The Greenhouse [A Gaara Love Story]

1: Hope, If Only a Little

A/N: Alright guys! This story is gonna have less chapters in it (we're shooting for about 15, but who knows) so I'm only going to update once a week! So every Sunday, there'll be a new chapter!

As always, thank you so much for reading and it's wonderful to see you again!!

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"I thought we were done warming up!" Kankuro laughed, jerking just far enough away to avoid her fist, "Come on, Peaches, step it up a notch!"

"Be careful what you wish for," Momoko taunted, a smirk spreading on her lips, and the sparkle that came to her eyes made him just a bit nervous.

At first he did well enough defending the series of sharp jabs and swift punches thrown his way, but Momoko was nothing if not relentless. Years of training, of bloody afternoons and early mornings went into each and every clean hit. There was an elegance to be said about the way she moved; though her training paled in comparison to that of her partners', the entirety of it had been focused on perfecting the skill she executed now. What she lacked in time was made up for in determination, a point clear in the fire that burned behind her pale eyes and the concentrated knot that came to her scarred brow. It was a force to be reckoned with even in the most casual of situations- a lesson Kankuro had long since learned but could never quite grasp.

Despite being a well trained shinobi, Taijustu was not Kankuro's strong point. There was no chakra during these matches, only fists and sharp wit. Though he wasn't unskilled by any means, there was never a force quite so powerful as a woman scorned. Come rain or shine, dawn or dusk, Momoko always came at him like this. Even before her art had been perfected and her skills had been honed, she fought with a fierceness even he scrambled to defend against.

Still, it would be a lie to say that he wanted to be anywhere else. It was just the two of them in the training grounds, with only the sand as their observer, and Kankuro cherished these moments spent dodging clean hits. Even if she did land a blow or two, draw blood or litter his skin with bruises- she was his, if only for one fight. Little could compare to the fire of her gaze and the feeling of being the one in front of it. Sparing was the one place where he was the only one on her mind, and Kankuro would continue to rise with the sun each and every morning for the sake of sharing time between them.

It didn't take very long for her persistent assault to prove effective, the frequency of her hits and fire of her eyes wearing him thin. Soon the space between her blows and his dodges began to lessen, her fists getting closer and closer the more worn down he became. Momoko had long since memorized the signs of his weariness, and when the first exasperated huff left his frowning lips, she made her final move.

She took a steady aim and swung her next shot right towards his face; with the small margin of his recent dodges, he knew this blow would likely land. In a moment of panic he reverted to a less graceful tactic, forgoing a skilled dodge for a quick and clumsy dunk. It was not the first time he had used this to opt out of a hit and by luck it was not the last. Maybe it was a bit unfair, to use this attempt at safety against him, but they only ever stopped when someone hit the sand. With this in mind, Momoko swung her knee up as Kankuro came down, cap colliding hard with jaw.

The impact of her under his chin sent him falling to the ground with a cry of pain, and he landed on his back with a small puff of sand.

"What the fuck?!" Kankuro exclaimed, holding tight to his already bruising chin.

Above him, Momoko only snickered and shook out the tension in her wrists. No amount of practice would ever loosen the strain on her muscles and nerves: a small price to pay for strength.