Spleensleeves: (Formerly red-letter town) Title based on the song by Blink 182 of the same name. I got SO many messages in my Inbox suddenly asking where Speak Now went. I woke up, read them, and thought, "What the heck are these people talking about? Is the whole world on crack?"

Yeah. Turns out using FF mobile interface on my iPod tends to backfire on me ... I really see no point in reposting. Sorry, but it wouldn't be fair to everyone who did review it and all ... Personally, I was not as proud of it as I suppose I could have been. I mean, if you're still itching for a SasuHinaGaa to fill the void, just read All the Small Things. Below.

My DeviantArt profile link is on my FF profile. My dA username is just Spleensleeves as well. Have any of you read Hinata6's fic You Belong With Me? I have a picture posted on my dA gallery that is a tribute to that story. SasuHina, of course. Check it out and comment it you have an account! http:/spleensleeves(dot)deviantart(dot)com

Disclaimer: The usual. I'm just another stupidly unlucky and hopelessly obsessed Naruto fan. Not the owner, creator, etc. Agh.

Enjoy!

February 14th

It was Valentine's Day. Hinata awoke to a bouquet of gold and silver flowers waiting in a delivery man's arms on her doorstep. Slightly taken aback by the unexpectedness of the gift, and slightly embarrassed by her less-than-presentable, half-exhausted state, she smiled softly as the delivery man thrust a simple, white card into the flowers whilst handing the bouquet over.

In the midst of the beautiful blossoms hovering beneath her face, Hinata focussed her eyes on the card's message. The words were printed, written by a masculine hand with an untidy, though nonetheless sophisticated, scrawl.

Meet me by the bridge at one o'clock.

There was nothing of a signature, save for a slash of red ink. Brick-red. Hinata frowned subconsciously as she processed the possible candidates for the author and sender, but she continuously drew blanks. There were countless men in Konoha who liked to wear red.

Also, if he – the author/sender – expected her to recognize him by the brick-red colour alone, he was delusional. The bridge, on this particular romantic holiday, would be swarming with couples in the midst of exchanging loving actions and gifts for one another. The bridge was a Konoha tradition for Valentine's Day, an honoured landmark.

Not to mention red being the trademark colour for a holiday like Valentine's Day. Today of all days, red would be most common among the townsfolk. Completely baffled by now, Hinata ushered the deliverer away with a smile and a thanks, setting to work as she unwrapped the flowers from their foil.

The telephone rang almost immediately after she'd carefully lowered the flowers into a crystal vase of clean water. Hinata raised an eyebrow, naturally inquisitive as to who might be calling. It was hardly everyday she received a phone call; after all, she considered Inuzuka Kiba and Aburame Shino her only confidential friends in the village, and neither were very fond of speaking over telecommunication.

"Hello?" Hinata said timidly, as she pressed the telephone curiously to her ear. She wiped the slightly wet palm of her free hand against her shirt.

"Hinata!"

"… Sakura?" Why on earth was Haruno Sakura, of all people, calling to speak with her? Hinata had a few notions in mind, none of which concerned a friendly conversation. Firstly, to ask a favour. Secondly, to boast. About anything. Sakura was one to flaunt whatever she could get – which, Hinata grudgingly admitted to herself, was a lot. Thirdly, to retrieve information.

"Hinata, I need your help."

So, the second option was out of the running. Hinata grimaced lightly as she cocked her head, sandwiching the phone between her tilted ear and shoulder. "What with, Sakura?"

"Naruto asked me to be his Valentine! So that means he's asking me out on a date! What should I do?"

Her shoulders sagged visibly as she cradled it to her ear once again; so Sakura was boasting, as well as requesting help. Hinata would not have thought it possible to accomplish both, but Haruno Sakura was an enigma.

"W-Why aren't you asking Ino for advice, Sakura?"

There was an irritated moan on the other end. "Ino-pig is such a baby. She's whining and crying about how Shikamaru treated Temari to breakfast this morning. It's ridiculous, isn't it? She has Choji falling all over her feet and here she is crying about her Shikamaru problems."

"W-Well, to be fair, Sakura," Hinata chided softly, "you were in love with Sasuke when it was clear to everyone else that Naruto wanted to be with you." It was difficult, though not impossible, for Hinata to refrain from using an accusing tone.

"Yes, well, that's my problem, Hinata! Naruto's asked me out – and it's Valentine's Day! I'm not going to hurt him today! But – but I'm waiting for Sasuke to ask…"

"I-I don't think Sasuke even leaves his house on Valentine's Day, Sakura," Hinata admitted. "I remember when w-we were all in school … he was always absent on V-Valentine's Day."

"Yeah … I remember the girls and I were always wondering where he'd gone … was he sick? Is he sick right now? Is it something about Valentine's Day, Hinata?"

What do I look like, his best friend? Hinata inwardly sighed, rolling her eyes. She was glad Sakura could not see her exasperation over the telephone as she forced herself to respond in a good-natured tone. "Um, I believe the g-girls were what Sasuke wanted to avoid, but I-I don't know…"

That was a lie. Nearly the entire male population of Konoha knew it. Nearly every single adult and baby and sane teenage girl knew it.

"Sasuke's nineteen," Sakura protested. "He wouldn't be scared of us. We're just girls who really like him. He should be grateful he has so many people to like him. Don't talk about Sasuke like you understand him better than I do, Hinata."

"Um-"

"So, what's happened to you so far, for Valentine's Day? Anyone special?" Sakura asked, the smile evident in her voice. Hinata's heart skipped unpleasantly as she wondered if the pink-haired teenager might even be leering at her.

Hinata decided she'd play along and give Sakura a few vague details. "I got a flower delivery this morning. I – have a date today," she offered, wondering to herself whether or not she was lying by labelling the bridge appointment a 'date' at all.

"Who sent the flowers? Who's your date?" Sakura exclaimed, clearly taken aback by the news. Hinata felt a small smile creep onto her features as she heard the genuine excitement in Sakura's voice.

"Tell you when I know!" Hinata giggled, clicking the button on the phone to end the call as she laid the handset down on the countertop and glanced at the clock. It would be noon in five minutes.

Goodness me. I overslept today. She had but an hour to prepare for her 'date'. What to wear, to go and meet a stranger who sent you flowers on Valentine's Day? Should she stand out, so he could find her? Better yet, should she bring a flower, so he would recognize her as the receiver of his gift?

That's unnecessary, Hinata decided. If he knew who she was to send the flowers, he would know her in her normal attire. But, I still want to look nice for him, whoever he may be.

And in the space of forty minutes, Hinata had up-ended her entire closet of clothes to find a navy dress, black coat and ivory scarf. She frowned at her reflection as she pulled a brush painfully through her tangles of wet hair.

Swallowing as she scanned her makeup kit, Hinata apprehensively reached for the eyeliner pencil. She didn't like to wear makeup as much as her fellow gender, but she appreciated it. She swiped the edges of her eyes with thin, black layers to accent her pale orbs.

I hope, Hinata bit her lip as she took a step back from the mirror to examine her appearance, that I don't look too overdressed.

Slipping into a pair of dark boots, she tucked the card from the bouquet into the pocket of her black coat and left her house, aware that she had but eight minutes to reach the bridge. Her pace was quick and light and purposeful, unstopping to pay attention to anything but the path leading to the bridge.

As she neared the bridge, she began to scrutinize the crowds of people more intently than she had before. As she'd expected, she discovered a sea of red, pink and white. In her black and navy attire, Hinata realized she stuck out like a sore thumb.

Slowly, one by one, she began to mentally eliminate the people. She paired them off as they came and went in couples. The man she was searching the crowds for would undoubtedly still be by his lonesome, waiting on her.

And when she saw him, she knew. She realized with a start, that his hair was the brick-red shade of his ink, of his signature. Hinata weaved her way through the hordes of lovers to where none other than the eighteen-year-old son of the leader of Suna stood.

He stared right at her. Sea-foam green eyes ringed with black, an uncanny smile lingering on his lips as she approached with the card in her right hand. Her light eyes flickered down to the handwriting again before up to his face, and his smile relaxed into a comfortable smirk as her face lit up like a Christmas tree.

"G-Gaara?"

"Hinata." He was careful to maintain a safe distance of approximately two feet between the pair of them, his hands shoved into his pockets to restrain himself to reaching out to her. Her beauty was mind-boggling, truly.

"I-I don't understand."

At this, he frowned. "What's to understand? I sent you flowers because I like you. I asked you to meet me here because I want you to be my Valentine."

At his words, her smile returned, bright and bigger than ever. It initiated the smallest of genuine smiles from him, and she tucked the card into her pocket before lightly wrapping a hand around his elbow.

Surprised by the sudden initiation of contact, though nonetheless pleased, Gaara escorted Hinata away from the bridge. The two spent the entire holidays together before Gaara was forced to return to his father in Suna.

And so began the long-distance courtship of Hyuuga Hinata by Sabaku no Gaara.

November 14th

It was their nine-month anniversary, as of today.

Hinata had whittled the entire occasion away on a break from work, wandering about the village on the hunt for a gift for Gaara. It had been a difficult choice, with input from nearly everyone who knew or had even heard of the Suna heir.

"Something mechanical," Shino had suggested.

"Something dark," Kiba had joked.

"Something simple," Kurenai had shrugged.

"Something cheap," Naruto had laughed.

"Something significant," Sasuke had told her.

"Something technological," Kakashi had murmured.

"Something extravagant," Sakura had exclaimed.

"Something small," Ino had advised.

"Something not-so-troublesome," Shikamaru had frowned.

"Something delicious," Choji had recommended.

Hinata had discovered the perfect gift in a store window display. Although she'd never even set foot in the store – an antique store – she had yet to find a better present. It was a small golden chain, with the pendant of an angel.

The angel was brazen, with wings like a cricket and the figure of a key. In the shopkeeper's opinion, the angel was a slightly creepy-looking thing, but Hinata rather grew fond of it. It seemed the sort of antique, one-of-a-kind pendants that were so out of the ordinary, they could be nothing less than significant.

Gaara, she knew, would feel the same way. Gaara would appreciate its uniqueness, the way he appreciated hers. With that thought in her head and a smile on her face, Hinata tossed the plastic bag into a nearby trash bin and pocketed the small velvet gift box.

She made her way home in silence. It was only five o'clock. She would have to wait until seven or eight to call Gaara in Suna, for he would expect her to have been at work all day. With a soft sigh, Hinata reflected upon the disadvantages of a long-distance relationship.

She received plenty of letters, telephone calls and photographs of his life. She felt like they helped her connect to his level of living better than anyone else might connect to him, for he shared with her his feelings, his troubles, his innermost thoughts and deepest fears.

It was a side of him she knew he showed no one else, save for herself. For he was the Suna heir, and he could not show such vulnerability, weakness.

Hinata turned the key in the lock of her door and swung it open. She was completely stunned by the sight that beheld her.

Her kitchen table was set beautifully, with two plates, two glasses, two forks and knives and a pretty little dish in the center, accompanied by bottles of red wine and champagne. His and her favourite indulgences.

Hinata's eyes widened as they darted to a movement in her peripheral vision. Gaara stood behind the door. "G-Gaara-!"

He swept her into a mindless kiss before she could speak another word, lifting her off her feet and kicking the door shut behind her. She hardly noticed as she guided them over to the kitchen table, and she was practically forced into her seat.

"T-This is wonderful, but h-how did-?"

"How did I know?" Gaara asked, grinning. "I called your work. They said you asked for a day off to look for a present for your boyfriend."

Hinata groaned and buried her face in her hands. Her stupid colleagues. Couldn't keep their big mouths shut even for a moment.

Gaara chuckled softly. "I was flattered. I was planning to come down for our anniversary, anyway. So I left early, hoping I could do this before you came home from shopping."

Hinata slipped her hand into her pocket and withdrew the gift box. "It's for you."

He accepted the gift box and lifted the lid with care, eyes widening as he regarded the small angel. His features softened into a smile as he shook the chain gently into his palm and fastened it around his bare neck.

"I … love it, Hinata. Thank you."

Hinata's eyelashes fluttered shyly down to her plate. "And I love you," she murmured.

He'd heard. With a blink and a grin, he said loudly, "I love you, Hinata."

The dinner was prepared incredibly. Hinata knew he'd had to have ordered a Suna server or takeout for the meal, for Gaara had once before demonstrated his lack of culinary skills. Hinata was no better at cooking gourmet; therefore, much of their anniversary meals prior to this one had been dining out at restaurants.

"I feel like we're thirty, drinking champagne and having dinner for our anniversary," Hinata giggled, sipping her glass with flustered cheeks. The intoxication of champagne was creeping up slowly on her, though not to her head, not yet.

"Thirty? By God, hopefully we'll be married by then," Gaara said shamelessly, as he mirrored her with his red wine. "We can start over, counting our anniversaries by one-two-three again, after our wedding."

Hinata blushed. "You-"

"You don't have to look so surprised," Gaara said simply, as he poured himself another glass of red wine and set his fork aside indifferently. "Yes, Hinata, I love you. You're the one I want to be with forever. I do want to marry you someday."

"That won't happen," Hinata said softly. "You're the heir of Suna! I-I'm …"

"You? You're a beautiful woman who would make the perfect bride, my perfect wife. I want you with me when I inherit my village, Hinata."

Hinata glanced up from her champagne. "G-Gaara, you – you mean it …?"

"Of course I do." Gaara suddenly stood, and stepped around the table to her. He laid his hands on her elbow lightly, drawing her up to her feet as well, and pulled her in for a kiss before she could object any more.

She succumbed to the kiss, shedding the last of her doubts as she snaked arms around his neck. His hands teased the dip of her spine, fingers running up and down her back as she shuddered and melted against him.

He held her close to his chest and somehow managed to stagger down the hallway with her clinging to him. They collapsed onto her bed, where he broke the kiss only momentarily to pull her shirt over her head.

She busied herself with unbuttoning his shirt, and he nudged her shoulders lightly with his palms, pushing her gently onto her back on the bed. Shrugging off the unbuttoned shirt, he flung it across the room and bent down to claim her lips once more.

December 8th

It had been twenty-four days since their nine-month anniversary, and another six to go before their ten-month arrived.

Hinata crumpled her face into her hands as she felt the salty tears stinging at her fingers and cheeks. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she discarded the small object she held in her hands and grabbed her coat as she ran through her house.

Shoving her way out of her house, she ran to her best friend's house – Kiba's.

He swung open the door and crushed her in a hug before she could even explain. She surrendered to his painfully tight hold, sobbing into his shirt as he gently closed the door with his foot and led her to the sofa.

"How did – how did you-?" Hinata tried to sob.

"How did I know? Hinata, I don't know anything!" Kiba promised, lifting his hands in a gesture of innocence. "All I know is my best friend is running up the steps to my house crying! What … what happened?"

"I-It's – I'm pregnant!"

Kiba's eyes widened. His eyes darted sharply to her stomach. "Whoa … are you sure?"

"Dead sure," she whispered.

"I – Hinata – "

"It must have b-been on our anniversary night!" Hinata cried hoarsely. "There was champagne, and wine, and we were so caught u-up, I-I hardly even knew what was h-happening, and he – we –"

"It's okay," Kiba assured her, stroking her hair tentatively, eyes never leaving her stomach. "It's okay; stop crying. Hinata, you need to tell him. Call him right now."

Hinata accepted Kiba's cell phone and dialled Gaara's number off by heart. Every ring that buzzed in her ears sounded as deafening as the thud of the pregnancy test had been against the bottom of the trash bin. Surreal, this situation. It couldn't be happening. Not to her.

"Hello?"

"G-Gaara? It's H-H-Hinata, it's me."

"Hinata? Is something wrong?" The genuine concern in his voice unnerved her. Chills ran down her spine as she clenched her fist in her lap, summoning all of her courage and dignity to utter the next few words.

"Y-Yes, something's … w-w-wrong … I'm p-p-pregnant, Gaara."

Silence.

More silence.

Endless silence.

"G-Gaara?"

A pause. A rustle. She could sense his tension, his displeasure.

"From our anniversary night?"

His voice didn't calm her any. If anything, it only unsettled her more. "I-I think so, yes. You – you're the only o-one, after all … it has to b-be."

"Of course."

She swallowed. She didn't like his tone. His voice, his abruptness, his calculating replies. "G-Gaara, what are you – what are you thinking?"

"Right now, I'm thinking we can't be together anymore."

Hinata very nearly dropped the cell phone. "W-What?"

"You heard me."

"Is this because I'm pregnant?" Hinata asked, ignoring Kiba's pressing gaze. She bit her lip and cast her eyes downward, at her feet, as she waited for Gaara to speak, which seemed to take forever.

Why he spent so much time stringing together his responses was a mystery to Hinata. He'd never hesitated so much before. Why was he acting like this? Was it such a big deal, that she was pregnant? After all, he'd admitted that he'd wanted to be married to her someday.

A biting doubt gnawed at her heart. But, now he didn't want her anymore…

"Is this because I'm pregnant?" Hinata repeated hoarsely.

Gaara spoke, only after another lengthy pause. "Hinata, you were right. I'm the heir of Suna. You're …" He trailed off, the way she had done on the night of their anniversary. Hinata felt the nostalgia strike her heart with more force than she could possibly have anticipated.

"You said we could be together regardless!"

"You're pregnant. You understand, that as the heir of Suna, I can't be a father yet? Not until I'm married. And I can't marry until I've inherited the village." His voice was a deadly calm.

"What am I s-supposed to do, then?" Hinata exclaimed.

"I hardly expect you to lose the child." Gaara's words brought the stinging tears to Hinata's eyes once again. His cold, calculative tone only worsened the terse situation. "We can go our separate ways. Tell no one the child is mine."

"Gaara-!"

"I'm serious, Hinata."

"Is this for real?" Hinata snapped, angrily. "This isn't about our relationship anymore. You've made it very clear by now, what you want and what you don't. But I can't believe this. You're abandoning your own child?"

"It's not about the child. It's about our future."

"There is no our," Hinata muttered. "You've decided that already. This is about your future. It's always been about you and your future. I knew it would be hard, to grow attached to an heir, but I didn't expect you to t-turn on me like this."

"I'm not being selfish. I'm being reasonable, by the terms of my village."

"Screw your village!" Hinata practically screamed into the phone. "This is your child we're talking about! What about the child's future?"

"Don't tell me to screw my village. Find another man to take care of your mistake," Gaara said harshly.

"My mistake for sleeping with y-you?"

"Your mistake, Hinata, for expecting the heir of Suna to take your child."

"He's your child!" Hinata shouted, at the top of her lungs. She disregarded Tsume and Hana, Kiba's mother and sister, who had entered the room at the sound of her screams, and were presently being informed of the current situation by Kiba.

"He's none of my concern any longer. On my twentieth birthday, Suna is mine. I have little over a year. By then, the child will be born."

Hinata's heart plummeted as realization struck her like a bolt of lightning. The baby would be born before Gaara inherited Suna. There would be no possibility of faking a marriage earlier.

"I … see now …"

"Good." The tone was sharp, though nevertheless softer than the earlier snaps. It came immediately, almost reflexively. Hinata couldn't help but wonder if Gaara's mind might even be preoccupied. "Then we agree. This is goodbye, Hinata."

"G-G-G-Goodbye … Gaara," Hinata sighed shakily, eyes widening as he cut her off the line with a cold click. Her shoulders sagged as she handed the phone to Kiba, who smiled morosely down at her while Tsume and Hana politely left the room, no doubt to talk to one another in the next room.

"I only heard your end of the conversation, but I got the gist of it," Kiba grimaced. "What a jerk."

And Hinata crumpled into his arms again.

March 25th

It had been nineteen months.

Hinata's son was a year and seven months old. He could manage an awkward walk by now, and was capable of stringing the sloppiest of sentences. Shikamaru had been given the honour of naming the child.

"Tch," Shikamaru had groaned. "I don't want to name it."

"Please, Shikamaru," Hinata smiled softly, watching Shikamaru attempt to awkwardly cradle her son in his arms. "He likes you, see?"

"Yeah, come on," Temari goaded him with a smirk.

"Just call him Shonen," Shikamaru snorted. "This kid will have enough problems as it is. He doesn't need a stupid fancy name."

'Shonen' in Japanese simply meant 'Boy'. Hinata could live with that name.

Glancing down her list of groceries, Hinata scanned the marketplace for a booth of peaches. Shonen enjoyed peaches, white peaches. Hinata smiled as Shonen's fingers tightened around hers for balance.

He was dressed in a simple black pull-over sweater and baby trousers. She couldn't afford the most luxurious of clothing selections, but she still preferred to strain her savings for quality clothes for her son.

"Hi, what can I do for you?"

Hinata's eyes scrutinized the selection of peaches and she rattled off a memorized classification and number for the peaches. The vendor nodded and began to pack up her requests.

Hinata fumbled for her wallet as she gently shook Shonen's hold off. "Hold on a moment, Sho, I just need to get some money…"

As she thrust the coins into the vendor's waiting palms, Hinata grabbed the bag of peaches off the booth countertop and reached down to take Shonen's hand. But he wasn't there.

Panicked, Hinata whirled around. "Shonen!"

His dark blue hair was nowhere in the crowd of strangers. His small, waddling form was hidden amongst the townsfolk. Hinata felt her heart hammer in her chest. "Shonen!" she shouted again, louder.

Several boys turned to look at her, due to the fact that she might be addressing them. But she ignored them, continuously calling out the name of her son. Where the hell could he have run off to? He was unsteady on his feet as it was, and small as heck.

"Shonen?" Hinata shoved aside a bulky shoulder and proceeded to weave through the crowd in her frantic state. "Where are you? Shonen!"

Ridiculously unaware that Shonen would most likely never answer, Hinata kept on searching, though to no avail. Through the streets leading out of the marketplace and back into it, Hinata could find no trace of her vanished son.

Her only last hope was the wrist-tag. Shonen wore a wrist-tag with his address printed on it. Hinata could only pray that whoever's hands Shonen fell into, would be kind enough to return him to her.

With that, she resignedly headed for home with the lonesome, dim hope he and his saviour would be waiting at her doorstep.

She was greeted with an empty doorstep, however. Hinata was completely at a loss for what to do. She bit her lip, considering calling Shonen's father for the first time in the course of a year and seven months.

She was fortunately interrupted from further consideration on that particular front as a shadowy figure approached her. She could sense the footfalls coming up from behind; she began to deliberate upon whether or not the stranger might be coming to her or merely passing by.

"Hinata?"

She turned at the sound of her name. The deep voice, so reminiscent of Gaara … could it be? No, there was something unfamiliar. And yet, he knew her name.

"S-Sasuke!" Eyes lingered only for a second on his flawless face before trailing down the side of his arm to where Shonen held his hand. It was slightly disconcerting to see her son clinging on to the hand of another, especially one who wasn't his father, but Hinata thought the overall sight was … endearing. Cute.

"Is he yours?"

Hinata cringed, which did not go unnoticed by Sasuke. "Mine and no one else's," Hinata said sternly, as if to say, don't even think about asking who the father is. There is no father.

Sasuke only nodded once. He attempted to slip his hand out of Shonen's, but the little boy hung on determinedly. Shonen staggered over to Hinata and grasped her hand with his left. Both pairs of twenty-year-old eyes widened.

"I think he thinks you're … his f-f-father," Hinata apologized, biting her lip hesitantly.

Sasuke glanced down at the little boy. Shonen held the slightest of resemblances to Sasuke, but only because of his resemblance to Hinata. Sasuke could only guess that the boy's father had traits that were so rare upon humans that they had failed to show through the dominance of Hinata's fair skin and dark hair.

"Who is the father?" Sasuke asked at last, his tone unreadable to Hinata.

"No one."

Sasuke mentally winced as Shonen's fingernails dug into his palm. "What's the boy's name?"

"Shonen. Hyuuga Shonen."

Sasuke could not restrain the slight upturn of his lips as he smirked at the straightforward name. "Well, he's not letting go," he said, referring back to Shonen's grip on his hand.

Hinata frowned and blushed ever so slightly, murmuring, "I said, I think he thinks y-you're his f-father. If you wanted, Sasuke, you c-could stay awhile…"

"Do I have a choice?" Sasuke asked, a small wry smile on his lips as Hinata led the chain of boys into her small apartment.

The moment Shonen set foot in his apartment nursery, all thoughts of Sasuke vanished from his nineteen-month-old mind and he completely surrendered to the exhaustion of running around the marketplace all afternoon. Hinata smiled subconsciously as she tucked him to sleep.

When she returned to the kitchen, she found that Sasuke hadn't left. To make matters worse, he began to ask her questions. Questions that were simple and irrelevant. What was it like, being a single mom? How old was Shonen? Was she a widow?

It was hard. Unimaginably hard. Shonen was a year and seven months old. No, she didn't believe she was widow. She wasn't even married.

But the questions continued to come without a falter. Even the stupid ones. What's your favourite food? Do you have a job? Have you ever read Pickwick?

Hinata couldn't understand the reason behind his questions, but before she knew it, she was serving him a small bowl of soup and a few buttered rolls on a plate at the kitchen table with a bottle of champagne. She hadn't touched champagne since the ninth anniversary fiasco with Gaara, but Sasuke had loosened her guard enough.

Perhaps that had been his intention all along. Perhaps he had known she would crumble to the comfort of alcohol sooner or later, and he would loosen her lips along the way so as to wheedle her into answering his ultimate question: Who was Shonen's father?

And he succeeded, if so. It didn't matter that he was somewhat of a stranger to Hinata. He was listening, and he was paying her all the undivided attention she'd been deprived of since Shonen had taken priority over her personal life. She was twenty years old, for crying out loud. She was still pretty, and young and enthused.

Sasuke hadn't failed to notice. She was pretty, and she was his age, and she was enthused, passionate about her line of work and her son and herself, most of all. She sold herself in a committed, appealing way that spoke to Sasuke, far more than any other woman had before.

He liked most everything about her. She was easy to talk to, though he was still unsure whether or not that was dependent on the two glasses of champagne she'd gradually finished. She seemed to mutually like him, as well, and it showed in her genuine smiles and interest in whatever he had to say.

Before the end of the night, Sasuke was eventually able to uncover the story behind Shonen. Hinata was an adequate storyteller – she didn't pay too much mind to attention to detail; instead, she began at the very beginning and summarized events in clusters of passing time.

As she explained the events of their ninth anniversary, Sasuke could easily sense the change in her emotions. They shifted within, and her shoulders tensed outwardly. She frowned at her half-empty glass of champagne as she struggled to refrain herself from crying in front of Sasuke.

When Hinata finally surrendered to the pain in her heart, she crumpled forward onto the table, folding her elbows beneath her and burying her face into her arms. Sasuke swallowed and hesitated in silence as her hoarse sobs resounded deafeningly in the confines of his mind.

"Hinata…"

Perhaps he would regret this. Perhaps she would become a burden, or her son would. Perhaps he would never forgive himself for this. But he would do it, because contrary to popular belief, Uchiha Sasuke had a heart.

She was just the first to touch it.

Now, in present day, Hyuuga Hinata and Uchiha Sasuke and Sabaku no Gaara were twenty-two. Hyuuga Shonen was three.

That night exchange between Hinata and Sasuke had led to Hinata's and Shonen's moving in to Sasuke's condo – after all, there happened to be a spare bedroom and a small nursery that had gone without use until now. The two had agreed to split the rent evenly, which Hinata was pleased to discover actually worked with their respective salaries.

Sasuke had not changed much over the course of two years. Granted, he smiled and rarely chuckled; he still smirked and occasionally grinned. He was happier, Hinata noted delightedly, in the company of others.

Shonen wasn't disappointed with the lack of loneliness, either. He valued Sasuke's presence a great deal, which came as an unexpected, though wonderful surprise to Hinata. She had the impression that both males had come to think of one another as their own father/son, though neither would outwardly refer to the other as such.

Narrowly three years old, Shonen had not grown as much as Hinata would have liked. She assumed it might have been her petite frame and Gaara's elfin figure combined in the genetics to slow her son's growth rate. For a three year old, he barely surpassed Sasuke's knees.

Gaara, as Hinata might have assumed, had inherited his village two years prior. He knew next to nothing of his son's welfare, and had allowed the matter to consistently slip his mind over the past three years away from Konoha.

But now, as he faced the housekeeping maid, he was left with no choice but to challenge the past. "Give it to me."

The maid, a small girl by the name of Matsuri, nodded vehemently and approached him, her arm outstretched. Dangling from her fist was a thin golden chain, betraying the inevitable pendant she clutched in her palm.

A shivering shock coursed through Gaara's spine as the cold, slightly tarnished necklace fell into his hands. Hinata. The angel stared up at him with blank, unseeing eyes.

"Matsuri. Get Temari on the phone," Gaara demanded, clenching the necklace into his fist. Matsuri's small form retreated into his office, where a loud buzz of a dialling could be heard. There were a few murmured words between the soft-spoken maid and the inaudible replies on the other end of the line.

"I-It's Temari; she's ready to speak with you," Matsuri stammered shyly, her head protruding from the doorway. Gaara walked slowly into the office and hesitated as he accepted the telephone from Matsuri, deliberating upon what to ask of Temari.

"Temari."

"Hi, brother! It's great to hear your voice again … What've you been up to? Why're you calling?" Her calm, pleased voice echoed in his mind before her questions registered fully.

"Temari," he repeated, choosing to ignore her questions. "I need you to find the address of Hyuuga Hinata for me."

Temari inhaled sharply at the name. She knew exactly what had happened between her younger brother and Hyuuga Hinata; it hadn't been fair of him to shun her and their son like that. Temari and Shikamaru had been few of the first to hear of Hinata's pregnancy, and Temari one of the only to know the entire story beneath the details, due to her relation to Gaara.

"Just let go of her already," Temari remarked snappishly. "She's doing fine without you."

"Temari." His voice lowered dangerously, layered with command.

"How's Suna?" she asked, her voice mockingly innocent.

"Suna is fine. Find the Hyuuga."

"The Hyuuga, now, is it? Just stay in Suna, foolish little brother. Stay right where Otou-san wanted you. Where he couldn't keep Kankuro or me, because we never wanted to give up our lives and loves."

"Someone sensible had to," Gaara reasoned.

"You think you're sensible for what you did to your own son?"

"So it's a son."

"Not an it," Temari spat. "Yes, he's a son. His name is Shonen. Shikamaru had the honour of naming him, as a matter of fact."

Shonen? Shikamaru… Gaara pressed the telephone to his ear and muttered, "I messed up. Whatever, Temari. I know. Just get me the address."

Temari rattled off the long collection of a street address and condo suite. Gaara hastily scribbled down her words on a nearby napkin and thanked her concisely before ending the call. He turned to Matsuri, who hovered like an eavesdropping doe by the doorway.

"I'll be taking leave to Konoha. I don't know for how long. Ask Baki and the council to supervise Suna in my absence."

Matsuri took mental note of his commands and nodded vigorously, a slight blush creeping over her face as Gaara's robes brushed her wrist in passing. She scurried from his sight, flustered, and he left to his personal quarters to pack his things.

He packed a week's worth of clothes under the intention to wash and re-wear with every passing week he might be gone. Aside from his clothes, he brought little else.

The journey to Konoha was generally uneventful and serene; Gaara was accompanied by a single guard squad consisting of two fully-equipped men. Few words were exchanged between the three of them, and they were able to cross the desert in the course of a couple silent hours.

"Konoha should be right ahead," the brawnier of the guards stated, blinking adamantly at the map he held in his hands. "Over this cliff, if I'm not mistaken."

He wasn't mistaken. Gaara stared down at the brightly evergreen, colourful village beneath him, a village he'd once leapt at the chance of visiting in the hopes of seeing Hinata. Now, the sight of Konoha only twisted his insides painfully with its memories. Memories of her.

Gaara instantly dismissed the guards as soon as they passed through the village gates, and they eagerly left to wander the foreign town on their own. He, in turn, began to follow the address on the napkin in his hand as best he could, with several tips and directions from the kind villagers.

He entered the lavish condo with little doubt in his mind that Hinata would be out. It was already eight in the evening, and if he was absolutely certain, she hadn't been transferred or fired from the job she'd held when she'd been nineteen. She would have just returned home ago.

A nagging thought occurred to him. Who watched his son when Hinata was away? Did she have, by any chance, a live-in caregiver? A nanny, a housekeeper, a Matsuri of her own?

Gaara had only to wonder how Hinata – a single mom with a reasonably-waged career – could upkeep a condo suite like this. He highly doubted her dead parents would have left much money for her, and not so much as her younger sister Hanabi.

He ascended the staircase to the fourth floor. Shonen would be three, if he wasn't mistaken. Would Shonen have any distinct characteristics of his own? If so, had they caused problems for Hinata? Red hair, perhaps? Green eyes, insomnia?

Gaara walked the length of the hallway down to the room number four-hundred-ten. He scowled at the brass numerals on the navy door before raising a fist and knocking his knuckles lightly on the hard surface.

Footsteps. A rustle, a small murmur.

Gaara waited patiently as a chain clinked, the lock on the door shifted and the knob was rattled jerkily. Taking a cautious step back, he felt his heart stop as the door swung open to reveal the most beautiful, matured twenty-two-year-old woman.

Hyuuga Hinata. Dark hair, fair skin, light eyes, slender figure and petite frame.

His breath hitched unpleasantly in his throat as his eyes roamed around what he could see of her condo. A pair of man's shoes rested on the doormat alongside her own, and a baby's. A man's sweater, hanging off the hall closet door.

Gaara's eyes widened. Could she be – married? A substitute father for Shonen, perhaps? Did she – did she love him, whoever he may be?

She frowned at the sight of him, her shoulders heaving with the difficulty of controlling her breathing. Her fingers tightened considerably around the knob, but Gaara paid little attention to her ill restraint as another set of footsteps approached the door.

And when an unmistakeable twenty-two-year-old male with dark hair and fair skin so complimentary of Hinata turned the corner with a sleeping three-year-old in his arms, a knot formed in Gaara's stomach.

His intestines twisted tightly around one another as he watched the exchange of Shonen, from the male's arms to Hinata's arms. They seemed comfortable around each other, comfortable with Shonen, Hinata and Uchiha Sasuke.

Sasuke could have fooled anyone as the child's father. Shonen had inherited the majority of Hinata's appearance. They looked too perfect, too flawless, the three of them.

No, Gaara thought hesitantly. No, no; God, no.

Then, Sasuke turned his eyes on Gaara for the first time.

Spleensleeves: Somewhat of a cliff-hanger ... sorry! Hope you liked it; this story will most likely stop short of five, six or seven chapters. Just a short-fic. For fun. Not so much of a serious project.

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