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.

He didn't dare look for the pretty boy now. He prayed he'd moved on and wouldn't catch sight of him with humiliating chains jangling between his wrists.

With the butt of his rifle, the guard shoved him forward. "Keep going. Judge Jiraiya is standing right over there."

Even if the guard hadn't pointed him out, Gaara would have recognized Judge Jiraiya. He'd lost track of the number of days that had passed since he'd been escorted to the warden's office, where he'd met the judge for the first time.

Judge Jirayia had only recently replaced Judge Sarutobi, better known as the Hanging Judge, the man who had sentenced Gaara to ten years of hard time. Gaara hadn't been able to work up a spark of pity when word traveled through the prison that the Hanging Judge had met his maker.

Judge Jiraiya had been reviewing Judge Sarutobi's records. Apparently the previous judge had kept detailed accounts on every criminal who'd appeared in his courtroom and every sentence he'd handed down.

"I don't like doubting my predecessor" Judge Jiraiya had said, "but I think he might have been a bit harsh when he sentenced you."

A bit harsh? Gaara thought that was an understatement. The man had been downright mean, with a steely glare that had made Gaara fear the Hanging Judge was going to live up to his reputation and sentence Gaara to dance in the wind from the nearest oak tree.

"I'm not willing to commute your sentence," Judge Jiraiya continued, "but I'm willing to let you serve out your time under less desolate conditions."

So here Gaara was, his mouth suddenly as dry as the Suna wind, walking toward the man who held his freedom in his hands. Judge Jiraiya had looked imposing and ominous when he'd met with Gaara at Konoha strict correctional facility.

He was even more so now, standing on the platform on black trousers, a black jacket, and a black hat with his dark eyes roaming over Gaara, taking in every little detail of his existence. Gaara was nearly as tall as the judge, but held under his intense scrutiny, he felt remarkably smaller.

Judge Jiraiya pressed his lips into a hard line of disapproval, and Gaara figured he was going to be getting right back on the train and heading toward the Konoha strict correctional facility before the sun set.

"Did he give you any trouble?" Judge Jiraiya asked.

"No, sir," the guard said. "I just wasn't willing to take any chances with a convict."

Judge Jiraiya narrowed his eyes, and Gaara wondered if the man was striving to search his soul.

"Are you planning to cause any trouble?" Judge Jiraiya asked.

"No, sir," Gaara answered.

The judge nodded. "Get the shackles off him."

"With all due respect, Judge, if he was to escape—"

"My boys will track him down," Judge Jiraiya interrupted.

Gaara noticed the two men standing on either side of the judge. With similar stances, they looked enough like Judge Jiraiya that he figured they were his sons.

"And he'll regret the day he was born," Judge Jiraiya finished.

Gaara didn't figure the judge or his sons could make him regret that day any more than he already did.

He cringed when the guard inserted the key into the lock and the grinding of metal echoed around him. Anyone who hadn't noticed his chains before were sure to notice them now. He suspected the guard deliberately made as much commotion as possible.

As soon as the shackles fell away, Gaara dropped his arms to his sides, reusing to rub his aching wrists and give his guard any satisfaction from knowing the discomfort he'd caused. He fought to hold the judge's gaze when he desperately wanted to look away.

"Thanks, Izumo, you can go now," the judge said to the guard.

"But if he escapes—"

"Are you going to escape?" Judge Jiraiya asked.

"No, sir.

They had a deal, and although the judge had no reason to believe otherwise, Gaara had never broken his word. Broken the law, yes, but never gone back on his word.

The judge nodded, and Gaara almost thought he saw a softening in those dark eyes. "That'll be all, Izumo."

"Yes, sir."

Leaning near Gaara, the guard whispered in a low voice, "Keep your nose clean, boy. You don't want to end up back in my prison."

If that wasn't the gosh-darned truth, Gaara didn't know what was. After the guard climbed back on the train, some of Gaara's tension eased away.

The judge gave Gaara another slow perusal before saying, "These are my sons, Kakashi and Gai."

Both men gave him a nod. Neither dared to lie and say he was pleased to meet Gaara. They appeared to be a little older than Gaara's nineteen years.

"We've got several things to discuss," Judge Jiraiya said, "but we can do that back at the ranch. The wagons over here. Naruto?"

At the click of approaching footsteps, Gaara turned his head...and there he was, the pretty boy he'd been staring at while he'd sat on the train. His stomach dropped clear down to his boots. He'd seen him clamber down the steps, heard the awful clang of his shackles, and had to know of his crimes.

"This is my other son, Naruto," the judge said.

Up close he was even lovelier than he'd appeared from a distance. His eyes were blue, not green. Blue like the lake he once took a nap nearby.

Gaara snatched his hat from his head and crushed the brim with his hands.

"Sir." His voice sounded as though he hadn't used it in at least a dozen years.

The boy's eyes twinkled and his lips curled up slightly. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Mr. Sabaku."

Unlike his brothers, he apparently had no qualms about stretching the truth, although he had a difficult time believing a voice as lyrical as his could ever utter a lie. He was a dainty little thing, but he also gave off an air of confidence that came from knowing he belonged.

"I didn't much like that guard," he said. "He seemed mean-spirited."

Gaara stared at him. He'd never heard anyone except fellow prisoners say something unflattering about a guard.

"It's his job to be harsh," Gai said. "Otherwise convicts would be escaping all over the place."

"Papa's harsh," he said. "But he's not mean. There's a difference. Don't you agree, Mr. Sabaku?"

Gaara couldn't think of a single thing to say as the boy held Gaara's gaze.

"Cat got your tongue?" he asked.

"That'll be enough now, Naruto," Judge Jiraiya said.

"You see," he said. "Harsh but not mean."

His mouth blossomed into a smile that stole his breath as surely as he'd stolen money from a dozen banks. He wanted to tuck that smile into his pocket so he could take it out and look at it from time to time.

The judge cleared his throat, and Gaara dropped his gaze to his well-worn boots. He figured if the judge thought he had an interest in his son, he'd put him right back on the train.

And that wouldn't do at all. The last place Gaara ever wanted to go again was prison.

outlawXoutlawXoutlawXoutlawXoutlawXoutlaw

As the wagon rumbled over the dirt road, Naruto sat on the bench seat beside his father while his brothers huddled in the back with the outlaw.

The outlaw.

Gaara Sabaku certainly didn't look like a criminal to him. His cheeks had actually flushed when he'd removed his hat upon being introduced to him. He'd never seen a man blush before, and he'd spent time around a lot of men: his father, his brothers, and all the cowboys who worked his father's ranch.

But it was the outlaw's green eyes that captured and held his attention. Weary. As though he'd seen too much of life and didn't care to see much more.

"Papa, how old did you say Gaara was?" he asked quietly, hoping the squeaking of the wagon and the clip-clop of the horses' hooves would keep his voice from traveling to the outlaw's ears.

"Nineteen," his father said in an equally low voice.

"He looks older than Kakashi's twenty-four years," he said.

"He's had a hard life. Judge Sarutobi didn't make it any easier." He looked askance at him. "You're not to flirt with him. He's not one of the cowhands you can wrap around your finger."

Gaara had furrows in his brow, as though he worried often. He had no laugh lines around his mouth to indicate he ever smiled. Although he could well imagine he had little to smile about.

"I simply wanted to reassure him that your bark is worse than your bite," he explained.

"Until I get a true measure of the young man," his father said quietly, "let's let him think my bite is something to worry about."

Most people did see his father as gruff and uncompromising. He knew it was just his way. But sometimes he could be downright intimidating.

He stared straight ahead, picturing in his mind his first impression of the outlaw.

His brothers were dressed much as his father was: neatly pressed white shirt, black jacket, black string tie, and black trousers. They represented with no mistake exactly what they were: the successful sons of a successful man.

Gaara Sabaku, on the other hand, looked as though he was a complete stranger to success.

His clothes were bedraggled, giving the impression that someone had scrounged them out of the bottom of an abandoned box. Naruto thought the state was supposed to provide released prisoners with new clothes, but then Gaara Sabaku wasn't truly set free.

His britches were torn, his boots even more so. His hat looked as though it had been stuffed into a trunk somewhere. It suddenly occurred to him that it probably had been. He didn't think they let prisoners hold on to their personal possessions.

His hair-the red in a fire-was in desperate need of trimming. He was surprised to discover he had a desire to cut it, and more, he wanted to take a razor to the bristles shadowing his face. But he didn't think either action would soften the ruggedness that seemed to be a part of him.

Almost as tall as his father and Kakashi, a little shorter than Gai, he had wide shoulder and a broad chest that spoke of hard labor. Yet he also possessed a wiriness that reminded him of a starving coyote he'd once seen attack the herd. His clothes fairly hung off his body as though no one had bothered to measure him before replacing his prison uniform with an outfit that would prevent him from standing out in a crowd.

Still, he stood out. Not so much because of the awful shackles he'd been wearing, but because of the wariness that emanated from him. As though he didn't expect trust and wouldn't be disappointed if he didn't receive it.

He imagined prison life wasn't easy.

As a matter of fact, its very harshness had haunted his father when he discovered that Judge Sarutobi had sent a fourteen-year-old boy to prison. Two weeks ago his father called a family meeting to discuss his plans to put a convicted man within their midst-before he'd approached Gaara Sabaku with his offer.

He could serve his remaining five years under the judge's supervision, working at his ranch. The labor would be as hard as or harder than the work he did in prison, but as long as he didn't cause trouble he'd have a semblance of freedom. In five years' time, he could go or stay. The choice would be his.

Naruto imagined he'd hightail it to the far corners of the country faster than a cat with is tail on fire. Not that he could blame him. He knew a little about not having freedom.

Ten days shy of eighteen, he thought he was old enough to make his own decisions, but his father seldom agreed. Since his mother had passed away when Naruto was little, Naruto had no other parent to appeal to. His father's words were the law of the family. Some principles he simply wouldn't compromise.

Naruto wanted to read dime novels; he insisted Naruto read Shakespeare.

He wanted a beau. He forbade him from having gentlemen callers until his birthday-as though ten more days made a world of difference between him bring a boy and a man,

Sighing with frustration at the reminder of his limitations, Naruto shifted his gaze back toward his father. Naruto loved him dearly. He only wished he'd grant him as much freedom as he planned to give this outlaw. But his father was in a habit of laying down rules and having them obeyed unconditionally.

He'd overheard him tell the outlaw that they had things to discuss. He knew just what he'd say in his resonant voice: Don't do this and don't do that.

He'd used the same tone when he'd explained Naruto was to never, ever put himself in a situation that would leave him alone with Gaara Sabaku. He knew it was simply his father's way, to issue orders like some general commanding troops. Probably a habit he'd developed during the War when he had commanded troops. Still, he resented all the rules and the fact that he had to find ways around them in order to have any fun.

Finding a way around his orders to steer clear of Gaara would be a real challenge. He understood his father's precaution regarding the outlaw. He truly did, but he'd never been around anyone who'd broken the law, anyone who'd been sent to prison. Gaara fascinated him as much as the law did.

While his father had been establishing his ranch, he'd also worked as a lawyer in Konoha. He'd watched the town change from a military outpost into one of the most prosperous and progressive cities in the country. Lawyers had benefited from its rapid growth. Naruto had often listened to his father explaining various aspects of the law to his brothers. He'd even questioned him about some matters, wanting more information than he provided.

He'd answered his questions with an indulgent smile. Then he'd say, "It's a shame you have such a frail body. You have a sharp mind and more interest in the law than your brothers."

He didn't think it was a shame that he had been born frail. He simply thought it was unfair that people thought frail people should be interested in easy jobs. Naruto wanted so much more.

He was contemplating becoming a lawyer. He'd even begun studying his father's law books.

He also welcomed the idea of perhaps following in his father's footsteps and eventually becoming a judge. But he couldn't help but wonder if he had it within him to sentence a man to prison. To take away his freedom when he so valued his.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Gaara. With one leg stretched out, he dangled a scarred wrist across the knee he's raised.

He didn't want to think about the shackles he'd been wearing when he'd clambered off the train, or how many times before today he might have been forced to wear them. They'd sounded heavy when the guard had removed them. Heavy and uncomfortable.

He told himself that anyone who committed a crime deserved harsh treatment. Still, this young man intrigued him. He wondered why he'd ridden with the notorious Akatsuki gang.

Was it excitement? The money? The danger? Disrespect for the law?

Certainly, only someone who held no respect for the law would dare break it. Although Gaara Sabaku didn't appear to be disrespectful, he figured prison could beat respect into a mangy dog.

But another reason for his unexpected politeness at the depot nagged at him. Perhaps someone had made a mistake. Perhaps Gaara Sabaku was truly innocent.

The outlaw sliced his gaze over to him, and trepidation slithered through him. He didn't look at all innocent.

He looked downright dangerous.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hi, Guys

I wanted to inform you that this story is NOT mine; well...at least the first couple of chapters. The story belongs to:

"Bleakdesolation"

I found this story and really enjoyed it but noticed, it was never completed, and seeing that it was last updated in 2007 I decided to do it myself. Therefore, I do NOT take any credit for this AMAZING plot whatsoever. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it.