Gifts and Giving

To those of you who read my LJ, this isn't a new story, but it is one that is still in the works. Those of you who haven't read this, I hope you enjoy. :)


Gifts and Giving


Gaara sits in his chair composedly. He holds the parchment in front of him and stares at the words for a few minutes before realizing he hadn’t processed a single one. Sighing, he puts down the heavy paper, gliding his fingers over the smooth texture as he rolls it back up and fastens the red tie.

Trade agreements on wool will have to wait for later. He leans back in his chair, letting his head rest uncomfortably against the stiff backing to stare up at his plain brown ceiling. His eyes lock on the small crack where an errant kunai once landed and stuck, but his mind isn’t on failed assassination attempts. It is downstairs where a small committee is busy preparing for their visiting dignitaries. Among them is his dear friend, Uzumaki Naruto.

They haven’t seen each other for some time. There had been brief hellos, furtive glances and stolen snippets of conversation amidst Uzumaki’s many “small” practical jokes, but never any real time together. Gaara wonders if that will perhaps change this time.

This time the meeting is not purely diplomatic which is what gives him reason to hope. His birthday, his 20th, means he is now legally an adult, or has been one since his birthday was actually a few days prior. Meaning he has been able to legally drink for the long expanse of four days. He has yet to take advantage. He always found it ironic that he could kill a man at five, but not enjoy a drop of liquor to console himself until 15 years later. He supposes it has been to his benefit.

He sits up straight at a knock at the door. He asks them to enter and is immediately assaulted with the scent of roses, carnations and whatever other pungent flowers are pointed at him.

“Early gift,” Temari steps in hurriedly. She sets a vase down on the corner of the desk, using its mass to shove aside the stack of paperwork previously arranged there so neatly. The tall ceramic vase goes down with an audible clunk. Temari shoves in the bouquet held in her other hand, fiddling with the arrangement until she is satisfied. “It still needs water, but here.” She smiles at the vase rather than him, obviously pleased with her handiwork. “That should brighten up the place.”

“You arrange flowers?” She scowls at him, but it is a genuine question. Gaara knows his sister to be many things, but domestic doesn’t strike him as one of them.

“Kunoichi have to learn this crap. Flower arrangement, tea ceremony, musical instruments. They gave up on me after I smashed my shamisen on the fool trying to teach me.”

Gaara nods, satisfied. That is more like the Temari he knows.

“Anyhow, you should be getting ready,” she says. “The party is in hours but people have already begun to arrive.” She stands closer to him, placing one hand maternally on his shoulder. He realizes the strong flowery scent is coming from her and not the flowers. He wonders if the spiky haired boy is attending. “Your robes have been pressed and hung in your room. The bath has been drawn and should still be hot if you go, now.” The last word comes out as a command.

Gaara bats away the hand ruffling his hair. He really hates baths, always has since his perpetual shield of sand always leaves grains sticking to him. But tonight is a special occasion and he has promised Temari he will.

Calmly, he rises from his seat and walks by her. His nostrils sting from the strong perfume she seems to like too much. Orchids. He had almost forgotten. They do not grow in Suna.

* * *

Gaara shifts. The water rolls around him, small waves lap against his skin. He rubs his hands together, watching soap lather and foam like magic between his palms. His skin feels slippery, a different type of smooth than the paper as he slides the soap along his arm. Unguarded. He always feels vulnerable taking a bath. He imagines his assassination taking place in the bathtub- without a guard, without any weapons and not even his sand to protect him. He will fight like an unarmed genin only to be discovered, bloody and naked in the bathtub much later. More than the wrinkled, prune texture his skin will no doubt develop it is the naked part that worries him.

He sometimes fantasizes how the discovery will take place. His sister will rush in and find his naked body and his spirit will die another death from shame. He knows this is impossible of course. One cannot feel embarrassment after death, but imagining it here and now, he does.

Sometimes in his fantasy it is Uzumaki who discovers him instead. Where he would come from, Gaara doesn’t know, but he will be there ready to save him and find a bloody corpse instead.

Uzumaki isn’t horrified like his sister is. Gaara doesn’t understand why, but he covers his face blushing instead. Much the way Gaara does now in the tub.

A sound at the door catches his attention. He startles as though caught guilty of something, though he doesn’t know what. The water sloshes around him, a body of liquid weight pushing against him as he settles. Perhaps it is the murderers themselves, right outside his door. But his sister’s muffled voice makes its way through the heavy wooden door asking him if he has seen his brother.

Gaara chooses to ignore the question. He knows his silence will be answer enough. He begins to wash his hair.



* * *


Gaara stands still as a statue. The collar of his wool robes itch, or he imagines it would if he were not covered by sand. The lights shining seem too bright and make him want to squint. He tries to concentrate on the faces in front of him, recalling the names of important ones and greeting their sweaty, smiling faces with a thank you preceding their title.

He goes through the motions perfunctorily, feeling like a bunshin simply following orders. He casually thinks of casting a third eye to see if he looks as stiff as he feels.

The current delegate is presenting him with a vase made of special glass. It looks like simply glass to him, but he is told it is special. A rare material. Very valuable. Gaara expresses just the right amount of delight and surprise- enough not to slight the gift, but not to show special preference either. Everything is diplomatic. He forgets this however when a very familiar face presents herself.

A girl in red kimono and cherry blossom pink hair smiles at him. She holds only a small scroll offering it with two hands as her male escorts bow politely a few steps behind her. Gaara’s eyes soften, his face relaxes into a smile. His eyes dart quickly around the group looking for the familiar blond locks, but they are absent.

His smile dims a little.

He accepts the scroll and asks what it contains. Sakura gives a wink and says it is from Tsunade herself. Something he will find useful. He relaxes again and really does smile this time. It must be remedies or medical know how. Some form of secret wisdom that Tsunade feels fit to bestow on him and his village. It is a generous gesture. One he is sure would not be offered had their villages not been such close allies these many years.

He thanks her sincerely before handing it to Temari directly. He tells her to guard it personally.

He turns back to Sakura and discreetly asks if something happened to Uzumaki. Her expression immediately turns sour. She informs him with undisguised displeasure that he disappeared earlier in the afternoon. She mutters something about cute girls, but promises to bash his head in when he turns up late.

Gaara smiles at her reaction and bows his head. He is grateful the sand is so efficient in hiding disappointment.


* * *

Gaara’s anxiety distracts him from the feast set out on the pristine white table cloth. The smell of roasted meats, warm pies and freshly baked breads does nothing for his appetite. He picks at the roast and grilled vegetables on his plate. He knows it is a waste, but his mind can hardly concentrate. He keeps glancing at the door and the party of leaf shinobi chatting animatedly at their round table. He keeps hoping their missing party member will join them. He stuffs food into his mouth when Temari nags, nodding to the conversation he is otherwise ignoring.

“I swear!” Temari mutters. She forks another slice of roast and drops it onto her plate. “His own brother’s celebration.” She puts another slice on his place too. “Eat this, since Kankuro obviously doesn’t plan to show up and eat his share. Where did that little…” she begins, but before she can finish her statement said subject of her derision materializes at Gaara’s side and pulls out his chair.

“Yo,” he says. Gaara nods at his brother who proceeds to load up his plate with the many delicacies offered. Temari chooses not to reply, staring at him irritably. “Man I’m starved. I haven’t eaten all day!” He grabs a wheat roll from the basket and tears off a piece.

“Where have you been?” Temari whispers harshly. Apparently her evil looks are losing their effect. She resorts to direct confrontation. “You’re two hours late and a total mess!”

Kankuro chooses not to reply, shoveling a spoonful of vegetables into his mouth. Gaara, curious about his sister’s comment, takes a closer look. Kankuro’s hair is sweaty, messier than usual and his clothes look disheveled. Like he has just finished training and has yet to clean up. A slight tear in his sleeve reveals a sliver of pale skin.

“I didn’t have the time to clean up. I was busy.” He stuffs a large slab of meat into his mouth, hinting that he has no desire to say anymore. Temari ignores this.

“Doing what?” she persists. “You missed the greetings, the presentation of gifts AND the toast. The only thing you haven’t missed is the banquet, you big pig.”

Kankuro slows down his chewing. He looks at her with a self-satisfied smirk. He knows what he missed and doesn’t regret any of it.

“I was getting Gaara’s birthday gift.” He smiles with the type of triumph characteristic of successfully completing a new puppet. “And it will rock your socks off,” he directs this comment at Gaara.

Temari rolls her eyes. “It better be pretty damn good. That’s all I gotta say.”

Kankuro chuckles. “Oh, it is,” he replies cryptically. “It’s what he’s always wanted.”

Kankuro turns away and hails a servant to fetch him a drink- his signal that the conversation is over. That is all they will pry out of him, for now.

Gaara bites into a wheat roll and chews absently. He looks back at the table of leaf shinobi, noting the still empty chair.

He wonders what it is that he’s always wanted.