Gentle Re-assurance

You bolt down the hallway, your legs carrying you considerably faster than usual, in a vain attempt to catch up to Kankuro. Still, you haven’t lost him yet. He takes a sudden right and you squeak involuntarily as the hallway you are currently running down comes to an abrupt end. You narrowly avoid the impending crash, throwing your legs out toward the wall and using it to steer you in the right direction. A loud crash resounds behind you, and you wince slightly.

Oh well, you would worry about it later. It was probably just some cheap piece of old pottery. Right now all you care about is getting back your raccoon.

You manage to keep Kankuro in sight until he disappears into the library wing. You dart inside and glance around. At first, all you see is rows and rows of shelves, filled with scrolls and books that flood out onto the floor. You sigh heavily, glaring at nothing in particular. It had only been a few years ago that you’d played this same game with the green-eyed puppet master. When had he gotten so darn stealthy?! Of course, you remind yourself, he was a Jonin now. Having decided that you weren’t the best when it came to all-out battles, you had continued your training as a healer. Your skills in medicine rivaled those of the Fifth Hokage of Konohagakure, Tsunade-sama. Unfortunately, that wasn’t helping you right now.

You were just about to give up searching the library when you picked up a small sound . . .

. . . A scroll rolling across the floor to your immediate left.

Your eyes dart to the side to find Kankuro, his familiar brown hair swaying a bit as he stumbles backwards toward you. Without thinking, you leap at him, tackling him to the ground.

“Kankuro!” you shout at him as he struggles to escape from under you. “Give me back my . . .!” You stop short as you pull on his shoulder, turning him to face you.

It wasn’t Kankuro.

Three false eyes star blindly up at you, the wooden face frozen in a mocking grin. It was one of his puppets.

“Oooooh, crap.”

You curse yourself for falling into his trap so easily. Before you can make a move to escape, the puppet flies up at you, its six arms wrapping you in a death grip and knocking you to the floor. You were glad, at the very least, that the puppet did not have its actual weapons extended. Struggling for a moment, you look up to see Kankuro grinning mischievously down at you, your doll stuffed haphazardly in his belt.

“Give up yet?” he asks, crouching down to ruffle your hair playfully.

If looks could kill . . .

You fix Kankuro with a death glare of which the Kazekage himself would be proud. Kankuro sits up slightly and frowns at you.

“Don’t touch my hair! Only Gaara can do that!” you half-scream at him. He laughs out loud and plucks a single hair from your head, just to annoy you further.

Without a moment’s precursor, you tackle Kankuro from behind, putting him in a head lock and wrenching your precious treasure from his belt, planting his face firmly into the floor. The poor puppeteer blinks in obvious confusion as a familiar smirk graces the face of your twin. He lifts his head, with some difficulty, looking over at the you, still held tightly in the puppet’s grasp, then upwards to the you sitting proudly atop his back, raccoon in hand.

“When did you . . .?”

“I win!” the you on the floor exclaims happily, sitting up as Kankuro reluctantly releases you.

“Fine . . .” he mutters. “Now let me up.”

“Only if you promise not to steal my stuffed animals anymore,” the you still seated atop Kankuro states bluntly.

“Yeah, right, like I’d really agree to . . .”

SPLAT

Kankuro is rudely interrupted as the you seated above him shoves his face downward again, smothering it against the floor, hurting his pride more than anything else.

“Alright! I promise!” comes the muffled reply.

Kankuro stands slowly, brushing himself off and muttering quietly as he leaves the room. “What I want to know is when you got so good at Bunshin no Jutsu . . . last time I checked, you couldn’t even copy lines from a chalkboard . . .” Your eye twitches in annoyance from your spot on the floor, but you ignore him.

When he is out of sight, and earshot, you look up at your duplicate and blink.

“He has a point . . .” you say as she holds out a hand. You take it and she pulls you up from the floor, handing you the raccoon. You look down at it, then back up to your other self . . . or rather, up at . . .

“G-gaara?” you half-snort, taking the doll from him and grinning wickedly. He fixes you with a stern gaze and takes your arm in a firm but gentle grip, putting a finger to his lips: the universal sign for silence.

“Not. A. Soul.” He emphasizes each word, his eyes practically burning a hole into your skull. You fight back the fit of giggles threatening to take over you and nod your head vigorously, clutching the fuzzy animal to your chest.

“My lips are sealed.”

“Good,” he says, releasing your arm and taking your hand instead. “Come.” You smile inwardly. He never had been one for words . . . most of the time anyway.

“Where are we going?” you ask, curiosity getting the better of you. Gaara glances back at you. He didn’t like being questioned either . . . but the innocent (e/c) eyes staring up at him were too much to resist. It made him want to just smother you in sweet kisses . . .

That all-too-familiar smirk rises up on his face.

“Cookies,” he states simply, and leads you back toward the kitchen.

Twenty minutes later . . .

You reach upwards, attempting to wipe away a bit of flour from your cheek, only succeeding in smearing it down across your jaw line. Still, it doesn’t seem to bother you much as you mix together the various ingredients scattered over the table.

“Eggs, please,” you say, holding our your hand to Gaara, who’s watching you closely in anticipation. He obliges quickly, and you crack the eggs open two at a time, stirring them evenly through your concoction. You glance up at his hungry stare as you poor in the sugar. If there was a weakness the Kazekage held (besides you, of course) it was cookies. Although, few knew just how much the savory deviate delight affected poor Gaara.

You turn to reach for the vanilla, only to find him inches from you, his finger in the bowl.

“Hey!” You slap his hand and he pulls it away, scowling at you. “Don’t give me that look,” you continue, hiding a grin and adding the final ingredients. “You can lick out the bowl when all the cookies are in the oven.” You suppress a giggle at the half-hurt and disappointed look on his face. You were starting to sound like your mother.

“But then there won’t be anything left . . .” he mutters. You blink at him. Was he actually pouting? You laugh out loud and throw your arms around his neck in a quick hug. He smiles at you, ruffling your flour-covered hair. Oh, that beautiful smile . . . it did wonderful things to you. Your heart would flutter every time he let it slip through, filling you with a wonderful warmth. He didn’t smile often, though that made every moment even more special when he did.

Placing the first few trays of dough in the oven, you turn back to the table, figuring it wouldn’t hurt to start cleaning up your mess.

Just to spite him, you stick your finger in the bowl and draw your hand to your mouth to get a good taste of your cookie dough. You were, after all, the chef. You had to make sure it tasted right, didn’t you?

Before you can lift the scrumptious mixture to your mouth, Gaara’s hand closes around your wrist and he glares at you. You grin sheepishly up at him and are about to explain to him why you got to taste when his mouth closes around your finger, stealing the air from your lungs.

Gaara licks away the cookie dough lightly, watching you closely the whole time. Your cheeks turn a light shade of red, and you swallow hard, blinking owlishly at him. When your finger is clean, he gently pulls you close to him, guiding your arms around his waist and reaching up to cup his hand at the back of your neck, the fingers of his free hand delving gently into you soft (h/c) hair. Slowly, he leans down to you, pressing his soft lips against your own. The butterflies in your stomach flutter around wildly as he takes your bottom lip into his mouth, flicking his tongue across it lightly.

You melt.

He pulls away for a moment to look at you with those gorgeous aquamarine eyes.

“(Y/n), I . . .” he pauses, unsure of himself.

“Yes,” you ask breathlessly, tying to calm the butterflies.

“I’d like to . . . I mean . . . would you . . .”

The kitchen door flies open and Temari and Kankuro bolt in, getting stuck half way as they both try to fit through the kitchen door at once.

“I get the first one!” Temari screeches at Kankuro, attempting to shove him to the side. “I’m the oldest!!”

“That’s why I should get the first taste,” Kankuro shoots back.

“You should respect your elders, idiot!” Temari yells, shoving Kankuro to the floor and leaping over him.

The two of them stop short when they spot the two of you with your arms still around each other. Temari, Kankuro, and you blush about six different shades of red. You let your hands drop from Gaara’s waist and grin in embarrassment. There is an awkward silence as Gaara lets his hands drop slowly back down to his sides. He fixes Temari and Kankuro with his legendary death glare as they stand.

“Eh-heh . . .sorry . . .” Temari starts, having a slight inkling to exactly what she and Kankuro had just interrupted.

“Where are the cookies?” Kankuro demands, ignoring the death gaze still aimed in his direction.

“Eep!! The cookies!” You shriek. You had forgotten all about them. The things Gaara did to you . . .
You rush over to the oven. “I hope I haven’t burned them!”

Gaara watches you in deep disappointment, the masked expression returning to his features as you rush to save the cookies from the oven. He had been so close!

Letting out an inaudible sigh, he returns to the table, gathering up the various ingredients and replacing them back in the cupboards as you place the next batch in the oven.

It was only noon; he still had plenty of time to get you alone. He clenched his fist in grim determination, clutching the ring hidden in his hand tighter.

He was going to ask you no matter what. Even if he had to do it in front of his siblings. Even if it killed him.