Title: You Are (Not) Alone
Fandom: Naruto
Character/Pairing: Gaara/Matsuri
Dedication: AGENT JUDS, my lovely wife. I love you so much, and I'm so sad to say that this is very overdue. Her birthday is April 2, and I hope you forgive me for such a late present. But you know you are the sparkliest in my eyes, and I hope you remember that I lovelovelove you. Try and enjoy, wifie!
Rating: K+
Warnings: False interpretation of a character that does not come up very much (Matsuri), unrealistic setting (yes, even for Naruto, which is all about super!ninja), underestimation (or overestimation) of the work of the Kazekage, OOC (perhaps on Gaara's part, though I always feel self-conscious about this)
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto. The original series and all related things are the property of Kishimoto-san. The title was taken from Evangelion 101: You Are (Not) Alone.
Note: Well, this turned out completely different from what Judy's intentions probably were, and the ideas I had when I first began writing. I started writing a crack!fic at first, though I changed my mind to a more thoughtful piece.
Summary: "I'm dead, Gaara. I came to say goodbye."

Gaara (quite gracefully, might I add) was once again, sitting at his desk in the morbidly dark room signing papers. He was not like the Godaime Hokage, who drank much too much sake (sometimes people wondered how her liver did not fail yet, but then again, they also wondered how she looked drop dead gorgeous when she was a fifty-something year old woman) and fell asleep while doing work.

Gaara personally believed that Tsunade was (just a little bit) inefficient with her work. She never ended up completing all the work anyway, and it was quite a surprise to the other Kage that she was even managing to run the country correctly. They finally came to the conclusion that there were two reasons: a) she was a Legendary Sanin, lazy or not, and people would have respect for her and listen to her, and b) she had some of the most powerful ninja in the world. Nobody could doubt the abilities of some of the most elite Konoha ninja, ANBU or not.

Supposedly, ANBU was another big advantage, since they were the Leaf's most skilled ninja. No other country had a group organized like the ANBU, although they did have their own things.

Gaara concluded that, indeed, Tsunade had a lot of help from reputation, and in some aspects, she hasn't succeeded in being Hokage. He did not want his country to go to war with the Fire Country, due to the hidden village (and his friends there, but he didn't want to admit that); therefore, he opted to become allies. At the time, it would be a great advantage, indeed, and he hoped it would serve to be one later on, as well.

However young people saw Gaara as, he decided to ignore any remarks on how young he was, since he was quite certain that his mind was much more developed than some of the other Kage. He was not a weakling, and ran his country fairly and well.

Everything, that day, was quite normal, until eleven thirty-seven in the morning. The redhead was busy with his paperwork, his mind clouded with the thoughts previously mentioned. He was working rather diligently, his light colored eyes focused on the many words before the documents on his desk. He had hoped to finish the three-foot pile by the end of the day, since the fact that he would get another pile just like it the next day was definitely true.

With her chakra masked, Matsuri barged into the room, with an eerily bright smile on her face. Her dark eyes sparkled a little bit, and she was still dressed in her ninja gear, with her Chuunin vest on and all.

"Gaara, we should somewhere today," she started, her smile fading a little bit. Gaara kept his eyes on her, quiet and unmoving. She had become a friend—a close friend—and his siblings rather liked her. Still, it was strange that no guards came today. "I think that you need to relax a little, and I'm sure many others would agree. The village doesn't want a Kazekage that works all day and never sees sunlight."

"I could easily pull up the shades, Matsuri, and watch the sun all day," Gaara replied, his voice even and firm, "but that would be rather unproductive, no?" There was an uneasy pause, and the green-eyed boy could feel Matsuri's happiness seeping away from her. "I'm sorry, Matsuri. Maybe some other time."

Some kind of fake smile reappeared from muted anguish, and the girl-woman brushed her hair aside with one sweeping motion. Gaara almost cracked from the feminine softness in her movements, and stopped his writing hand for one moment.

Words lingered on Matsuri's tongue, waiting to come out through grinning lips. She gave a sigh filled with the remnants of all the disappointments, and waited until her body was ready to speak. She opened the door with her slim, shaking fingers, and gave another weak curl of her lips.

"Well, I suppose that's fine," she whispered, her face hidden by the door, mood suddenly changing. In one more (regretful) heartbeat, the door was closed with a hushed click.

The way her voice wavered made Gaara wonder.

The next day she came again, her quiet feet stumbling across the floor, as if to lose all the grace she had gained from being a kunoichi. Her nearly shaking hands stopped on the doorknob, as if asking, Do you really want to do this?

To herself, she settled that it wasn't quite want that motivated her to do such actions (as Gaara, for the moment, was not the person she'd rather hide from, not confront), closer to need. Slowly, the door creaked open, crying and wishing to be welcomed by the solemn man-boy that sat in his chair, scrawling across papers on his mahogany desk with flawless calligraphy.

Gaara picked away at a delicate corner of the thin, translucent rice paper, making the slightest bit of noise. The atmosphere in the room was tense the moment Matsuri entered. It felt like the humid summer air got even thicker than it already was.

She tried again to bring up the cracked smile and the spirit she had once before, to make a pretend façade.

Gaara wanted to tell her that it was okay, that she didn't have to do that. He wanted to tell her that the way she smiled hurt, the way she shifted her weight between her feet was too childish, and the way she wringed her hands together and wrinkled her nose was too nostalgic.

She needed to go, right now. He didn't quite understand why she was so different, why he hated how she acted, why he wanted her to leave.

Usually, a little bit of company was welcoming, and she had come so frequently that he had noticed her most subtle habits, like how she drew circles on the armrest of her chair when she was happy or excited. Matsuri was always cheery, she always brought a little bit of light into the room, and under normal circumstances, Gaara would have welcomed her presence with a nearly appreciative nod. She was never a bother since she never made much noise. Her breathing was even faint in the tranquil room, and the silence was a change from the practically hectic meetings he would have to attend almost every day. Sitting in the office with her, most of the time, was a change from the fast-paced life he experienced as the Kazekage.

He wondered why today—and yesterday—was different from the lazy afternoons they had spent together discreetly conspiring on how to destroy paperwork or escape meetings. He was always baffled by her willingness to sympathize with his workload; at first, he believed she'd ask him to teach her new techniques or help her out with one she just learned. He realized she had graduated from being his student a few years ago, and was now a perfectly capable chuunin.

"What can I help you with today?" Gaara said, his voice cold and emotionless.

He told himself to try and cut his ties with her after the end of yesterday—a few of the documents that were sent to him around a week ago implied war with some of the smaller countries and villages, including the Sound. Tsunade had even sent some plans over if something were ever to happen—it was obvious that this was not a small matter if even the Godaime Hokage failed to overlook any subdued warnings coming from the more minor hidden villages. If he had such ties with anyone, it could prove fatal to more than just one person.

He saw her left cheek move, flinching, her words stopping in the middle of her throat.

Matsuri took several seconds to swallow her tears and force her gentle voice to work. "I—today?" she murmured, stringing her questioning, painfully tender words together in a seemingly futile plea.

Gaara told himself he wasn't supposed to understand what she just said, but he did, which made the words sting even more than they were supposed to.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he lied indifferently, dipping his head down to get back to his paperwork. "I have a lot of work today. If all you have to give me is meaningless words, then I suggest you escort yourself out."

When he looked up, she was already gone.

The third day, she didn't come. Although Gaara was desperately trying to get her out of his mind, it was irritating that she wasn't there today.

He concluded that, of course, she didn't have enough courage. She never had enough courage, he thought bitterly. He always had to be the one to support her, whether it was during her chuunin exams or during her first B-rank mission.

Right now, it felt as if he was hopeless, thinking about a girl that probably wouldn't matter. It was possibly the worst time for him to dwell on petty things—why couldn't he concentrate on the fact that there was a possibility of war? People—too many people—could lose their lives because he was focusing on his former student instead of a way to stop likely bloodshed.

Gaara wanted to forget, because these tormenting thoughts were even more bothersome than the Shukaku.

"Gaara!"

The door slammed open, and he feared it was Matsuri. He didn't need to see that girl—she was already driving him insane. He looked down at his letter to Tsunade, pretending to have run out of ink. He dipped the bamboo brush into the small plate filled with the black liquid.

"Gaara!" a voice called again, and he realized that it was much too rough to be Matsuri's timid one. He looked up to see, Temari, his blonde sister, looking absolutely distraught.

"Is something...wrong?" he replied, trying to keep his voice even. He felt a bit panicked—his sister usually did not look this alert and attentive.

"Plans for the next Chuunin Exams aren't going well," she breathed, gritting her teeth in the middle. "Negotiations about where we'll be having it are getting complicated, although it's already supposed to be decided. And, well...it's getting a bit threatening. I feel a bit ashamed that I wasn't able to handle this myself, Gaara, but they won't listen to a person as 'lowly' as me."

"Alright," he replied, "I'll...speak to them sometime soon. Try to smooth things out with them for now, don't sound offended. I'm a little busy."

Temari raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips, knowing how her brother felt before he voiced out any sort of concern. These kinds of instincts had developed after several years of trying to understand the youngest of her siblings. He was confusing, complex, sometimes he didn't make much sense, but she—everyone—realized that perhaps it was from the neglect and loneliness he had experienced as a child.

Noticing that her brother was deep in thought, Temari gave a small, reassuring smile. "I don't know what you're thinking about, but try not to get too into it, 'kay? We still need you, Gaara."

A few words were enough to lift the redhead up a bit. He wiped sticky red strands away from his forehead and tried to continue with his work.

Being told that somebody needed him besides the soft-spoken girl provided a small bit of relief for the young Kazekage.

The fourth day, it rained.

It rained the way Gaara wanted it to, because it was the kind of rain that was refreshing and cold, the kind that made pitter-patter noises against the windows. The calming, repetitive pattern was like the ticking of a clock. It helped him focus on his paperwork, on the issues that needed to be dealt with (not that stupidstupid girl).

He kept the windows open, like always, because it let the smell of the crisp air drift into the room. It seemed to brush away the dust that covered the ancient bookshelves and keep his eyes open and reading for a little longer.

The wisdom that was acquired from being the Kazekage seemed to have an effect on him—he was much more mellow and controlled than before, so much that he felt more than disgusted at how bloodthirsty he might have been in the past. (Though in reality, wasn't everybody? But until recently, he had to admit that he was just blaming it for having insomnia.)

Gaara watched the tapping droplets of water hit the glass of the window before sliding down, catching smaller drops that managed to stick to the surface before the stream rushed towards sand he couldn't see.

"Catch me when I fall."

Some kind of bitterness caught up to him, as he tried to stop the shaking, tried to stop regretting, because it would get him nowhere. He buried himself in paperwork—or he tried to—for several hours, even after the rain stopped, even after the sun set, even when the clouds came back to cry again, he was still working diligently.

At ten twenty-seven, the door opened.

"Gaara, what kind of eyes do you have?"

He could hear her wet footsteps, the sound of her boots slamming against the floor. Her demeanor was harsher, her voice unforgiving. These feelings, these manners had never been apparent in Matsuri. She was the girl that you'd expect to be skipping in flower fields laughing and smiling with sparkling brown eyes.

In the state of grief, Matsuri had surely fallen. With her rounded shoulders, wolf-like eyes, and prominent cheekbones, Gaara surrendered to a vision the moonlight had created. She was a ghost, cold to touch, cold to feel.

His lips mouthed words, words that never made it out of his mouth, in some kind of plea that would not be answered.

She breathed a sigh, mist flowing out of her mouth like ice cooler than the air.

"It's no time for apologies."

"Come with me."

Without a thought in his head, Gaara stood, with rigid posture and a paler than normal complexion, and followed Matsuri out the door. It was time that he found out what she had to say—the meaning behind her sadness and less than ordinary conduct. Perhaps he should have followed her from the first time she asked, though at the time, it seemed like a trivial manner he was allowed to brush aside.

They walked down the corridor quickly, past several rooms and down the stairs. It was still early in the morning, around six-thirty. The village was quiet, as there was still a light drizzle. The fog was thick, and things were only visible if they were a foot away. The air was too humid for Gaara's liking, and he could almost feel his bright-colored hair frizzing slightly.

"What are we doing in this weather, Matsuri? I feel as if you're planning to kill me."

Her grip tightened on Gaara's wrist, her knuckles turning painfully white. It was almost as if she was going to do exactly that, although their destination threw him off almost completely.

Summoning more strength than necessary into a smile, the young girl tried to be friendlier. The Kazekage seated himself on the yellow blanket that was placed on the grass, trying not to feel awkward and out of place. Across from him, Matsuri seated herself, tucking her legs underneath the rest of her body.

"I apologize for this sudden and strange occurrence, Kazekage-sama," she said, her tone quite too formal for Gaara's liking, "however, I felt as if you needed some fresh air, some sunshine to escape that rather wretched paperwork."

"Yet you chose, of all days, this day to take me out on a picnic," Gaara replied wryly, "There isn't a bit of visible sunlight. The mist is so thick that I can barely see you from here. The rain will only give us colds."

"But a bit of happiness found its way to me," she mused thoughtfully. "It seems as if a bit of weight has been lifted from my shoulders, like I've done a task I may not be able to do again." Pulling her cloak closer to her for warmth, she picked at some nearby grass. Her eyes softened for a moment as they glimmered. She was noticeably avoiding Gaara's gaze, though it proved to be a needless action. He could already feel some of her sorrow.

"Can you really feign happiness? Do you find me some sort of idiot?" he growled, green eyes narrowing slightly. "You're hiding something, I know it. I've already mentored you before, I've seen through all your tricks, but you believe that you can still fool me?"

"I don't, Kazekage-sama. It would be extremely rude to believe that," she said. Her voice trembled faintly with shock, but she threw the blades of grass aside and locked eyes with him again. "However, as a kunoichi, I was taught to suppress my feelings, to show no emotion."

"You show happiness, you do show emotion."

"It's quite a trick, isn't it?"

"Tell me why we came. The real reason, if you don't mind."

A humorless laugh escaped Matsuri's lips as she looked up into the sky. Droplets of water fell on her sun-kissed skin, obviously a result of living in a dessert-climate and constantly completing missions. Her hair stuck to her face, streaks of brown on her forehead.

"This is the real reason," she whispered, her voice a little raspier than usual, "Though I suppose it's only one of them...But, do you really want to know the truth?" She bit her lip hesitantly. Truthfully, she did not want to say anything about her own situation. Fixing other people's problems was a way to get out of her own dilemmas, to get around her emotions, to make the pain hurt less.

"It's something that's upsetting enough to change your entire demeanor," Gaara replied, a hint of worry laced in his voice, "Tell me what's wrong."

Matsuri averted her gaze to the dark golden drops on the blanket beneath them, noticing that it was almost completely soaked in rainwater.

"I have...a mission."

"You have missions quite often."

"You really don't know," she replied, her voice uneven. She exhaled slowly in an attempt to calm herself. Her eyes were glassy and glazed, her lips stunningly red. "I though you knew."

"I know you have a mission," Gaara said, "I believe you're leaving tomorrow. I do approve and assign several missions." He tapped his fingers against wrist, staring intently at the currently poised and elegant girl seated in front of him.

"You believe I'm capable enough? For this mission?" she asked, her voice switching to a higher, nearly whiny pitch. "You think I can do this?"

Gaara began to have his doubts. Could it be that he had merely glanced at her mission assignment? He couldn't even recall the rank, and he definitely did not know her actual mission.

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God...You don't know, you don't know at all!" she screeched, her face painted with panic. Gaara realized that confusion must have been apparent on his. His face had expressed enough emotion for even Matsuri to know how he felt. "How could you do that? How could you assign me to a mission I would never get back from?" She calmed herself slightly, her voice lowering and returning to a soft, even tone. "I'm dead, Gaara. I came to say goodbye today."

He was left speechless for several minutes, his breathing becoming labored. He fell into a negative mindset, thinking of what she really meant. Although he still felt uncomfortable, he cleared his throat and asked, asked what her mission was.

She seemed anything but delighted to explain her final mission.

"Perhaps you have received news that we are going to war," she paused, glancing at Gaara's slow nod, "As I suspected, you have. The Godaime Hokage is said to have sent you some plans, missions actually, around two weeks ago to be used as 'precautions'. You agreed to them, but apparently, you failed to realize which shinobi were chosen to accomplish these sometimes life-threatening missions. I'll have you know that some elite ninja were chosen, some amazing comrades. It's quite a shame that Suna will be losing such talented fighters, don't you think? But it's all decided now, and all of us will be leaving tomorrow morning at dawn. We don't wish for anyone to see us off—you'd think that the last memories of our families, friends, and lovers will be happy ones, ones that we'd like to remember and engrave into our minds while we fight. But we already remember, Gaara, so there is no need for excessive sorrow right before we departure. There is no need for precious companions to remind us how much we will miss them, how much they will miss us, how much we are doing for them. We don't need our associates to cry tears for us. We don't need to hear their wailing cries or affectionate words tomorrow. It's just us. Once we start crossing the desert, it's the end of our lives.

"These 'precautions' are different. Nobody has exactly the same job—we were all assigned different ones. The unlucky ones were put in pairs—they'd have to experience the grievous image or their comrade dying. We have to take on civilian roles to complete these missions. We need to pretend to be many, many villages' citizens, all to prevent war. But we are not preventing this war through peace or words, we are taking each prominent enemy figure out, one by one, whether we need to poison them at a teashop they go to frequently or act as a prostitute and sleep with them. However, as ninja, these are our roles, and we must stick to the mission through the end for the sake of our village, for the sake of future generations, for the sake of a Better World.

"At first, I wondered, why was Suna chosen? Why hadn't the Hokage forced ANBU or a few of her elite to go and complete these arduous missions? She was decisive, and instead decided to contact you. Blind by your alliance, you failed to realize that she was being selfish—she did not want to lose her people, her ninja, her pawns. The village of Konohagakure is at blissful peace, Gaara, while your people are wondering why such a large number of skilled ninja are leaving this village. In Konoha, mothers are thanking God, sighing in relief that her son or daughter wasn't chosen to leave her side forever. There are people who are kissing their sweethearts, embracing them, and whispering soft words of reassurance. But we are saying our goodbyes, not unlike this one, with weeping and confusion. Our fate cannot be changed—we were chosen, there's no turning back anymore.

"My mission specifically could be considered lucky or unlucky. I've been sent to the Sound, and must attempt to infiltrate what was once Orochimaru's lair and see if there are still any remaining Sound ninja that are a threat. I'm sure you can imagine your friend from Konoha, Uzumaki-san, begging for this sort of mission—I hope he will learn to forgive me for taking a mission he wanted to accomplish away. I'll be acting as a bartender in a popular club that my targets go to frequently, according to information that was gathered by several of the Hokage's spies. I am to become friendly with them, and once they trust me or they have gotten too drunk, take them to a backroom and kill them without anyone knowing. However, I'll also be doing business with them through something even darker and uncommon than the black market. I'll be their associate and representative to see if the people they're dealing with are safe or not. This includes some of the most notorious members of infamous yakuza, most of which the shinobi world does not deal with. This is my mission."

Matsuri rose and ran away, leaving Gaara filled with more remorse and agony than he had ever experienced before.

"Don't come for me tomorrow. I'll do better alone."

A month later, a memorial site was built next to the doorway of Matsuri's house, with a new bouquet of white roses each day.