Disclaimer: I do not own in part or full any aspect of Naruto
Disclaimer: I do not own in part or full any aspect of Naruto. This is the
property of Kishimoto Masashi-sensei, his relevant partners and subsidiaries. I
do own all original aspects of this fanfiction including but not limited to
original characters and plot. This fanfiction has been published at no profit,
purely for the enjoyment of the fans and the collective good of the series.
Flavours
Two in the morning, and a light was still
on in one room of the house that Sabaku no Gaara shared with his siblings. In said room, the pale redhead sat at the
desk in the corner, the wooden top covered in papers. There were mission reports and pages of numbers, complaints, and
correspondence of every type. And there
was a lot. Things had piled up between
the death of the previous Kazekage, his biological father, and his own
inauguration as the new Kazekage. Gaara
was almost glad he couldn’t sleep; if he could, it would have taken at least
twice as long to get everything sorted through.
Just because he couldn’t sleep didn’t
mean he didn’t get tired, however, and he was.
He had been working on this particular issue since 0600 the previous
day. His eyes ached, his fingers were
cramped, and he wished he could just burn the damn papers, or throw them out
the window, or tear them up. Anything
to get them off of his desk!
With a glare that would send grown men
running aimed at the offending papers, Gaara shoved them to the edge of his
desk and leaned back in his chair, wincing as stiff muscles protested. He didn’t regret accepting the position of
Kazekage, especially when the village was in such need of one, but he wished
there was less paperwork. He’d
certainly be able to survive without the paperwork.
Quiet footsteps in the hallway had him
alert and listening warily, until he recognised them as belonging to
Temari. She knocked on his door, which
surprised him a bit, and opened it carefully when he called her in, quietly, so
as not to wake Kankurou, who slept in the next room. She was dressed in her sleep clothes and yawning, hair pulled
back into a single ponytail for the night.
“How’s you work going?” Temari asked around a yawn.
He glowered at the papers he had pushed
aside. “Tedious.”
She almost laughed at the way he looked,
but contained it with an effort.
Pale green eyes met her darker ones. “Why are you still up?”
The blonde looked sheepish. “I was reading and lost track of time.” Watching her youngest brother’s expression,
she was nonplussed to see a faint, tiny smile on his face.
“What are you working on, anyway?” Temari blurted suddenly.
Gaara motioned towards the papers on the
edge of his desk, eyeing them distastefully.
She picked up the top sheet and scanned it quickly.
The page was covered in numbers and
calculations, with notes in the margins and crammed next to lists of printed
data, all in a tiny, precise hand. It
appeared to be the village’s imports and exports, how much they had made from
shinobi missions, and the average income per capita, among other things. Flipping through the stack, she raised an
eyebrow at what he was expected to do with this.
“Did the council give you a deadline?”
“Thursday,” came the soft reply.
“That’s tomorrow—no, today! ...Do you
have any idea what you’re doing here?”
“No,” Gaara answered hesitantly after a
moment’s silence, and when Temari looked at him, he almost seemed embarrassed.
He sighed, and leaned over his desk,
pulling his papers and writing utensils towards him, obviously planning to get
back to work. He froze and looked up at
his older sister, confused, when she plucked the papers from his grasp.
“You,” she said sternly, “are going to
take a break and get something to eat—I know you skipped supper, because I was
there and you weren’t—and then we’ll tackle this together.”
Gaara stared at her for a moment, utterly
speechless. Temari smiled slightly, and
ruffled his hair, then dragged him down to the kitchen. Another half an hour found them back in at
his desk with sandwiches and hot chocolate, heads together over his paperwork.
~o~o~o~o~o~
Eight in the morning, and the redhead sat
and stared out the window as the village—his village—came to life. Temari had staggered off to bed at his
insistence at about seven, and he’d finished up the work on the last of the
calculations. Gaara still didn’t
understand what had possessed his sister to stay up for five more hours to help
him, but he was grateful.
But she had gone to bed, so he sat in the
sun coming through his window and watched the people of his village. His empty plate and mug from their
early-morning meal sat on the windowsill, white ceramic almost glowing in the
sunlight. He’d never had hot chocolate
until that morning, when Temari had showed him how to make it, but he knew he would
have it again. It was rather addicting.
He didn’t know if he would ever
understand the relationship he now had with his siblings, but he thought that
was okay, as long as he got to keep it.
He had never realised, before Naruto, just how lonely he truly had
been. He laughed softly to himself. Before Naruto. The phrase was turning into a way of separating his then and his
now; but definitively separating, not something like a vague “while back,” but
more like an era in history. Before
Naruto and After Naruto.
After Naruto, everything had changed: his
perspective, his attitude, his whole being.
Gaara thought Temari had realised it first—Kankurou always seemed like
he could only read people in battle—and she had accepted him completely. For some time, he had known that she was
still unsure about him, downright scared on occasion, but she had made the
effort. Kankurou’s effort had followed
after it had become clear he wouldn’t get crushed in sand if he tried to treat
his younger sibling less like someone to be feared and more like a brother.
It was love; something Gaara had always
known existed outside of his own twisted meaning, but had never tried,
preferring to stay stable in his instability.
In his own world, where he could pretend he had no emotions other than
hate and anger and love for himself, and thus avoid the hurt real love could
sometimes bring. If you made yourself
believe something for long enough, it would become the truth to you, he knew
now.
Real love, he had discovered, was
something like hot chocolate. Sweet and
warm and addicting, but it could burn, too.
Now, though, he didn’t really think it was a burn he would mind, as long
as he got the flavour and sweetness that went with it. That would make the pain worth it. If love had a flavour, it would probably be
hot chocolate.
“Gaara?
You there?” Kankurou’s voice
came through from the hallway.
“Yes.”
The doorknob turned, and a sleep-mussed
brown head poked around the door. “I
was going to make some pancakes, you want some?”
Gaara heard his stomach growl, as if answering
his brother’s question. He nodded.
“Okay; I’ll get them started, come down
when you’re ready.” The disembodied
head disappeared and the door closed behind it.
Yes, Gaara decided, love would taste like
hot chocolate.
o o o o o
fin
o o o o o
This fic was for One Word Trigger number
five in the Light set, “Flavours.” I
may retitle this if I come up with something better than Flavours, but I
haven’t got anything at the moment. The
20 Inkspots community is located at http://community.livejournal.com/20_inkspots
; I suggest checking it out sometime, there is a ton of good authors and
artists, and good fics from many different fandoms and genres.
Please let me know what you think. Constructive criticism is encouraged and
cherished.