The Outlaw

Chapter 1

The first thing Gaara Sabaku noticed when the train pulled into the station was the boy standing on the platform.

He was the prettiest thing Gaara had seen in five years.

His blonde hair was tucked up neatly beneath a black wide-rimmed hat. The tips of his black shoes peeked out from beneath the hem of his pants.

Gaara thought his eyes were green, but he couldn't be certain-not from this distance, not peering through the dirty train window.

The boy jutted his bottom lip into a little pout that caused his insides to tighten. His mouth reminded him of the plump strawberries he'd tasted at the beginning of a long-ago summer. He'd snatched them out of a garden that grew beside a house with gingham curtains fluttering in the windows and a white picket fence. 

He'd convinced himself the pain in his gut was the result of being hungry, not the longing for all comforts the folks inside the house took for granted. He'd forced himself to gobble down the juicy berries and not think about soft beds or clean clothes or a warm bath. The boy rocked back and forth on his heels, tipping his hat slightly down as if he were waiting for somebody. Looking at him prevented Gaara from having to acknowledge the stares of the passengers making their way off the train. He kept his hands tucked between his thighs, so the shackles on his wrists weren't quite as visible.

But people noticed them anyway. He could tell they did, because he'd hear them gasp or whisper hardly to their traveling companion that a criminal had been sitting in their midst.

"Hey mister, are you an outlaw?" a boy suddenly asked loudly.

Flinching inwardly, Gaara focused his attention more intently on the boy outside the window. He was tapping his foot now, his growing impatience apparent. 

"Run along, son," the man sitting beside him said.

Gaara didn't know his name. His guard hadn't bothered with introductions when he'd slapped on the iron.

"Is he an outlaw?" the kid asked again, his excitement echoing around the small compartment. "Is he?"

"Used to be," the man said. "Ain't no more. Now he's a prisoner of the state."

Gaara felt as though he'd been a prisoner of the state for most of his life. His mother had left him on somebody's doorstep, wrapped in a tattered blanket with a note that simply read: Please love him.

No one bothered to comply with her request. He'd been passed around from person to person, never feeling as though anyone truly wanted him. At least not until he joined the Akatsuki gang. Under the leadership of Sometimes-Red-Eyed-Itachi, for a time, at least he'd thought he'd discovered where he belonged.

But the bungled bank robbery had found him sentenced to spend ten years at the Konoha strict correctional facility. He'd already survived five in that reached hole. Now he had a chance to serve his remaining time beneath the blue Konoha sky. He didn't intend to lose this opportunity-no matter what the cost.

The Guard stood. "Let's go, boy."

Gaara unfolded his body and moved into the aisle, and headed for the door. The guard trailed behind him with his rifle held at the ready in the crook of his arm. Gaara knew the man would just as soon shoot him as to see him get off the train, so he kept his strides short, slow, nonthreatening. 

He walked through the door and to the steps that led to the platform. Placing one hand on the railing forced him to put both there because of the way his hands were linked together. He climbed down carefully, awkwardly.