Baby Baby Baby

A/N: OKAY OKAY OKAY I've been promising this forever and I'm super sorry about the wait, but...I'm still not entirely happy with this chapter. It's sort a stub for what comes next but it *is* important. Sorry about the drop in quality, but in the bright side of things...I'm really happy about what I have in the next chapter.
Brought to you by: Marcy playground 'track 22' and Franz Ferdinand 'the Fallen'.

Chapter Six


The Sarutobis put on a good meal but Gaara was not overly surprised that Hikaru was paying more attention to the company than the food. About halfway through the first course He had looked up to make eye contact with a young girl, just about his age, with dark hair and blood red eyes, and hadn’t looked away since. Every few moments the girl glanced back, and blushed lightly before going back to her meal.

Konohamaru followed his eyeline and grinned, turning to give Gaara a wink.

“Ah, young love.” He murmured, “Looks like Hikaru will be dropping by more often.”

“Who is she?”

“My Uncle Asuma’s daughter,” Konohamaru’s smile dimmed, “He died while her mother, Kurenai, was pregnant.”

Gaara nodded. It was useless to offer up apologies when shinobi knew death so well. It was a lucky child that reached maturity with both parents still alive in a shinobi village.

“Shiori’s turned out to be a prodigy, though.” Konohamaru grinned, “My little cousin knows genjutsu techniques that would make your hair curl.”

“Hn.” Gaara took a drink and picked his food for a moment before deciding that eating was going to be a spectacular failure. There was too much going on. Konohamaru smiled, his lip twitching as he said, “So, the boss talked to you too, huh?”

“Briefly.” He sighed. Too briefly for what had been discussed, but Naruto was the Hokage and Gaara was no longer the Kazekage. There were some things he couldn’t ask Naruto to do, no matter what the import.

“Enma says it was only a matter of time before someone snapped,” Konohamaru shrugged, “Fire Country has been too powerful for too long, and ever since that thing with Mizu…”

Konohamaru didn’t elaborate, he didn’t have to. Gaara had been there himself, watching in awe and fear as the great nine tails boiled the ocean, set fire to the sea and make the earth tremble and gape into chasms that devoured Mizu’s many water crafts whole. He’d been there for the smell of burning flesh, for the screams, and had been caught in the great, cavernous stare of those eyes, steeped in centuries of despair and hate.

“Just a matter of time,” Konohamaru sighed, pushing his plate away morosely. “I almost pity the bastards.”

“Naruto told the Daimyo what to expect if he attempted invasion.” Gaara closed his eyes and wondered if he would have believed the Hokage if he’d been in a similar situation. Would he have been able to look at Naruto and see a massacre on the horizon? Naruto was very young and Mizu’s Daimyo had been very old. Naruto must have seemed to be a child to him, making boasts he couldn’t back even with Konoha’s power.

“What was it he said, again?” Konohamaru asked, pouring himself a cup of sake.

Naruto had never been more beautiful, his eyes slit and his hands clenched as he stepped in front of the Fire Daimyo and said, “Send your army and I’ll send back ashes.”

Gaara smiled, and said, “But there weren’t even ashes left when he was done.”

He spared a glance towards Hikaru to see that both teens had stopped flirting and were looking at them instead, their small faces pale white in the lamplight.


****

After dinner at the Sarutobi’s Gaara grabbed Hikaru and dragged him back home by the hair.

“I want you to run your chakra through this sand,” Gaara said, handing Hikaru the small glass phial, “and I want you to tell me how it feels.”

Hikaru looked a little confused, but as this was a common occurrence Gaara just crossed his arms and waited for the boy to start. Without a word, or a question, Hikaru looked down at the black sand and molded his chakra through the glass.

The look on his face, Gaara decided, was more than worth the years of agonizing secrecy. Hikaru’s mouth dropped straight open and his blue eyes widened incredibly as the sand inside began to shift and slowly curl in tendrils against the glass, coating the inside of the phial in a fine black sheen.

“Kazekage-sama,” Hikaru whispered, forgetting himself in his shock, “This-”

Gaara was not terribly surprised to see fat tears begin to slide down the boy’s cheeks, there was no need to explain further, after all, every child in Suna studied the previous Kages. Gaara rested his hand on the Hikaru’s shoulder anyways, attempting to give a little steadying comfort. He remembered that Naruto had reacted similarly when he finally discovered his heritage and the last thing Gaara needed was Hikaru disappearing off into the wilderness for five weeks.

“During the chuunin exams you bent the mist nin’s kunai without touching it, do you remember?”

Hikaru nodded, but his eyes stayed on the sand.

“He had stolen it from you,” Gaara remembered wincing when the man’s hand had dipped effortlessly into Hikaru’s weapons pouch to arm himself, “It was cheap, wasn’t it? Not the usual type of steel, it was-”

“Iron.” Hikaru’s voice was hoarse, “Made from iron sand… I thought he had just stabbed my armor.”

“He stabbed your chest just over the heart,” Gaara took the phial, lest Hikaru crush the glass by accident, “And with the strength he put behind the blow a normal boy would have died that day.”

“But I’m not normal.” Hikaru looked as if he didn’t know whether to mourn or rejoice.

“No. You’re not.” Gaara knew a smile would solve the dilemma but he couldn’t quite bring himself to so effortlessly end what was a legitimate drama. Hikaru wiped the tears off of his face.

“But that’s why you chose me.” He said, his kind eyes suddenly fierce. “That’s why I’m here and not still stuck in Suna playing cannon fodder.”

“Yes.” Gaara opened his palm and this time when Hikaru snatched up the phial it was with a nearly feral grin, last seen in Konoha by an underfed blonde boy with a short temper and a big mouth. This time Gaara smiled back.

“Gaara-sama,” Hikaru put a hand over his heart, “I’m going to make those jerks in Suna so angry and jealous they won’t be able to see straight.”

Gaara didn’t say anything, just nodded, and left the boy be with this new revelation.

****

“So,” Temari had a fist on her waist, which was never a good thing, “You’re telling me that you’ve been here all this time sitting on your ass?”

“I beat up your fiancée.” Gaara noted that Hikaru was nowhere to be found and continued mending his clothes, “He screamed like a little girl.”

Temari’s eyes narrowed and her battle fan twitched open.

“Is that some kind of weird mating ritual in Konoha?” Her eye twitched, “Because if not-”

Gaara pulled the thread taut and eyed her back, “You’re starting to annoy me, Temari.”

“C’mon,” Temari slid from pissed to whining with practiced alacrity, “Tell me you at least groped the guy a little.”

Gaara rolled his eyes and quickly finished up, cutting the thread with his teeth. If he didn’t watch carefully enough Hikaru would walk around obliviously with gaping holes in his clothes and end up fined for public indecency. After a week of his being able to train more rigorously than ever Gaara was seriously considering buying a sewing machine.

Temari whined again and collapsed to the floor, her battle fan rattling the cups on the table when it followed.

“But Naruto has the cutest little bottom,” She pouted, “Even I get the urge to give him a good pinch now and then.”

Gaara grit his teeth and very carefully rethreaded the needle.

“And those eyes,” Temari made a face, “And those cute little foxy-”

Gaara gave up on the sewing, content to slam the needle into Temari’s hand instead.

“Are you trying to start a fight?”

“No,” She grinned, pulling her palm up to show a bright red drop of blood where it had gone through the webbing of her fingers, “I’m just trying to get you laid.”

“Your help is unneeded and unappreciated.” Gaara snapped, throwing Hikaru’s pants at a shadow lingering in the doorway.”I’m doing fine on my own.”

“Not even a little kiss,” Temari singsonged, licking her hand clean, “But even Kages need their lovin’.”

There was a small, trilling giggle before the shadow disappeared with the sound of bare feet slapping against polished wood.

“Even that dumb boy thinks so,” Temari said, pointing her chin towards the door, “Tch. If even that thick-headed throw-away can see-”

“Enough.” Gaara whispered, feeling his blood instantly go cold, “Or you’ll be sorry.”

Temari looked up with true surprise on her face, her already large eyes widening as Gaara returned a harsh glare. They both knew that despite Shukaku’s absence he wasn’t above seriously maiming his kin if he felt they deserved the chastisement. The loss of Shukaku had changed him, no one doubted that, but there were parts of Gaara that had been molded early and polished to a shine..

“Alright.” Temari said easily, but it was with a soft subservient voice and a slow nod as she splayed her hands against the table. Gaara nodded back and took up the next item for mending, not saying a word as Temari went along, threading her own needle with a small, secretive smile.

Women. For a moment Gaara pitied the idiot Shikamaru.

“So, I bought you a present.” Temari said when they were finished, a pair of pants and two shirts folded on the table. Gaara was still stuck on a pair of his own pants, slashed and torn from another grueling session with Lee.

“Oh?”

Temari had odd ideas about birthdays and Gaara’s was coming up. He honestly didn’t see the point in celebrating his mother’s death and the sealing of a tailed demon into his newborn body, but for some reason the date made his sister sentimental.

“Yup,” Temari reached back into her pack to pull out a brightly colored package, wrapped in a large orange bow. The large tag read, ‘Here’s to another year of making my life hell’-Kankuro. Gaara sighed, nearly rolled his eyes at Tamari’s wide smile and tugged the paper open at the end to slide out a faded, watermarked scroll.

“You’re supposed to rip the paper up.” Temari pouted.

“And ruin the lovely bow?” Gaara snapped back, lacing his voice with irony. Instead of drifting into a sullen silence like any normal human being Temari broke out into wild laughter, point a finger.

“You told a joke!” She held a hand over her mouth at her brother’s glare, but was apparently unable to stop. “That was sort of funny!”

She cleared her throat, and threaded her fingers together. She looked like she had just passed gas and was trying to hide it. Gaara almost appreciated the effort. “Sort of.”

He unfurled the scroll. He did not kill his sister.

Gaara’s annoyance evaporated the very second he realized what he had been given. He could hear his sister’s smirk as she said, “Got it off of one of the seven swordsmen…I swear, those guys are all hype.”

If Gaara was another person he would reach over the table and embrace his sister, insist the gift was too much, unacceptable, but since he was not the sort of person to dismiss an object of value he very seriously whispered, “Thank you for this gift,” and Temari smiled so widely that her blue eyes disappeared from her face.

“The great part,” She continued, drawing her finger down the scroll, “Is that you can share it with your guard, apprentice, ah, person thing.”

Oddly enough this seemed to describe Hikaru perfectly.

“Yes.” He agreed. Some day Hikaru would have the strength, the power, and someday soon. He rolled the scroll up with great care and put the cord attached to its ends over his shoulder. Until he could find the place to properly secret it away the scroll would never leave his side.

“So you like it!” Temari smiled again and Gaara nodded, a familiar fondness warming, “Wonderful!”

Then she reached over the table and hugged him, her arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders for a long moment until Gaara’s tense muscles relaxed and he leaned into her, eyes closing as he breathed in her familiar, sweet scent.

“You really shouldn’t wear perfume.” He murmured. She ran a hand through his hair and hushed him.

“Don’t ruin the moment.” She murmured back, “I love you, my murderous, handsome, wonderful little brother. I worry about you every day, you know.”

Gaara didn’t have to wonder why those words brought a hot dampness to his eyes. Her gift was enough to illustrate that point, but somehow the soft words always weighed more heavily in his soul. Love was a curious hurt.

“Thank you.” Gaara whispered in return, his few tears sliding down her long neck, disappearing into the hem of her clothes.

“You’re welcome.” Temari pulled back and her eyes were large, her cheeks red and damp. “Let’s go get plastered.”

Gaara stood, Temari stood, and they both wiped their faces clean, sniffling pitifully before pulling themselves together until a stranger passing by would never even imagine the exchange.
Gaara nodded, “I’ll go find Hikaru.”

“I’ll go get Nara, the pussy.” She grinned, sparkling in the setting sunlight. She took up her battle fan and disappeared out the front door, whistling a jaunty tune. When the song was gone Gaara kneeled again, setting down the old scroll and letting it unfurl on the table in a flourish. It seemed that the moment called for dramatics and Gaara was always happy to provide.

The first names were faded, worn away by time and use, but as he revealed more of the intricately decorated parchment the colors brightened, the signatures deepening to slashes of deep burgundy, nearly black. He recognized the last name, a man he had never met but had stories of, a man of terror and vicious ruthlessness. Gaara felt a moment of pride that his sister, the self-made genius, had been the one to bring him down.

Gaara bit his thumb and wrote his own name in sloppy characters, his blood dripping as he claimed the first free portion of the scroll. He watched the liquid dry for a moment, letting his eyes wander through the illustrated vines, the mossy trees that melded in grassy planes, and then he rolled the scroll back up.

After a moment, standing in the empty room, Gaara exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and went to find his guard, apprentice, person thing.

It was time to introduce the boy to the dubious pleasure of alcohol.

****

Gaara was cursing his sister’s name and wondering where Hikaru had gotten off to when he bumped into a tall figure walking down the street. The collision made him drop his ice cream. Gaara sighed mournfully at the splatter of cherry/chocolate perfection and then raised his head with a growl.
Naruto’s eyebrows shot up but he didn’t take a step back.

“Where the hell do you find ice cream at two in the morning?”

Gaara pointed at his plastic bag and went to raise an eyebrow but ended up grabbing Naruto’s shoulder instead when he swayed forward precariously. As a result his reply was considerably shorter.

“Ramen.” Gaara said, leaning against Naruto’s easy support. Naruto froze.

“Gaara,” His voice was choked enough that he had to clear his throat before speaking, “…are you drunk?”

“When I find her,” Gaara’s voice was muffled by the cotton on Naruto’s shoulder, “my sister will die.”

Gaara wobbled a little when the scroll on his back swung around and shifted his weight. He was painfully and mortifyingly aware that Naruto’s impromptu one-armed embrace was the only thing keeping him from falling on his ass.

“Yeah, okay.” Naruto chuckled, “Where’s Hikaru?”

“Kidnapped by Mitarashi,” Gaara nuzzled a little, enjoying the smell of Ramen and Naruto’s odd animal musk. “She insists that drunken blackouts build character.”

“You know, I really wouldn’t know.” Naruto’s voice was a little high as he choked through another coughing not-laugh. Gaara closed his eyes, happy and amused in his drunken haze.

“She’s right.” He murmured sleepily.

“*You* would know?” The bag rustled and dropped to the ground as Naruto put his other hand around Gaara’s waist. Then, with a small sniff, “You’re not just drunk, are you?”

“Kill my sister.” Gaara reminded. ‘Just one hit won’t hurt’ was complete and utter bullshit, but he fell for it every time, “I want more ice cream, Naruto.”

“Yeah, okay.” Naruto’s voice was soft, pleasant. “Do you have some at home?”

His hands were warm, his grip strong, Gaara did want ice cream…but he didn’t want to move. He felt brave suddenly, wrapped up in Naruto’s arms, and if pushing his face into Naruto’s neck felt so right, if sliding their cheeks together made him shiver, then-

“Gaara, hey, are you al-”

When Gaara tilted his head and pressed their lips together he could very honestly and vehemently say that he was alright. Apparently when Kankuro said that alcohol was the key he hadn’t just been referring to the pursued, but also the pursuer. Naruto’s lips were soft and a little wet, he must have licked them, and they were…gone very suddenly, leaving Gaara very dizzy and nearly stumbling as Naruto grabbed him by both shoulders and pushed him away. A certain soberness descended very suddenly as Gaara became aware of exactly what had just happened.

In the lamplight Naruto’s hair was bright, his body perfectly outlined, but the crucial thing, his expression, was hidden in shadow.

Gaara knew, with quiet terror, that his own face was lit up in perfect clarity.

“Gaara…” Naruto’s voice was dead, disappointed, disappointing, and it was more than telling when the man who couldn’t seem to keep his mouth shut went suddenly mute as his head tilted to the side and his body pulled away.

The bag on the ground was picked up with fidgeting hands.

If there was one thing Gaara had learned in his role as Kazekage it had been the nuances of body language, and what Naruto’s body was less like a whisper and more like a blow. There was only one thing to do; take the punch.

Gaara straightened his back and reminded himself to kill Kankuro.

“Yes…blackouts,” Gaara put a hand to his head, faking a wince, “When I’ve imbibed as much as I have tonight…I tend to forget things.”

“Do you need help home?” Naruto was a little to eager, his voice a little too loud. Gaara shook his head.

“I’m only a few blocks away,” He said, careful not to bump the blonde as he passed by, “Good night.”

Naruto’s response, if there was any, was lost to the wind as Gaara fled. He made the five blocks faster than he ever had, sliding through shrubberies and over garden walls until he found the one little bright spot in the black street. Music could be heard from the Akimichi quarters, but those lights were out, it was Gaara’s windows that threw off a brash orange as Gaara stepped carefully down the garden path, through a small pond, and up to his porch.

“Gaara-sama,” Hikaru slurred from the open door, “Come meet my lady friend.”

The two were sprawled over the floor. One young blonde woman in purple and Hikaru leaning up against her as they both stared at Gaara leaning in the doorway.

Yamanaka Ino flipped her hair over her shoulder and planted a wet smack to Hikaru’s cheek and Hikaru grinned, showing off far too many teeth. If the near-ping was any indicator Lee seemed to be giving him lessons diverging from the approved curriculum.

“He’s fourteen.” Gaara said, watching the boy’s eyes flutter.

“Best to get them before the post traumatic stress kicks in.” Ino yawned and pulled a small bottle out of her pack and taking a large swig before wincing. “Besides, he’s a Chuunin so it’s legal, right Hikaru?”

Hikaru snored, eyes wide open as he slumped against the blonde’s shoulder.

“Cute.” Ino snorted and took another swig before offering it up, “You look like you need a drink, Subaku.”

“Does your husband know you’re here?” Ino just rolled her eyes, tossing the bottle up so that Gaara had to catch it or let the tatami get doused with alcohol stench.

“Of course,” Ino gave Hikaru’s head a pat, “Choji sent me to take care of this guy. Anko was trying to teach him how to tie cherry stems with his tongue. Called it Konoha Hidden Taijutsu: Original Sexy no Jutsu.”

Ino grinned up, “She had him doing hand seals and everything.”

“Well, you’ve delivered him, so now you will leave.” Gaara only knew about three polite phrases and none of them applied to the situation.

“Actually,” Ino stood, helping herself up with a hand on the wall, “I have another reason for this visit.”

Gaara let a kunai slip into one hand as he raised the other to take a sip out of the bottle. It wasn’t poisoned, he decided, so at least Hikaru would be fine. Unfortunately Ino’s eyes bypassed the motion to look straight at the metal peeking out from between his fingers.

“Another suspicious bastard,” She sighed, “I only wanted to know if the rumor is true…” Her eyes gleamed, “…but if you’d rather fight-”

“Speak.” Gaara pocketed the weapon back away and stepped into the room properly, shutting the door behind him.

“Woof.” Ino replied, smiling crookedly. “You treat all the ladies like this, Gaara-sama, or just the married ones?”

“You have ten seconds.” Gaara took another swig, hoping for numbness, “Nine seconds, eight seconds…”

“IsHikaruyoursecretlovechildandifheishaveyouconsideredjoingingtheYamanakaclanmysisterisabouthisage.”Ino gasped and put a hand to her forehead, swaying a little. Gaara stared.

“Get out of my house.”

“Aw, c’mon,” Ino grinned lopsidedly, putting her hand against the wall. “Won’t you even consider-”
Gaara was seriously considering the best way to crush her skull without ruining the woodwork. Ino blanched and swayed again, looking a little green, and not from alcohol.

“Okay, okay,” She winced, putting her hands up, “I’m going. Tone down on the killing intent or you’ll have the Akimichis-”

Something crashed through the garden wall. Footsteps ran up the walkway, bodies crowded around the house. Gaara clenched his fists, breaking the crockery, but even the deep slice on his palm couldn’t cut through the sudden rage as the house tilted violently to the side.

The jolt woke Hikaru who blinked once, made brief eye contact, and starting yelling in one of the more guttural street-accents of Suna’s tanning district. Even Gaara couldn’t be entirely sure what he was saying, but the general idea was clear even to the Leaf-nin who couldn’t possibly understand. Ino ducked out an open window and the approaching guards of both the Akimichi and the Sartutobis turned on their heels and started running the other way, stinking of fear.

Perfection. Gaara put his arms up and felt the chakra coil and shift, twine deep into the earth, through roots and rock, to shift and grind and touch the core of power that shifted, dormant and calm until he called to it, until he commanded the flow, and Gaara felt the slide, felt every line, every crevice, every slide, and he snapped it, gave it teeth so that the sand would ebb and flow at his slightest whim. He fed the anger, the frustration into its endless maw, he unleashed what was left of the old hate, and when he trembled the sands trembled, and when he exhaled sharply, fell to his knees, the sand welcomed him, wrapped him up in the gentle calm of hidden things, untouched things, that welcomed him with the cool whisper, the barest whisper of the finest sand against his skin.

For one faultless moment giving in to his own despair felt more perfect than Naruto’s admiration, than his smile, because the sand held no emotions that Gaara would ever have to forget.

The stench of fear echoed around the splintered home, drawing closer even as it increased. That was familiar too.

Gaara smiled, let that softness fill him up, clean him, polish awareness down to a shine, and held up a hand that finger by finger, he curled into a fist.

The gentle pressure clenched into agony and in that white-hot pain he remembered suddenly the echoing emptiness of death. The unrelenting loneliness.

And for the first time in thirty years, Gaara’s will faltered.

But the sand continued on.

Next up...Hokage-Sama gets a clue...sort of...
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