The world cuts to black and I'm heavy. Most of the time there's nothing. It's almost like…." he trailed. He stared down at his hand, contemplative. Perplexed. The action was unassuming, yet she held back the urge to shudder all the same. Almost like what? Then he clenched his hand into a fist. "Other times, I see them. Haunted faces without shape, but I know who they are. All of them. And it's painful." His pale green eyes pierced hers. "I sleep. Too much."

There was no escaping the silence that followed. A clock ticked, dragging time along with it. The red lump of muscle in her chest thumped, out of sync with space and time. Finally, Gaara's voice broke the spell, a tone-less dirge. "Because it's me, it'll always be like this, won't it?"

She shook her head. "I don't..."

"The nightmares. They will never leave me, and I can never escape them, can I?"

She shut her eyes as she saw a thick tuft of red on a bed of grass. They weren't like the other, but stiff and pale, eternally quiet. The breeze had gently blown through. It could've crumpled her, but it didn't. She wasn't so lucky.

"No," she said bluntly. "No, maybe not. There are some things we can't control, no matter how much we want to." She peeled her eyes open, trying to find his face. A blade of grass swooped up around his head. For a second, the world swayed before slamming rightfully into place.

"I suppose it's only fitting. After everything I've ever done, penance shouldn't even be in my grasp. No matter how harsh, it's what I deserve."

Her grip tightened on her knees under the table. She leaned in a fraction closer. "I think you're wrong."

His black ringed eyes widened a couple of millimeters. "What?"

"I think you're wrong. This isn't about what you deserve, or who is owed. This isn't penance. And this isn't punishment. It may be difficult. But there is nothing more to this, except the flow of life."

He stared at her, dumbfounded, as she got up from her chair. Her legs quivered. "I need to go to bed." She looked down at him. "And you… when you can, should rest up as well. Live on. Do what you can. What you can't, Kankurou and I will."

She walked past him down the hall, making her way down the stairs to her room. She stepped inside and shut the door. She didn't even bother to take her black kimono off or to undo her four ponytails as she approached her bed. As quiet as a ghost, she lifted her blanket up and settled under the covers. Her head fell softly on the pillows as she closed her eyes.

Then, she opened them, and lay awake.

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Most any who grew up in the sands knew there were actually just two places in the desert: outside and inside. The cool interior of the restaurant could have been a different country. Sounds of clattering dishes and roasting meat clanged and fizzled around him. He could hear the rhythm of his brother snapping and opening his chopsticks as he ate. His sister sat across from him, poking absently at her food.

The three of them rarely got to break and eat together nowadays. It was easier when they had been children on a team. They had to stick together. It had even reached a point where the familiarity was the only context of personal normalcy in his life. But now, their ambitions and advancement in their own careers left them with little time for each other.

Granted, when he had gone into his office earlier that morning, he had expected a whole day at his desk, catching up on tedious paperwork without breaks. But then Baki had arrived, and his expectations became unimportant.

"You shouldn't be in here," Baki had stated after a brief greeting.

He had stopped writing mid sentence, looked up at his old teacher, and raised one hairless brow, just enough.

"It's only been six days since the attack and you're already working. Work is good, but you shouldn't be neglecting to rest. What good are you to anybody if you aren't even fully recovered? You'd be useless." And then without letting him get a word in edgewise, Baki had practically shooed him out of his own office, saying he'd cover what he could for him in the meantime.

"It's been a long time since I've seen Captain Utau."

Kankurou's voice cut through his thoughts and he turned to face him. His brother's checkup had been the day before, and they had cleared him as physically able to carry out his mission. He'd be leaving the next day, too soon.

"I'll ask you again. It's not too late to change your mind," he said to Kankurou. "I won't fault you for it."

His brother took a sip of tea. "It's all good," he replied. "I can't just stay still for so long. I need to get back out and do something."

He nodded once. "Alright." He'd respect his wishes. His dedication was admirable, he wouldn't expect any less from him. But the thought of being responsible for possibly sending his brother out into danger unprepared - for sending his brother into danger period - dully echoed in the back of his mind.

There was a clattering of chopsticks hitting a plate. The brothers looked across the table. Temari had been unusually quiet during their whole exchange, during the whole time they'd been together in fact. Food - too much of it - still sat on her plate. The steam in her tea cup had all but dissipated.

"You alright?" Kankurou asked, slowly chewing his food.

She looked up at them briefly, lips barely curling into a smile. "Just fatigued."

"It's definitely been something this past week," Kankurou agreed.

For a moment nobody said anything. Because it was true. Too much had happened. Black cloaks and red clouds had rained menace on their home. The chaos had left his brother with mortal wounds, but alive. Others weren't so fortunate - they died.

Including him.

But the audacity of one woman and his first friend saved him before he lost himself. They pulled him from that white nothing. And on the other side, the village bestowed upon him meaning once again. Their fire enveloped him, and he was a precious, irreplaceable link that belonged.

It shocked and uplifted his soul. And yet, his soul was swiftly weighted by the responsibility, the consequences that came with their fire. They were his to protect - he had fought, put his life on the line. But the fact that his own died, that his own life was taken, and that many sought after him left him with a lingering doubt in his own abilities. If anything like that ever happened again, their fire would perpetuate his failure.

From there, it'd only be a matter of time.

Even more so, was he worthy of accepting it? He was a reaction, the result of his irreversible past. When he had become Kazekage, he dedicated himself to live out his apology, set things right, shoulder the trouble for others while preserving their happiness. He had hungered for the acknowledgement from them, for the forgiveness that would finally allow him to forgive himself. So he would become selfless.

And in the process, it was inevitable that the only way it could be done, the only way he could hold fire, was at the cost of using the village, the people, his siblings, for his own redemption.

Selfless.

Suddenly he felt heavy, overcome with a weariness sleep could never match.

"What are you doing?" Kankurou asked.

He looked up to see Temari placing some coins, her share of the meal, on the table. "It's really humid in here," she said, rising from her seat. "I'm going to go get some fresh air."

"Humid? It's almost ten degrees cooler in here," Kankurou protested. "And you haven't even eaten a lick."

"They'll need me to help cover the eastern border again tonight, so I probably won't see you leave," she said, ignoring him. She hefted her fan up and gave her brothers a strange, long look. Then she navigated her way around other tables, skirting diners and waiters alike. A spear of sunlight pierced the dimness of the restaurant as she pushed an entrance flap out of the way and the desert consumed her.

The redhead placed his chopsticks down, frowning at his food. "This isn't like her," he said, crossing his arms. "Something's not right."

His brother put down his chopsticks as well. "I know," he sighed, rubbing his face in his hands. "God damnit." He sighed again. "I was hoping it was just exhaustion, but that's ignoring the problem. It's something more."

He hesitated for a moment, thinking of the shadows that shrouded her face. Then he murmured, "Lately...she looks like I do." He turned his head up to his brother.

"I know. That's not good," he replied before catching his gaze. "Oh, no offense."

The redhead offered the tiniest of shrugs. "She's been offering to go on patrols often, without rest. She's hardly ever here, as if..."

"She doesn't want to be anywhere with us?" Kankurou finished.

He nodded. "We had a short talk yesterday morning but I don't recall saying anything to truly offend her."

"You haven't," Kankurou assured him. "Well, not really. Though I'm kind of in the same boat."

He creased his brow. "What do you mean?"

"Think about it. This past week hasn't been easy for any of us. We were attacked. I was thrashed, mortally poisoned. You..." He paused. "You died. I couldn't do anything. If I was stronger, better, then maybe..."

"Kankurou..."

"I really thought I'd lost you. I could have lost a brother. But as for Temari..."

He could almost feel the physical smack as it hit him. Now he got it. He closed his eyes, painfully aware that the obvious had completely eluded him, again. A familiar ache wound its way to his temples. His mouth went dry as a numbness overtook him, his breath short. He wanted to move his hands, his feet, to get up and move, to leave this place, but he couldn't. He was paralyzed.

And then he slipped from time, looking down at the tabletop. How did it get further away? A pressure built on his right bicep, warm and unmoving. He turned his head. Kankurou had his hand on him; he had stood up and pulled the younger boy with him. "Not here," he mumbled. Hastily, the puppeteer put some money on the table and made his way out of the restaurant, his grip never loosening on him.

Once they were outside, Kankurou let go. "What are you thinking?" he asked his older brother, not with skepticism, but with inquisitiveness.

He glanced sideways at him. "It was kind of humid in there," he said instead, voice stilted. "Clouds the mind." And with that, he shoved his hands in his pockets and started walking. Not knowing what else to do, he followed suit, falling into step beside him.

For a while they moved in silence. Heat waves danced around them, the sun an unforgiving, wrathful god firmly throned high in the sky. Occasionally they would briefly gaze upwards, scanning the pale blue court above them - it was how the last attack happened. When people spotted them, they'd have to stop, bowing and exchanging pleasantries. Faces beamed at him, an alien concept that made his throat constrict with a peculiar guilt. Some even clasped their hands, showering them with thanks, their genuine happiness lost in his hollow contradiction as he went through the motions. Gradually, Kankurou led them to the more deserted streets where privacy was easier to come by, the silence goading his thoughts to run rampant.

The shadow of the village's high ridged walls enveloped them just as Kankurou broke their unspoken pact. "So, do you want to say what's on your mind now?" he asked.

He glanced at his brother without turning his head. He could tell? What could he say? "I… just didn't expect it," he started."I never realized that was how she felt. I never thought she'd react so strongly."

His brother frowned down at him. "Of course she would. Are you clueless about that too?"

"Clueless?" He held back the urge to furrow his brow or sigh at himself. His reactions only showed the depth to which he truly didn't understand other people.

Kankurou stopped walking. He turned so that he was completely facing him, his dark walnut eyes pinning his own pale ones. "Back when you were revived, should you really have been so surprised to see everyone there? Were you even so surprised to see Temari and I there?" There was a pause as Kankurou continued to stare at him. Even with no one else around, his voice was low, quiet. An unsettling knot festered in his stomach. Kankurou was never quiet.

"All this time you haven't noticed have you?" he went on. "All the things Temari and I supported and helped you on, we didn't do it because you're the Kazekage. We didn't do it out of duty. So for us to see you so surprised that time..." Slowly, a pitiful smile contorted his mouth, never reaching his eyes. "Well, I can understand her feelings on that."

"I..." he trailed, his voice abandoning him. Again he felt another visceral smack. He inhaled sharply, barely holding back the compulsion to curl in on himself. For the second time that day he couldn't seem to breathe. He felt like he was on the verge of drowning, about to disconnect from his body, and the only way he knew he was still here was the thundering of his own heartbeat and his brother's unwavering gaze. His head reeled as he felt the pressure build behind his scar. He bit down on his tongue, trying desperately to ground himself.

He knew what it was like. He knew all too well the meaning of being kept at arms length, that possibly his own veil of ambiguity was only a sign to his siblings that what they repeatedly offered him wasn't enough. Rejected even.

Yet ever since the beginning he had wanted to receive that fire so badly, the pursuit in it of itself had become the definition of his life. He was entranced, but the risk was too great. The fires that were so graciously given to him in his past had been stamped out long ago by those very same givers he thought he could trust. They had torn open his heart and scalded him. So he'd put on a mask to save himself, withdrawn his being into the cold, even now.

After all, one couldn't get burnt the further away they were.

It was lonelier, safer.

Weaker.

He could taste blood in his mouth as he clamped down harder on his tongue. His nails dug into his palms. He lowered his head, gritting his teeth, clenching his eyes shut.

An explosion blew off in his ear. Something collided with his shoulder. He looked up. A hand, Kankurou's hand, rested there. "Hey," he said. His eyes looked deep into his, searching for something. "Don't beat yourself up over it. I mean what I say, but in the end I can't blame you, and I wouldn't ever. You've had it difficult. Your whole life it's been just you. Temari and I weren't much help years ago; things could have been different if we were there for you, but we weren't. We failed you. And I'm not proud of it."

At this, his eyes widened. "What?"

"I'm saying, it's alright. And, sorry."

Ah. Still, here it was, yet again. He was floundering in the cold dark, and here was someone - no, not just someone, but his own blood, hefting him up and out, offering him that warm fire. Over and over. His thoughts flashed back to that grassy plain. Temari had leaned in close, fierce and unhindered. The frantic look in her eyes was burned into his mind forever. And Kankurou, whom he had once rejected as a brother, had risked his own life for him. Even after everything.

He could feel the weight of his brother's hand leaving his shoulder.

Even after everything, they gave freely, and he had never reached his own hand out.

Thought escaped him. His arm was a blur as he snatched Kankurou's hand back. "No," his voice cracked.

Kankurou's brow crinkled. "What?"

"No," he said again more firmly. "It's not alright. You shouldn't be the one apologizing. I am." His fingers dug into his brother's hand, almost clawed, as if it was the only thing tethering him to the earth. If he let go now, he'd be gone forever.

"Hey, really, you don't have to. Life was made hell for-"

"That doesn't matter," he nearly growled. "Back then, maybe life was hell, but I don't need excuses for my behavior. I am not an exception."

Kankurou stared on, speechless. Shadows from the ridge walls stretched and morphed, inky servants of the sun becoming giants.

"You need to know," he continued. "You need to-" Suddenly he gasped, the ability to speak abandoning him. He tried to swallow and couldn't. He looked down at his brother's hand, but it was strangely out of focus. Talk, talk. Slowly, he expelled the air he didn't even know he was holding in his burning lungs. As overwhelming as a demon, the pain screamed in his head where there was once newfound silence. He closed his black rimmed eyes, taking a shuddering breath. When he opened them, they immediately locked on Kankurou's face.

"I'm sorry." He had said it once before. But it was nothing. He hadn't understood. "I'm sorry for what I did to you, and Temari. I was hurt. Hurt so much, I had given up hope. I didn't even want to try anymore. Yet as children, you and Temari tried countless times. But I didn't listen and instead I lashed out at you. Still, neither of you abandoned me even when it was a choice. Shukaku may have manipulated me, but only because I let him. I was the one who chose to be alone, because I was the one who had given up.

You didn't fail me. I failed you, the both of you. And I can't just completely disregard your feelings for my own failures."

Kankurou was shaking his head. "It's...you don't...it's fi-"

"I don't think I could possibly say sorry enough to make up for what I did to you. I'll live with it for the rest of my life. And still you and Temari have been here through everything with me, which is more than I deserve."

"What you deserve?" Kankurou asked. "It's never a matter of who deserves what. That means nothing. Absolutely nothing."

He sucked in his breath. Hadn't Temari said something similar before? "How? I owe-"

"Nothing. You are in debt to nobody. It's not like the simple exchange of money, something one just flippantly cashes in on. It's not a transaction. It's something more than that. Better even."

His heart raced. "What?" he almost whispered.

His brother gave him the faintest crooked smile.

He knew. Theoretically he knew. His first friend, the first ember, had showed him a long time ago, had woken him up from his sleepless nightmare. And then when a new path was revealed to him, others came first. But duty and responsibility did not wholly equate to the fire he wanted. He was just outside its reach, where light melded into shadows. All he had to do was get closer. Take the plunge.

He knew this.

And yet, it wasn't the knowing that kept him frozen, teetering on the edge. It was the moment of accepting the fire wholeheartedly, being in its warmth.

Feeling the heat die, the cold seeping into his bones.

An image of a hand holding a stick filled his mind. It was one of those numerous, quiet nights years ago when they'd break on their way to a mission. Kankurou was sitting on a log, prodding the fire with the stick in his hand. Across from him was his sister, a pile of wood next to her crouched form. She took a log and fed it to the flames. It popped and sizzled, alive and ravenous. They repeated this pattern; Kankurou prodding, Temari feeding wood, their patient tending, their efforts, their efforts, creating that dancing orange and red phenomenon, unstoppable and wrathful and inviting all at once, until finally sleep beckoned them, and he was the only one left awake, alone with the anomaly before him.

It lasted through the whole night.

His free hand flew to the scar by his temple, fingertips slowly pressing down on it.

He stared down at their joined hands, really looked, and in that one glance his world was ablaze. There was nothing he could do to inhibit it from intertwining with him, spreading from his own being, down his own hand, inevitably to the hand of his brother, to his sister, to the village, to all he ever knew, as irreversible and forceful as the world transforming into the sun.

Down he plunged.

His clear gaze rested on his brother's. "It's… like this," he said, and this time when he squeezed his brother's hand, peace, real peace, flooded him. "It is this."

For a moment Kankurou was quiet, his features still. "Oh," he finally uttered.

He could feel his body tense. "What?" he asked. "Have I….been wrong?"

At that, he watched as Kankurou smiled. "No. Not at all."

Seeing his brother's face like that, he couldn't help but smile back.

For the first time ever in his life, he wasn't just seeing the possibility of the connection. He was acknowledging it, accepting it with his very being. He'd protect this fire - in himself, in the villagers, in his siblings, not because it would emphasize his inadequacies, but because it would emphasize his strengths. Even now, he could recognize its power, warm and humming inside him, like the Phoenix to his self-doubt. And if the village was his fire, then his family was his hearth. And now, it was his job to make sure that those he cherished could also find comfort by the fire with him.

That's what he'd do for these bonds.

He let go of Kankurou's hand, even as his heart mourned at the loss. But right now, there was another out there that needed to know they didn't have to carry on alone. He took in his surroundings - they were in a part that was close to the village entrance. "You already know where she could be, don't you?" he asked, turning to his brother. "Temari isn't actually in the village."

Kankurou nodded. "I have a strong feeling," he replied. "Remember when you found that plateau with all those tall, tall cacti?" The redhead nodded back silently. "Well, about a couple of klicks east from there is another plateau with a small natural well of water, and flowers. When we were kids I could always find her there whenever she was having a hard time."

He closed his eyes. "I see. Well, then…" And with a sudden burst of energy, he leapt into the air, hopping off of domed rooftops, ascending higher and higher until he was approaching the top of the wall.

"Hey hey hey! Where are you going?" He could hear Kankurou call out to him, not too far behind.

They both made the final leap to the top. The desert expanse, as endless as the sky, rolled on and on before them. "To find Temari," he answered. He gave his brother a small smile, a crack in his usual stoicism forgotten for the moment. "Aren't you coming?"

Kankurou blinked, nonplussed. Then, collecting himself, he smirked at him. He jumped off the wall, down to the desert floor below them, bouncing between boulders with ease as he tossed back over his shoulder, "Yeah, aren't you?"

He gave a small scoff despite the warmth that swept through his being, before he followed the older boy down.

The sun blazed down on them, the shifting wind kicking up sand in a desolate wasteland. As they raced through, it reminded him of the countless times he had roamed by himself, a small insignificant thing better left forgotten in a boundless place. Alone.

Not anymore.

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Usually, one could always hear the haunting wail of the wind in the desert. But not here. Here, was a pocket of space untouched by the desert's constant lament and lifeless grasp.

When they had arrived, they could both hear the soft sound of trickling water. Dusty greens and hints of yellow dappled the plateau, the tan monochromatic color scheme broken by buds hesitant to embrace the world. Amidst it all was a tall shade of black, unmoving and forlorn to the surrounding serenity.

"Ya know, you're supposed to watch grass grow, not flowers," he teased.

Nothing happened.

His brother stepped up beside him, tilting his head slightly and throwing him a sideways skeptical glance. "We came to find you, to see if perhaps we could help you," he said softly.

Her head twitched, but nothing more, her back an impenetrable wall to them. His alarm bells rang high and mighty.

The brothers turned to each other. Now what? He stifled a sigh, running a hand through his hair. He stared out into the distance, where soon he'd be in that distance himself, away from his siblings. Life crawled along as his thoughts raced, grasping for the right answer.

He put his hands up in a defensive gesture, even if she couldn't see it. "Look, we just want to talk."

"There is nothing I want to talk about," she barked.

"Well sometimes you have to talk about the things you don't want to," he snapped back. He could feel his face growing hot, his insides burning. He balled his hands into fists. No, this wasn't the direction he wanted to be going in. Still, her refusal to open up had him gritting his teeth, barely holding back the hurt that threatened to bubble over. It was always like this. Whenever they had argued, he'd be like hellfire, ignited and spitting, while she would be like winter's frost, a dangerously quiet and calculative cold bite, always the first to face hard truths and realistic solutions.

But never the first to turn her back and run.

He felt something warm clasp around one of his balled fists. It was his brother - he stared down at the younger boy, his pale hand resting upon his own. Even before this, he couldn't ignore the tingling sensation that still lingered when his brother had first reached out. His brother, who had once upon a time used that very same hand to threaten his life innumerable times. And yet, such contact that had once upon a time given him goosebumps was now the only thing capable of calming his turbulent thoughts.

Exhaling slowly, he relaxed his hands and released the tension in his shoulders. He needed stillness. Unlike him, his siblings were so emotionally removed, he was the outlier amongst them. In their culture, those that thought with their heart usually didn't last. Sure, he could put on his purple lined mask and be as much an ass as the rest of them, but in the end, living like that would just be denying who he was, and who wanted that shitty way of life? In the hottest country where the coldest hearts dwelled, if he was too expressive, too impassioned, too human for the hurt, then it was only because he cared.

Gathering himself, he took a deep breath. But before he could even open his mouth, another voice sliced through the silence. "I know what this is like," Gaara said. Taken aback, the puppeteer felt his brother's hand slide from his own as the younger boy took a small step forward. "I know this, living in this endless distance. There's nothing but numbness. And yet, eventually you think the numbness is worth avoiding the loss so much you let that fear determine the scope of your life. But I've come to learn that is the easy way out. In that sort of loneliness, everyone may as well be dead." For a moment nobody said a word. And then, a shift. She turned her head so it was almost profile - it was a small gesture, yet it showed more than enough. Gaara never spoke like that, sometimes not at all. Even he was staggered. Still, his thoughts flew back to earlier, when his younger brother had grasped for his hand, desperately, determinedly, breaking down the shield he had encased himself in. The cold distant gaze thawed, and in that moment he swore to never forget the light in his brother's eyes enveloping him. All simply because he was there for him. And he'd be there for her too, even if he needed to be hardened himself.

"How are you going to move forward now?" he asked her, keeping his voice steady. "Yeah, Gaara got kidnapped, and even when I tried to save him, I nearly died. And then, Gaara died. And I couldn't do a damn thing about either. And I'll know for however long I get to breathe on this earth that in that moment, I wasn't good enough or smart enough or strong enough for either of you. If things were different, it would just be you standing here." He paused, gauging her reaction. She hadn't turned to completely face them, but she hadn't turned her head away either. He took a deep breath. Onwards then. "I'm scared you know." Another pause. "I was scared then, and I'm scared now. I'm scared for something like this to happen again, scared for our safety, scared that I won't be enough to protect you both. I'm scared that I'll wake up one day and my family will be gone." He dared to take a step forward past his brother, who stared up at him with wide eyes. "All of it is very real. And you know what? It sucks. Really sucks. But what I feel, it's valid. And it only means I care, that I will fight harder to keep my family in my life, that I can better myself for the sake of you both. I will do whatever it takes to keep you close so that you'll be here when I wake up."

He would've taken another step forward had it not been for the whirlwind of motion before him. He blinked, and she had whipped around, completely facing them.

"When we chose this way of life," she started, her voice sandpaper, "I knew what we were getting into. I knew the risks of our position. We all did."

"Yeah, we did," he agreed, inching closer. "We are taught to prepare and strategize and train, to put the mission first over camaraderie and to lower those risks. But the risks will always exist with the consequences. No one is ever really ready." Another step.

Dark teal eyes crept up and slowly met his. "I suppose not," Temari said, voice flat. "I suppose not."

"But that's okay. That's being human."

She gave a short pitiful laugh that was anything but. He moved forward. Her head snapped to him as she hissed, "What are you doing?"

Flower buds at his feet danced as he took another step.

Now she was shaking her head furiously. "No."

"Temari."

He could see her tense. "I said no."

Step. "Temari."

"No!"

"Temari!" He had come to the point now where if he extended his arm out to her, she could extend out her own and reach him. "Tem," he said softly, voice low and pleading. "Please."

She shook her head again. "Don't." Her voice wavered.

He was directly in front of her. She didn't back away. Somewhere off in the distance a hawk screeched to no one.

"For as long as we're here," he murmured, "will you turn the other way every time Gaara and I will be there? Will you deny every person close to you?" The sound of trickling water resonated in his ears. He focused on her hollow stare. In them, he saw his heart breaking. Throughout his life on the field, he'd never been marked by the gaze of the dead, til now.

"How are you going to move forward?"

She didn't do much really. She just gave him one wordless long look, arms dangling helplessly at her sides, before she bowed her head into his shoulder.

And cried.

The world seemed like it inhaled, then exhaled. He bowed his own head down a little, and closed his eyes. It had been awhile since he had felt so cold in the desert. He didn't move to embrace her, to wrap his arms around and coddle her. He just stood there numbly, faintly aware of his shirt getting wet from her quiet sobbing. She may as well have been leaning against a wall. But, it was everything.

Something stirred beside him and he opened his eyes. Their younger brother was standing next to them - he didn't think it'd be possible for his face to get any paler. A wave of confusion swept through him before it clicked. Through all the times the blood had dripped heavy between them, he had seen the moments when he thought his sister would drown in it all. But just before she couldn't breathe, she'd find him, and he'd be there, waiting. They were an extension of each other, and in some cases, they had to be, if they wanted to live.

But Gaara hadn't seen it all. Ever. Vulnerability was never an option to show anybody, let alone their possessed sibling. It was so apparent now as he watched, practically transfixed by the endless flow of tears cascading down her face, his eyes white disks. Stricken.

Throughout their whole existence together, Gaara had never seen Temari cry.

The younger boy's hand rose, though his arm never extended beyond the elbow before it dropped back down to his side. His mouth parted for a moment, then closed. His fingers twitched, and again his hand rose, his whole arm his being, before he abruptly stopped and looked up at his brother. He gave one small nod, and, naturally of course, grasped his other hand reassuringly. There was another shaky pause, before finally, Gaara closed the gap and awkwardly, gently, wove his hand with Temari's.

The sound of water filled his ears. Shadows of the desert stretched as the sun carried on without them. He didn't know how long they stood there for. An indefinite amount of time could have gone on and they would have inevitably been irrelevant to the scorched landscape.

But nothing had ever felt more significant than now.

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00000000000000000

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Somewhere in the vast expanse, a hawk glided in the desert sky over sand and plateau, eyes scanning the earth below. Something popped, and it shrieked before slicing its way down to the tan sea. Gracefully landing on an unimpressionable rock, it became one itself, staring intently at it's prey. It watched it disappear and reappear between identical rocks of the same measure as it swayed in the lazy breeze. The hawk suddenly cocked its head, and a second later spread its wings before soaring into the sky once again.

Behind it, back in that labyrinth of unremarkable rocks, a small, yellow flower bloomed.

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A/N: Hey all, thanks for reading. Woo, that was a long one. If you happen to make it through all of this, feel free to leave a comment or review. Much appreciated!