It's been awhile! I've had this story typed for almost a year now, and like a true dedicated nerd (T_T) I refused to post this until Father's Day :p So, here it is...
There's a lot of guestimating on ages and timelines here~ I went through some quick math, and off of whatever information Wikis could provide...It's all speculative, and just a...long one shot :p
Hope you enjoy!
The moment I saw her I was fixated on her beauty. She really was lovely. Petite, but beautiful. I knew her briefly from academy days. I could pick her out in a crowd but beyond her appearance, which I had studied and learnt so well, I could virtually tell you nothing about her. I sought to change that. She became my goal, my latest prize. I watched her and she gained my approval; I saw the worth in her, and I saw she would be as good as any, if not better. It sounds rough, but for me, this meant one thing alone; I loved her. And I'd make her mine.
I was well liked, well received, by many in the village. I was talented. I had potential at such a young age-all the elders and sensei's told me I had potential to truly be something great. I let this praise go to my head. I was encouraged to do so by my sensei, who only repeated the praise with the carefully thrown in warning of caution. But, I knew the line between confidence and cockiness. I was never one to brag or boast. I simply knew when I was better and when I was matched. In my sensei's case, I knew when I was inferior. But he, like me, would never brag such. Humble men, we were.
But humble or talented isn't the word I'd choose to describe myself. No, ambitious. It summed up everything. It sums up my life perfectly. It was my ambition that brought me to her, and my ambition that ran our family into the ground and ruined everything we had once sworn to love. It was ambition that led to my downfall, all in the name of the village. My ambition damned us all.
I was one to set a goal and strive to reach it. I hated to back down; I never did. I'd rather die during a duel than retreat a challenge. I strived for success and did not take no for an answer. I would mark my prize and work towards it. That's ultimately what she became. My prize. In the beginning, at least. I saw her worth through my stern, distorted eyes and declared she would be my target; my goal. I was ambitious. I would not let up. I was patient, as well. I could take my time, but I knew eventually I would win her over. My sensei, when ever he would, would berate me sometimes for being too ambitious. He would warn me not to set too high of goals. I once told him I'd take his place as Kazekage. He smiled and told me that wasn't a goal out of my reach. In all my pride, I will admit that I smiled like an adolescent the rest of that day after he spoke those words to me.
The first time we spoke, I lost sight of my goal. She was just so lovely. My plan to act suave and cool melted when she greeted me. I was surprised she recognized me, knew me. Instantly, I felt guilty. I could only recall her name, or something close to it. She truly was beautiful. The moment she spoke, I realized there was something else in her words. I didn't understand it then, but it irked me for some time after. I had to practically flee the conversation as I became further flustered. She held herself well. She was kind and pretty and intelligent and she didn't stutter or become infatuated with me upon sight like others. I was charming, I was promising. Well liked, I said. But around her, I became flustered and nervous. Parting, I continued to ponder what exactly I had heard in her voice. I thought to myself how would I describe her, after our encounter. She was beautiful. Beyond physically, I thought on her other qualities. Charming, thoughtful, concerned, gentle, loving.
Love.
Her voice was filled with love! What an aesthetic proposition! My sensei would have laughed his head off if he had heard me speak in my head-over-heals stage of affection for her. I watched her from that moment, and this only confirmed my conclusion. She loved everything and anything. She loved everyone around her. She was genuinely concerned when someone was afflicted and she mourned the hardest when someone succumbed to misfortune. She worried and cared more than I knew was possible. During my more questioning phases of my teens, I pondered if someone could love as much as she did. Beyond those foolish years, I still wondered in amazement at how flimsy and fickle her throwing about love was. People she would hardly meet she would claim to like, and deep down I knew she meant love. I never grew jealous of her shared, spread love. Because it was this quality about her that I found myself loving as well. She loved the village, our village. She wanted nothing more than for the village to be prosperous and in a time of peace. She desired, secretly, for the village, and even the Great Nations, to be engulfed in a time of peace. Of love. She wanted world spread love.
I wanted hers.
My goal was now my reason, my existence. I had to have her. I could wait, I could be patient and take my time, but eventually, I knew-It would break me to not have her. I set my plan in motion. Casually, I became closer to her brother. I knew the importance of family. It was a value held highly in regards to our village, to Suna. If I ever hoped to win her hand, I'd need her brother to accept me as well. The closer I became to him, the closer I became to her. As our friendship grew, bonded, I slowly worked my way more into their personal life. I would attend functions with them, missions. The more I saw of him, the more I saw of her, and vice versus. They were close. Later, she would tell me how highly she valued sibling bonds and the love between a brother and sister, or whatever the combination of siblings be. I was an only child. I'd never resented this fact until her words made me feel like I'd missed out on something my entire childhood. I felt hollow as I lacked the empathy to relate to her experience with a brother.
Not long after, the equation began to dwindle from three to two. Not to say we excluded her brother, nor did I tear him away from her. She just found less and less spare alone time, as her hours became filled with meetings between herself and I. I'd go out of my way- rushing through missions to have more down time, or taking higher ranked missions with larger prices to afford and squander on gifts that I'd shower her casually with (I'd never reveal the necklace that I 'came across at a ransacked village that struck me as something she might be into' was actually half my month's salary commissioned from the artist herself)- and soon even my sensei noticed.
The first time he remarked on my changed behavior, I worried he'd berate me. He'd warn me I was loosing sight of my goals. I was becoming lackadaisical and soon I'd squander all my potential and worth along with my pocket change over some woman. Instead, he congratulated me when I confessed my crush. He praised me in my choice- He knew the girl. Everyone did. She was even more well received than I was- and only lectured me that a woman was an important thing in a man's life. All girls should not be taken lightly. He lectured long and hard on the value of women and their effect in a man's life. He also noted it was good for me to loosen up, and even winked at the mention that it would benefit me in the long run if my goals were still the same. Of course they were. He also laughed to himself at his after thought of how several of the village girls would be heart broken if they ever heard I was considering settling down.
I declared to myself it was beyond consideration.
We grew closer and closer. Soon, those casual run ins, all spontaneously coincidental to her and well thought out and planned on my behalf, became routine meet ups, to eventually improvised dates. Everything was going my way. My sensei, my master, was the strongest man in the history of our village; The Kazekage. I was looking to be even better than him, if I kept training under his wing and kept my ambition and inner fire alive. She was maturing wonderfully, and soon I realized I was not the only one vying for her affection. That was the first time in my life I felt the need to rush. I had to make her mine now or risk loosing her.
The first time I kissed her wasn't all that romantic. Not in my eyes. She would have recalled it as some wondrously romantic ordeal, but I only remember sweaty palms, shivering in the cold night air and abruptly smashing my lips against hers. I pulled away as quickly as I fell into her, and she only smiled. Her face was almost as scarlet as mine, but she giggled it off and kissed me back. I was perplexed the entire time, but when we parted that night I didn't sleep for hours. In secret, we met up more frequently. The urgency to remain on good terms with her brother still scared me, so I would tired myself out. By day, spending missions and hours with her brother in hopes of gaining his approval. By night, wooing and courting her to gain her approval. I felt like I was fighting for both their affections' in my race to win hers. When we officially let our status be known to each other, I nearly melted with happiness. When we admitted it to her brother, I almost froze with anticipation. He warmly accepted me. I'd passed the test.
By this point, I couldn't imagine not only myself with anyone else but her, but myself without her at all. I'd hardly ever relied on anyone the way I now emotionally leaned on her like some crutch. My sensei and I still strictly trained and improved both our techniques, but in our down time he was relentless in his teasing of my state of being. I was so overcome by this woman. I told myself I'd die without her. Eventually, I told her the same thing.
I forged the gold ring myself, right before her very eyes, and proposed to her, then and there.
My master held the highest respect for the elders of the village. Borderline between the elders and the aging youth was Chiyo-dono and Ebizo-dono. My master valued their wisdom and opinion beyond even that of the council, and warned me that I should too. Gravely, he once remarked if ever the time came where he was incapacitated, I should seek aid and council from those two siblings before all else. I didn't like his tone, but I agreed none the less. It was a lesson I swore I'd take to heart.
Frequently I accompanied his visits to the two shinobi. Ebizo was a gentleman, always proper and well receiving of us. Chiyo first found me to be a cowardly boy hiding behind my mentor. She was vile and tempered and secretly I imagined that if she ever got any older, she'd be a nasty old hag. I knew her son well. I would confide in him how ungrateful and spiteful his mother was. He would just laugh at me. He encouraged me to seek her out on my own and gain her trust and approval. I just pouted. It seemed I was doing that a lot these days; fighting for other's approval of myself. I assured myself that for my goals, I'd be doing that until the end of my days.
Slowly, I began visiting her on my own. Her opinion of me changed. I became a cunning lad. She recognized my potential, my power; my worth. A part of her feared me- another respected me. I didn't think much of the words she spoke to me one day, but they would later haunt me. She told me once- Either the day would come when she would follow me in blind faith, or she would turn her back away forever.
When my engagement was announced and official, I stopped visiting Chiyo alone. Now, we both would accompany to visit the old woman, who I'd grown a fond respect for (My sensei again lectured me on that overwhelming effect women have on men; of all ages, he warned). Chiyo-sama adored her. She was an angel, a light. The two women quickly got along. But, I misunderstood this once to mean they were friends. My fiancé assured me rather sternly their acceptance of each other did not make them close. I meant they understood one another. I vowed that day I'd never understand women, never fully.
Chiyo's son and daughter-in-law died during my Genin years, during the Second Shinobi World War. They themselves had a son roughly half my age at the time. Sasori was his name. Upon hearing the news, I instantly grieved for the boy. His parents were well known; heroes to the village. Chiyo was especially afflicted by the devastation. Over the years of my visits to the old woman, I rarely saw Sasori myself. Always holed away in his room or workshop, everything I learnt form him was what Chiyo assured me of him. It was when I stopped visiting alone that I began to see more of the boy. He was well tempered and polite, but expressionless and sometimes very cold. I always felt judged in the boy's presence, which unnerved me, but never did I speak my suspicions. He was polite enough to withstand our company and he rather enjoyed the presence of my fiancé. Not long after I realized how Chiyo sometimes would force Sasori to be included amongst our chats and activities did I realize she was pushing our influence onto him. A part of her hoped that her grandson would look to the two of us as older siblings, or his lost parents reincarnated. She'd never admit as much, but a part of me put just a bit more effort into including Sasori in my discussions, our topics, my questions. I'd strain myself to ask his opinion. He wasn't the most responsive kid, but I felt obliged to compel to Chiyo's unspoken wishes. The boy had grown up too harsh, too cold. Suna did that to a person. Suna was tough and sometimes it backfired.
He was a sweet boy, if nothing else to her. Chiyo and I would never admit it but we were both jealous-jealous because she was the only one who Sasori would smile for. I saw the hurt behind Chiyo's eyes. She confided in me once about the boy's talent in making puppets. I never was fond of the technique but I respected Chiyo and for it I learned to appreciate the jutsu. Once, she let it slip up about Sasori's first puppets-his parents. I bit back the unnerving dread slowly forming at this revelation, instead listening intently to her description on the other puppets. I did not retain much, but I'll admit I struck a few ideas for my own jutsu's improvements in the strategy she spoke of that Sasori had developed.
Once, as we left Chiyo and Sasori's abode to return to our own, she remarked how she respected and admired Chiyo-sama and Sasori-kun. Her eyes lit up, as they so frequently did when she spoke passionately, and she joked how perhaps one of our children should become a puppeteer. Puppeteers make excellent people.
I didn't respond, too stunned to think. This was the first time she'd ever mentioned the prospect of having children. We hadn't really discussed that far into our future. She blushed at my silence, and I grinned goofily. She'd said 'children'.
The night things began to fall apart was the night Sasori went missing. That night, everything slowly began to unravel. It was the action that would tip the scale to everyone's downfall. We were all alerted that the boy was missing, woken in a scare as we searched the entire village and surrounding desert. He was untraceable.
I was barely considered a man at the time of his disappearance, hardly into my twenties. Sasori himself was several years younger than myself, but had acquired skill and talent that rivaled my own. He was powerful, a perfect weapon. Where before his lack in emotion and seemingly hollow self had scared me, now I respected and admired the quality of him. He was the perfect shinobi, following orders and even making a show of it. His technique and actions gave him a name that spread throughout the Five Great Nations; Sasori of the Red Sands. He would stain the ground, the sand, red with the blood of his enemies. I was impressed. She didn't agree with me at all, though. She loved that boy, but the one thing that forever ate away at her when it concerned him was how despite anything she did or tried, that hole in his heart from the loss of his parents could not be filled.
I mentioned he was as strong as I was, and a part of me may never admit that he possibly was stronger. Here was a child, younger than I, who I swore, secretly and never out loud, could stand par with my master. It was a scary thought, but it never was tested. The boy went missing before the two ever could spar. Sasori was powerful, but never once did I feel threatened by his presence in my goals. True, the woman I loved held a soft spot for the boy, but I already knew she loved everyone, no matter what had happened to them in the past or what they did in the present. She had already made her choice in me, and I was too confident to feel threatened by a mere boy. And yes, he had so perfected the puppet technique that even Chiyo recognized he could, and would, easily surpass her. His actions alone made me admire the technique, and my love's words would forever haunt me in that yes, I agreed, perhaps one of our children should become a puppeteer (After Sasori's disappearance, it became an unspoken agreement that we would severely look into that concept; as a homage to the boy we'd both known). But, where as I had the support of the village, that demanding respect I'd gained from under my master, Sasori only held fear.
I did not fear the boy, not anymore, and neither did she. but we knew the boy better than anyone else. We'd visited and spoke to him; we were the closest to him, beyond that of his grandmother, though even that did not mean we even began to have the simplest understanding of the boy. Still, you may imagine how the rest of the village, only ever seeing his dead eyes and blood stained hands and puppets, would have felt about the boy. I did not resent him in the slightest because I knew he'd never seek the position I sought after, because the village would not support him as they did me. I was a shoe in, I knew. Therefore, I never hated the boy. I never feared him. Not to say I was close to him, but a part of me tried to connect with him. A part of me pretended to understand some of the burden he carried.
That all changed the night he vanished. I could not fathom ever abandoning one's own village. But it was never confirmed whether he left on his own accord or was captured. He had several enemies. We all did. Do. It's a part of the Shinobi lifestyle. Grudges fuel the fires of our existence. Isn't that all the Wars are? Searches were held extensively, but to no avail. The boy was gone without any trace.
We were all devastated. Especially Chiyo. My master, my mentor, the Kazekage would think long and hard, quietly meditating on the boy's loss. A part of me felt that my mentor did not hold the boy in the same eye as me. He never warmed up to the boy as well as I had. The woman I loved wept the hardest of any. She grieved over the loss of the boy like any mother would upon loosing her child. I consoled her, but never was she fully the same after that blow. Chiyo, however, as stern and cold as any hardened woman, looked to me alone and spoke that now, she was beginning to loose her faith in Suna. Suna's emotional training had hardened her grandson to become what he had.
I silently promised myself I would not let Suna fall so low. I promised I'd change Suna, when my chance came. Never again would a child be so robbed of his innocence and existence as Sasori had been. I would change the village for the better. I'd seen the other villages; Konoha, even. The importance of education and peace in that village that I admired. I would model our village similar to that of Konoha. I would rebuild this village so that people like her and Chiyo would never cry again. I promised to change Suna.
I wanted to change Suna for her, and for Chiyo.
There was no break between tragedies. Soon after Sasori's disappearance, my mentor, my master- our village's leader- also went missing. The village now was devastated. Chiyo bitterly remarked how now they all felt her pain, but I assumed she was still grieving over the loss of her grandson. Both blows were too sudden for me. Perhaps this was the beginning of my own undoing. Two disappearances, of two of our strongest (If not our strongest) was enough to send the council into an uproar. In desperation, these events sparked our entrance into the Third World War. It was a disaster.
But both of us survived. I'm thankful for that, and a part of me even wonders how. We had no leader; our village was weak and crumbling and emotionally compromised, but somehow we'd thrown ourselves into the war. I remember how this tore her apart inside. If either I or her brother had been lost at that time, I doubt her weakened heart could have handled it. But, we both survived.
To say she was in a bad state is to not even compare her to myself. He'd trained me, raised me. Everything I'd ever learned was through him, my mentor. My vision of the future was with her, and several mini versions of ourselves, running around, chased by her brother or enchanted by him, my sensei. It was this perfect image that I'd foolishly held onto. I swore the day I was ceremonially placed into office, he'd be the one to dub me such. I remained blissfully ignorant to the off chance that rather than retire, he'd go missing, or die, before such a day. It never occurred to me. He was the strongest man I knew. I thought he was invincible. He was perhaps, no, confirmed to be the strongest of our village in it's history of creation.
And now he was gone.
If I was broken, I didn't let it show. Not to anyone but her. She saw how devastated was, how utterly lost and confused. We searched ten fold the times for him that we searched for Sasori. Again, no hints or traces were found. I had always looked to him when I was confused, when I was lost. Now, I only looked to her, and her alone, for love and compassion. And she gave it to me.
The war was met in our defeat. Which was to be expected. We had no leader, no Kage. At the conclusion of the war, the foolish council realized all too late a successor must be picked. Perhaps it was this realization or revelation of theirs that forever formed my opinion of how useless and foolish these men were. My mentor's words of warning to seek council in Chiyo and Ebizo before the council echoed louder in my ears.
There was little to no debate. I was ceremoniously sworn into office, and no uproar was raised against me. The choice was met with little to no resistance. Everyone needed a hero, a leader. They all looked to me to be strong, if not stronger, than my mentor, my master. I tied to smile, but the wounds were still heavy. The loss, the war. She stood beside me the whole time. When I looked to her, she smiled through tears back at me, and I squeezed her hand. She was warm, but I felt so numb. I don't remember what he hand felt like. I only remember clasping that cold, gold ring through my fingers.
We wed officially shortly after. In all my grief, never did I once overlook her love. In fact, the importance of it grew during that war, where on pins and needles I near killed myself fretting over her safety. When it was all over, and my coronation had ended, I pulled on her wrist. I told her I needed her more than anything, more than anyone. I couldn't wait, and she just smiled and agreed.
Politically, it was a good move anyway. My marriage would reflect on the village. She told me herself, after the ceremony, how the moral of the village would rise because of it. The village would see their Kage, their hero, starting anew and living so happily-it would give them hope. I never told her that she alone was hope enough for me, for the village. Just her smile...
Her brother gave a touching speech in that he trusted me with his life, not only as I was his Kage but now that I was his brother, too. He told me he'd follow any order I gave, and that so long as I lived, and his sister was happy, he'd follow me down any path. Chiyo herself attended. It was the most I'd seen her smile since she lost her son, though I assumed most of it was fake. On behalf of Ebizo and herself, she wished us both happiness. On the dance floor, she slipped and threw her back. We all rushed to her side, afraid she'd broken something. When she didn't move, we panicked, thinking she'd died on the dance floor.
She jumped up and yelled, "Just kidding!"
It was the worst prank she'd ever pulled, and Ebizo and I both sighed with relief as my now wife laughed and helped the old woman stand. We both remarked how childish the out burst was, and agreed it was best if she didn't make a habit of that particular joke, else we'd all die from a heart attack.
The good feelings that our wedding produced did not last long, at least for me. Despite my endless love for my now wife, I began to become absorbed with the idea of the village. The responsibility of the village had fallen to me prematurely. I wasn't ready for the position, not as much as I had expected to be. I still had so much to learn from my master, who was now gone. I had ideas and promises, but my plans were incomplete and the pressure was overwhelming.
I'd promised to her I would bring about peace and love to the village. The war was the last thing any one of us, especially her, had wanted. I promised I would not lead our nation, our village, into anything of that circumstance again. I'd promised to Chiyo I'd change the village for the better. I would improve our system and education, and somehow I'd save the youth, the generations after me, as my mentor had failed to do so with Sasori. And now, I promised to my missing mentor that I would make our village stronger. Strong enough to never loose a war again. Strong enough to rise in glory and be so respected and feared, but in tying with my promise to her loved as well, so that no village would dare to challenge us.
I promised to revive it's greatest.
These were my promises. All so demanding, so impossible. I looked and found a single solution to my problems-Shukaku.
After the war, our village was broken. Our spirits had been crushed, but after all that resolved from the war, it seemed our spirits were all we had left. Our numbers had fallen greatly. Our village was in shambles. The desert already is a harsh destination to live. Resources are few and expensive. Our village sought after missions with desperation. Money was scarce. Unfortunately, the prices were raised to accommodate to our life. This obviously had an effect on business. Our own country's Daimyo began to seek the cheaper rates of our enemy; Konoha. The admiration I'd once held for that village now turned into hatred. My wife strongly advised against my passionate growing of disdain towards the village, but this was one, and the first of many, issues that I would hold in opinion against her own. No longer did I look to Konoha as an example. They were competition for our very own survival. Our village was in desperate need of a trump card. Of some saving factor to bring back in customers and clients. Something to raise our village's name again in power and rank amongst the great nations so that we would rise again from the ashes of our fallen demeanor.
Shukaku was such an ace.
My master had trained and taught himself techniques through observance of the beast. His very power and technique was modeled after the strength of the spirit, and he had captured it. But I sought to release it. I sought to control the original, rather than master a copied, weaker version of it's power. I lost sight of expanding my own technique, thinking to control the source of the true great power than to form my own. Shukaku would be the ultimate weapon.
I told few-they would all think me to be crazy. I consulted this to her, my wife. She was skeptical. To put it in a nin of this village? My first choice, obviously, was me. But I was unsuitable. Barely, but enough. No, we needed a new vessel- too much power in one hand meant corruption. I was not above thinking the possibility of becoming absorbed in my power. I knew whoever would serve as the vessel would need to be loyal tot he village, and to me, but with that said could not be myself. No, the glory of becoming the ultimate weapon would fall to someone else, I knew. But who. Long and hard I considered the youth and veterans of the village. Who could I trust with this power? Who could handle the beast?
I spoke to Chiyo of it. She was skeptical and we both discussed in length my decision. Finally, she advised a new born. I'll admit I began to look into genetics and the people of my village. I tried to determine who would be suitable; whose loyalty was strong enough that upon my command, they would willingly sacrifice their new born to the greater cause of the village.
It was her idea, believe it or not. She approached me. This isn't to say she agreed with it any more than Chiyo. She resented the decision, I think, but still she came to me. She spoke that she desired no other child to shoulder the burden of this fate. She would have no other parent watch their child become the vessel, the scape-goat, of the village. She would spare the future, the youth yet to be born, of the village by offering her own in their place. She was so selfless, and though it killed her inside I knew we could do it. If anyone could raise a child bearing Shukaku, it could be us two. It would be ok if we rose the child. We would love it- she could love it, with all her heart, I knew. She'd protect the babe and it would be raised, yes with a demon but not as one. Her love would make up for everything. Our love would preserve the child. It was decided then. Our child would bear the demon, Shukaku.
But things never went as smoothly as we planned. If they had, I would not be Kazekage; not now, not so soon, not yet. There never would have been a war. Our village would still be prosperous. And she would never have cried. Not even once, unless with joy.
The happiest I had been since before my sensei disappeared came when she revealed she was expecting. Always, in the back of my mind, was the anticipation that this child would be the bearer of Shukaku. Still, if I pushed this thought away enough, I could look happily upon my glowing wife and her increasingly growing stomach. Her brother took the news well. We had yet to tell him, or anyone for that matter, our intention to seal Shukaku within the child, but that seemed so far off. It did not matter at that moment. He spoke frequently of how to raise this child. He held a highly opinionated idea on what we were to do about the child.
As any man hopes, I wished that my first born would be a son. A man's pride is greatly held in their heir, and a part of me knew this child had to be a boy. My brother-in-law assured me it was a girl.
When our first child was born, I regrettable recall that I knew and had grown disappointed in that the child was indeed not a match for Shukaku- all before I even knew what gender the babe was.
Chiyo delivered the child and it was a girl. The pang of disappointment that washed over me I hid well. I would not love this child any less than if it were a boy. I just felt a small weight pound against my pride. But, nonetheless, I smiled at the child- at her. She glowed as she held the healthy babe in her hands. I was bitter, but I hid this from her. Not well enough, for she saw through my facade. She knew me better.
She wasn't mad.
When the doctors and nurses left us, when Chiyo had fled to announce to the world of our good fortune in a healthy baby girl, and when it was just her and I and our daughter in her arms, she confided in me. She knew I was disappointed that the babe was incompatible, but she told me we would not stop here. I was not to give up hope. Not until I had an heir, a son. Not until we had a match. Until I had my weapon. Suna's ultimate weapon.
I recalled the importance of siblings, and I was satisfied. I knew that our family would only grow from here.
She laughed, wiggling her finger at the sleeping babe. She told me nothing was the way it was before. Everything was changing. I smiled, genuinely. That much was true. She told me "Everything is unraveling." Like Yarn.
We named our daughter Temari.
She was a loud babe. Even at such a young age, I could tell she'd be strong willed. Demanding. Like a little monster, she'd crawl anywhere and everywhere, always getting into trouble. But if you even attempted to chide or scold her, she'd smile. It was a beautiful smile. Just like her mother's. The child melted my heart. Kazekage duties could not keep me away from my daughter for long. My wife and her brother frequently would visit my office, babe in hand. The child would squeal with joy when I reached for her. I was determined to raise her to be fiercely loyal to the village. Even in her infancy, I would tell her stories of our village's history and culture. I was determined for her to be bright.
The devious situations she got herself into confirmed in my mind that she would become an excellent strategist. I would raise this child to go beyond the restrictions of gender. I'd raise her to be so strong that never would the excuse of female and male roles hold her back. If she failed, it would be because of what person she was, not because the limitations of her sex.
When her hair grew in, and it grew rather quickly, she had blonde hair. Sandy, like her surroundings, it matched her mother's perfectly. Her head bobbed with sunshine. She tugged and pulled at it constantly. She'd pout when it got in her face. Her mother would pull the strands out of her face, tying them up. The child favored function over appearance (This made my heart flutter. She was a beautiful child, but I secretly loved the fact about her that she would care more about her duty to the village and missions than she would chasing after boys). At a young age, she would get her hands on hair ties and very sloppily, through chubby and unpracticed hands, would tie her hair in any number of tails to make sure every strand was neatly pulled out of her vision.
Her eyes were the prettiest shade of azure. I had not seen the sea in years. But, looking at those green blue orbs, I saw the waves in them. This child had such a glint in her eyes, such a light. I'd only ever seen such a look reflected in one pair of irises before her-and that was those of her mother. I thanked Kami that our daughter did not inherit my squinted, slanted eyes. So long had I been aware how harsh my scowl appeared because of my eyes. I never admitted my vanity in how I secretly wished and hoped none of my children inherited this physical trait, but for now I was relieved my daughter had avoided the fate.
In all my teachings of the history and hierarchy of our village to this infant, I was not surprised her first word was "Wind", for the Wind Country, of course. My brother-in-law was deeply concerned in the idea and conception of 'fate' and 'destiny'. He remarked that it meant something, a child's first word. I had always been one to value worth, though I saw little in what worth a child's first word really held. To me, a first word was simply whatever random syllables a child heard repeated enough times and strengthened their throat and voice box to repeat. My wife held an opinion similar to her brother. I didn't know whether the child was destined for greatness somehow involved with 'wind', but I did know one thing.
The child was destined for greatness.
It was shortly before Temari's first birthday that she announced she was with child again. We rejoiced. She would smile knowingly in the months to come and claim it was a boy. A part of me prayed to Kami she was right- a part of me didn't believe her. I told myself over and over it did not matter what gender the child was. As long as the child was a match. For I would have sacrificed ever having a son, instead being plagued with a house of daughters, if just one of them could be compatible to make my vision a reality.
My brother-in-law agreed with his sister. He claimed this child was a boy. He would frequently tell me how much he couldn't wait to play with his niece and nephew when they grew older. He wanted to shower them in gifts and drown them in love, he told me. I snickered. Don't make them soft, I commented.
She went into labor during the night, and was rushed to a hospital to receive our second child. I glowed the moment Chiyo told me it was a son. He was healthy and strong-a big fellow for his age, I could already see he'd be a strong lad. Perhaps he'd take up after his father, become Kazekage or if nothing else a fine, great shinobi. I immediately drifted off into images of teaching the boy techniques similar to my own. I'd raise him to be as ambitious and stern as I. In my self image, he would be humble and a good leader. I was so encased in these fantasies, I had to double take when Chiyo told me he was not a match.
Another failure.
I bit back this bitter thought. No, I told myself, I could not deem this child unworthy simply because he did not match the almost impossible requirements of becoming Shukaku's host. Still, I could not hide my disappointment. My master plan to rise Suna in glory was dwindling with each child passing. But she, she shook her head and looked gravely at me. This was not the end, she told me. We'll try again. I squeezed her hand, but again all I felt was that cold metal.
She didn't speak as much, but I knew she wanted to do everything she could to change my opinion of the babe. I never spoke as much when, again, we were left alone as the others in the room departed to spread the news of the healthy baby boy, but it was understood my growing disappointment in the child. I was already labeling the kid without giving him a chance to prove me wrong. She wanted me to see beyond that all when I looked at this child. She said she wanted to give the boy a strong name. Something powerful, something that demanded respect. We decided upon a name.
The boy was called Kankuro.
The boy was a prankster. If I thought his sister was a handful in her infancy, Kankuro was worse. He wasn't nearly as good at faking innocence as she was. If Temari got caught, she would bat her lashes and smile. You'd feel obliged to reward her rather than punish her.
Kankuro was a brute who would glare you down with such ferocity for interrupting his master plans. He was a trouble maker, frequently causing a commotion. But he wasn't loud. He didn't cry or scream as often as Temari had. No, he would snicker or laugh. Something devilish in his eyes gave away that he knew more than he was letting up. He loved to hide out in the shadows. I would scoff and commemorate how good a ninja he was becoming at the ripe old age of one. He'd set his traps and patiently wait in the cover of darkness until the unsuspecting victim, usually my dear old brother-in-law, would walk into them. I, alert enough to avoid these traps ahead of time, would conceal myself not far from the boy and had to admit his creativity at such a young age was enough to make me swell with pride. He had born under the cover of night, so why not thrive in the shadows as well?
One thing I did not take pride in was how the boy looked. To say he was ugly was not true. Rather, he was handsome. He was hit harder with the baby fat factor than his sister had, but in no means was the boy 'husky'. Just broader. No, the boy would be a charming fellow, I'm sure. I knew as much because he looked exactly like me.
That was what I resented.
His sister had the oval face of her mother, heart shaped. Her chin was a bit more narrow like my own, but her eyes reflected the love of her mother and her hair only provided more resemblance. The boy was my spitting image clone. His hair was my shade of brunette to a T. He had a stern chin, like my own, and his cheek bones gave him a harsh face that he wouldn't fully grow into until he was older. Not to say I nor him were ugly children, just that our true handsome qualities weren't fully recognized until we grew into them. No, even upon noticing these factors from his birth, I still prayed he would not have my eyes.
When he finally opened them, my heart fell. They were exactly the same. Harsh, slanted, small and squinty. Nothing like his mother's or sister's. The resemblance in us both was high, and I secretly regretted this. But I told myself this would only mean he'd grow to be if nothing else half the man I had become. Which in my humility and confidence, I assured myself was nothing short of perfection.
Despite my best efforts, I still was down casted that my first son had not been a match. Chiyo did no such thing to console me at this loss. She would huff and pout and admit she was glad. I knew she still did not agree with my decision to seal Shukaku into my own child, but I? had long ago silenced her on the matter. She still jumped at every opportunity to throw in her two bit, however. She liked Temari well enough, the few times she would visit. She remarked it was good that I was surrounding myself with more women (Again, I painfully recalled the advice of my mentor on the importance of such quality). Kankuro I feel she felt more reserved around. Perhaps the young boy reminded her too much of her still shallow wounds at Sasori and his vanishing.
Looking closer, I could see beyond just the gender that made the child stir such thoughts.
The boy was quiet, but not expressionless. Nonetheless, he was scary at times. I found myself shuddering from time to time at how harsh his face would grow in glee and amusement when a plan went perfectly without a hitch. Or the intensity he would put behind his glares when being scolded. What was more unnerving was how he silenced himself; he shut himself up and hardly spoke out of term. It was different than his sister, who would scream in protest. No, this boy would ignore your scolding's and secretly plan his revenge. At such a young age, he was already thinking like a Shinobi. This frightened me. And, I think, it reminded Chiyo of the harsh emotional training my children were destined to go through. Of the harsh emotional training Sasori had lost himself within. I told myself I'd change things before my children suffered through that.
The importance of this boy's first word was lost, I think. My wife's brother hung around every moment he could spare, waiting to catch the boy's first words. My wife pushed and pushed to have him speak, but he remained silenced far longer than his sister had been. I was rather casual about the whole affair. Not to say I wasn't still instilling my teachings to the toddler as I had with his sister, but I was by far more lenient on his activities. I frequently allowed Chiyo to spoil him by attending the plays and theatre with her. She warmed up to the boy, and in some ways I felt she'd find a replacement grandson in him, which was alright by me for in many ways I had hoped she'd find a replacement son or daughter in myself or my wife.
I was alone when I witnessed the boy speak his first word, which probably contributes to my lack of a translation of it. He either spoke "Show" or "Shoe". I'll never really know which, nor will anyone I told because we could not confirm what he had said after that. Months later, he would add other words to his repertoire, and eventually he'd clearly be able to differentiate the annunciation of both "shoe" and "show" (I made sure of it if it was the last thing I did). Oddly enough, he never learned the word 'mom' or 'dad'. Not for the longest of time. Temari already was referring to her uncle as such, but Kankuro almost rebelliously refused to refer to his parents at all.
It was some time after that my vision obscured. The poisoning of my position began to tear me away from my children. I saw less and less of them as the pressure of the village's well being began to eat away at me. I'll admit, I went a whole week without seeing either of my children, and when I finally did, my first thought upon noticing them had been a bitter reminder that they were failures.
That had been the first thing I'd thought upon seeing them.
I tried so hard after that to look at them as something else, but I could not deny my mind. Yes, they had been failures. They had not been matches.
But I tried to love them. I truly did. I went out of my way to force myself to admit I loved them nonetheless. Love just wasn't as natural to me as it was her.
A year passed. Her third pregnancy was our final chance. She looked so frail, I thought, going into the operation. She was trying so hard- changing her body, training. If she was stronger, perhaps the babe would be, too. I didn't know. I didn't know what she did behind me back to strengthen herself, to strengthen the babe's chances. I didn't know because I always had my back turned to her.
The baby was born prematurely. Far too early for anyone's liking. Where the first two had been healthy and on time, sturdy and strong for their age, this babe was weak and fragile. But, he was a match. Had the other two had been a match, I would have squeezed her hand and cried with joy, thanking Kami at our blessing. But she was loosing so much blood. Her heart rate was dropping, Chiyo informed me. I stood back, near the wall of the room. I was terrified. For a moment, I wasn't even thinking of the babe, or of Shukaku. Of the village.
I was thinking of her. And how right now, I was loosing her. In her dying breaths, she asked to see the child. She cupped her hands near the tiny doll, the thing no bigger than my palm, and swore to love him. Promised to protect him, no matter what. Her eyes fluttered closed as the babe slept beside her, unaware that he just lost his mother.
Chiyo stood by me the day I lost her.
This boy was loved by his mother, even till her dying breath. Even before his conception, we had promised to love this child and protect him where no one else would. As Chiyo sealed the demon into the babe, I watched, helplessly overcome with grief at the loss. I was unaware of what was happening. All I could think was of her. Of her love. How she could love this child, even in death. She would love this child. I told myself I would too.
Her brother collapsed in my arms, crying, when I told him she had passed. Our daughter sniffled back tears, crying out demanding for her mother. Chiyo held the baby boy in her arms out to me, but I didn't take him. I watched under a heavy brow the collapsed man at my feet wail in harmony with my daughter. I only tore my eyes away when I heard the soft footsteps of my first son stumble towards Chiyo, tugging at her cloak and reaching for his brother. Chiyo handed the boy to him, instructing him how to properly hold the boy and remaining on guard in case the boy proved to be unreliable with his fingers. The child was too small to take risks on. But, the older boy was quite steady with his hands. He had good control. He cuddled the boy in his arms and rocked him slowly. Then, and only then, did I feel the rush of tears to my eyes. She was gone.
She had always valued sibling love so highly, and here was proof that it could exist between her children.
She was buried, my gold ring still bound to her cold, pale finger.
She named the child Gaara.
I did not grieve for long. Consumed by her loss and corrupted by my loneliness, I became engulfed in my promises. I had the ultimate weapon I had promised my mentor, silently, that I would obtain. But it came at the price of my promise to myself, that I would die without her. Chiyo, watching me grow father into darkness, kept true to her promise. The night before the birth of Gaara, she'd sparked the argument, the long hidden tension, of her word against mine. She had resented the idea of sealing Shukaku into the child since the beginning till the very end. And when I made it clear what my decision was, she made it clear of hers.
The day came when she turned her back away forever.
At first, I did not know how to continue on without her. I knew I needed to be strong for my village. I could not show weakness now. But I felt the grief through the village at our loss, at her passing. I needed to show that I was still strong. I fought to not appear emotionally compromised. And I became a master at hiding my emotions. Later, I would realize that this trait would be passed down through all three of my children as well.
As they grew older, I directed them down their paths to becoming great shinobi. I trained the vessel myself, the weapon. He was strong and quiet and cunning. He never cried as a baby and would only watch curiously. All too late, I realized he was scary; terrifying. I feared him, I did. All too late, and all so soon, I realized he was not as compatible as I had thought. He was not the perfect weapon I had envisioned. He was too powerful, and too uncontrollable. I was not strong enough. I couldn't do this alone- raise a boy with enough love to compensate the world. He was a feared weapon. He was easily startled, and startling him meant death. A child, a mere boy, could kill a man simply for being approached in a threatening manner.
Slowly, the village began to resent him. It did not help that I reflected their hatred, their mistrust. Gaara was not the controlled weapon I'd hoped for, but a beast. I could not love as she could. I found myself fearing the boy, and loathing his existence. I tested his worth, and found there to be none. He was too dangerous to be near, to be around.
Her brother, his uncle, offered to help. Slowly, I began to push Gaara onto him, more and more away from myself. And at the same time, I pulled his siblings farther from him as well. I secluded him, robbed him of the love of a true family. I couldn't do this without her. I didn't know how to unconditionally love like she did. And rather than try to break beyond my guard and misconceptions, I succumbed to them. I turned my back on the child. I watched as boy my wife and her brother's dreams faded because of my demands. Her children saw less and less of the love of their uncle he'd always wanted to shower them with, and her children saw less and less of love in general that she'd hoped would surround their lives.
I did not neglect the other two immediately. At first, before I was completely lost, I cared a great deal for their well being and character. I had eyes for them as much as for their youngest brother. It was during the time where I still fought to keep her memory and ideals alive that I strived to make something of those two.
It was hard, nonetheless. The girl, Temari, reminded me too much of her mother. She was bold and spoke her opinion freely. And what an opinion! My dreams of raising a smart, intelligent girl were met in exceeding expectations. She was bright and strong willed and held ideals similar to her mother. From an early age she desired peace. I'd occasionally consult to her on her simplistic ideas of what little politics she knew, and was impressed with her answers. She wasn't one to be silenced or to be ignored, and I valued that about her.
But still, this quality made her appear all too much like her mother. It pained me too much to watch her, and so she was passed onto a mentor whom I knew she could learn well from. He was well respected and fiercely loyal to myself and to the village. Without question, he would take an order. His discipline and resilience was a quality I admired in him, and I knew that when the time came, he'd serve perfectly as the squad leader of my children (For I could not imagine them paired with anyone but each other. The education and teaming system of Suna differed from Konoha. There was no academy, no graduating class. Once upon a time I'd sought after a similar system for Suna but in my growing hatred for Konoha, the village I envied and both modeled and resented my own against, that desire was lost). She was no match for the demon, but her affinity made her powerful and rare. A good enough tool for me. She was left in his capable hands and trained in an art well known and respected by our village. It would look good, reflecting on me, to have the daughter of the Kazekage serve as a symbolic wielder of the wind, in the namesake of the country she served. Her mentor was a powerful man and felt god about my decision. I above all else knew the importance of a mentor. His patience and skill gave me hope that when the time called for it, he would be able to do something with the three, I thought. I hoped.
With that said of my opinion in mentorship, it even amazed me how my second son turned out. From an early age, I recognized his skill. He was the quicker of the two older siblings to ably control his chakra, commanding it to his desire. From his toys to household objects, he easily could command them to his bidding. In the finals days before Chiyo abandoned the village and me forever, she did confide in me of the boy's skill. This remark reminded me of her wish. Of a puppeteer child.
I hadn't thought much on it until now, after her passing. Now, I felt obliged to have her memory live on somehow. I thanked the fates in how they worked, if for nothing more than this ironic gift. I presented the boy with the tools and puppets of Sasori, the boy I'd once known and the boy she'd once loved. It lit up the child's face, and I could imagine that if either she or Sasori was present today, they'd approve the decision. Even as cold as Sasori was, I believed that he would appreciate the idea of passing his legacy on, especially to the child of her. She would feel the same.
I never had the boy tested for an affinity, and to this day I recall regretfully that I still have no idea as to what his affinity is. His talent in puppeteering was good enough for me and he was whisked away to learn of it. In the beginning, finding him a mentor was not hard. The Puppet Corps were eager for a child of such noble birth to join their ranks. Despite all that had happened, I was still as well respected in my village as I had been. If nothing else, the loss of my wife had made me more sympathetic in the eyes of the villagers. They jumped at the chance to help ease my suffering, taking my own child off of my hands.
Soon, however, he proved to be more of a handful. Mentor after mentor resigned from training and teaching the boy. They called him a monster, a freak, in his antics and ways. I tried on several occasions to speak to the boy, lecture him, but admittedly it was always half heartedly. Truth be told, I didn't care. And he knew it as much as I did. Hence why he never stopped. I wondered once whether he would ever become a shinobi, with his attitude and lack of a sensei. But, he surprised us all. He seemed to work best when no mentor was present-no nagging teacher to squander his time away with pranks to run them off with. When left alone, he effectively self taught himself. I wondered how he did it, only to find scrolls upon scrolls, and journals, of Sasori himself.
When he'd first been determined to be a puppeteer, when my tolerance for the boy was strong enough to withstand our presence together, I would frequently tell him stories of Sasori and Chiyo-sama. He was always bewildered that Chiyo, who he had only ever known as an old, crippled lady, had been so powerful. He especially loved hearing of Sasori. I thought she'd enjoy that about our son. Through those stories, he gained a great respect for his elders. He'd frequently seek out Chiyo-sama. I did not know much about their meetings, but from what little I heard I learned she usually revealed little, though occasionally the boy could get a good trick or tip on puppetry from her.
Again, I pondered if she saw a replacement of Sasori in my son, but as soon as this thought came it just as quickly faded. She began refusing to see my son any further, and he didn't seem too affected by it. Their casual meetings ended and again he became engulfed in the writings of the Late Sasori (Though if I ever spoke of Sasori as such, he'd inform me I was wrong. Sasori was missing, not dead. If Sasori's image remained living in anyone's mind, it was within Chiyo's and my son's).
I trained Gaara myself, but as I said before, he grew too far out of control. The council, those fools, also saw this. They demanded he be executed. A part of me agreed. Still, the part that clung to the memory of my late wife was horrified, as I knew she would be too. I had to be sure that our son had fallen too far from grace to be saved. I had to test him, test his worth, one final time. I looked to the only person I fully trusted at that moment. My friend, my brother. My final tie to her and her memory. I took him up on the promise he made on the day of our wedding so long ago. I sent him on the suicide mission to test Gaara's worth. To see if all had been in vain, if his determination could overcome the trauma and weaknesses.
I was unaware how close Gaara and his uncle had become. I had turned a blind eye to Gaara long before. I had grown harsher, colder. I saw his siblings far more than I did Gaara, but that did not mean they received any more love than he. I still could not face Temari, reminded too heavily of her mother in those eyes. I felt too distant from Kankuro, unable to recognize him or connect to him in much the same way I'd failed to do the same with Sasori. And Gaara I had stopped viewing as a person from the moment he was born. He was always, to me, just a weapon. The ultimate weapon.
The night I lost my brother-in-law, I realized I had lost it. It was after I had fought my own son into submission that I realized how little care or thought I had put into the passing of the man I'd befriended. He had just been a pawn, a confirmation at how far lost my own son was. No longer, though, were they children. They were a tool, a memory, and a demon. One I couldn't look at. One I did not care about. One I tried to kill.
She just reminded me of her so much.
He was promises and faces I'd left behind in the past.
He was a failure and a menace. A threat to the village.
So blinded I was. They all three grew up no longer under my eye. I casted them all aside and became as much a stranger to them as they'd become to me. I was so focused on the village, so bent on my unspoken promises that I ran said villages and promises straight into the scorching sand. If she could have seen how I raised our children, or neglected to do so-so lovelessly- she would have wept. Perhaps she would have even hated me, hated what I'd become. Kami knows my children did.
The breaking point came at three different times.
The first time came when my daughter accepted her first dangerous, life-threatening mission, and had no remorse or opinion against it. She stood before me, a changed woman, a girl no longer, with a cold glare in her eyes as she accepted the mission. Looking into her eyes, I no longer saw the love her mother was characteristic of having. I no longer saw the light she had possessed as a child. All those years ago, when she'd been so open about her opinion and so against useless fighting and hatred were gone. Before, had I spoken to her on politics and missions and wars, she would stand firmly by her idea of peace. Of love, so much like her mother. I knew she hated the thought of attacking innocents-she didn't want to. But now, she would anyway. Not to please me, but because of her loyalty to the village. She silenced her own morals for the sake of the village.
I didn't know what had happened to my daughter. What had become of the girl who would passionately stand up against what she did not believe in? When did she become so hardened? Willing to put aside morals and what was right in the sake of blind ambition. What had happened to my promise to Chiyo, to change this village, so that no child would ever grow cold as Sasori had been again? My promise to raise this village in peace and love, as I had promised her I would? My lack of raising this child, of changing the system, had done exactly what I had never wanted. It had raised my daughter to become cold. I had silenced her voice and she was now nothing more than a self-serving pawn amongst the ranks of my army.
I cried for the first time in years, flinging myself to her mother' s grave, realizing she was becoming just like me.
The second breaking point came when I saw my son for the first time in his get up. His face covered, hidden by his mask he had chosen as a sign of respect, homage, to his art and craft as well as to label the nobility of his status. Dressed in black, I could no longer trace the outline of his form. He was disguised by paint and clothes and his expression and attitude were so foreign I didn't know if he was human. Sadistic, twisted, menacing. He took nothing serious and all at once he enjoyed death and killing too much. He was a creature from some darkness I'd never known. He was becoming as hardened and fake and mistrusting as the very puppets he commanded. I pondered if this was a quality of all puppeteers that I had overlooked, some trait that had been hidden well by Chiyo-sama herself, or if this trait was entirely unique to this boy of mine. So alike was he to his predecessor, Sasori, that I wondered if underneath that onyx hood of his was violent crimson hair. I could no longer recognize my own son. And all at once, I saw myself in his reflection.
Despite all his best efforts to cast my influence from him, I saw myself more in those mirrored eyes of mine in his than either of us would ever wish to admit. I saw what I truly was every time I watched the boy spar, which was rare, and watched as he took pure joy from maiming his opponent in some torturous way through his tools. Every time I saw blood spill from his tools, his concealed weapons, I only saw blood staining the sand. He would be the second coming of Sasori, or myself, or both, and this frightened me. I didn't know who this boy was, or what part of him was originally him to begin with. He was like a puppet, assembled form the parts left over of myself and Sasori. He was fearless and frightening, and cocky. I recalled a time when I had wished for a humble son, one who was not boastful. Perhaps, I realized later, he took nothing serious because he wanted to defy me. Just as how he was greatly angered when underestimated. He put up the facade of cockiness because he wanted to be everything I wasn't, and at the same time he wanted nothing more than my recognition. He fought so hard just to be seen in my eyes. But all I saw in him was just that- my eyes.
The worst realization I made upon the boy was how he folded in the presence of his younger brother. How much he feared him. I once came across the boy, in anger and solitude, after a confrontation with his younger brother. I watched from the shadows, much as I had done in his infancy when I would admire his tricks and traps, and watched as he cursed the world. As he bloodied his knuckles and dammed the whole lot of us all. Brat, he kept mumbling over and over. He had always respected his elders, but in his hatred and fear of his younger brother, he loathed anything younger than himself. And I was reminded of the day the younger boy had been born. Where no one had wanted to hold the little monster, the demon, except his older brother. His Nii-san. When had my own son changed from that boy to this..?
He had been disowned by his own family, the family he'd loved and cared about so much in his youth. They had turned their backs to him; I had turned my back to him. And suddenly, it all made sense that the boy never learned the words 'mom' or 'dad'-because he never had to say them. He hardly knew his mother, and he never did his own father. All those years of wondering if what Chiyo saw in him was a replacement Sasori, and I'd never realized what I myself saw in him. I no longer had to wonder the comparison between himself and Sasori-for they were both two boys who suffered through the harsh Suna , their humanity chipped away by the village's sinister ways, and left parentless in the process; empty. Suddenly, my dreams of him becoming half the man I was were reality.
I was found drunk and passed out two nights later in the desert after the night I binged upon realization my own son was a stranger and a puppet all in my self image. A monster.
My third breaking point was when I heard myself sigh in frustration at the report the assassination attempt had failed. An assassination attempt...against my own son. And I was disappointed. That he'd survived.
No alcohol or wailing at the grave sight of the woman who surely forsake me long ago could heal that wound, that revelation. Squandering in my own filth, enclosed in my office alone with myself, disgusted. That was how I coped with my third and final break down.
I destroyed our village, ran it down a path of despair and ruin. I'd broken our children apart and carelessly left the pieces, scattered in the sand to never be reassembled. I'd buried my own sanity along with her and that gold ring. All this because I ventured down the path towards her dreams, her image. A village of peace and love and prosperity. All she'd ever wanted was for us to be a family. For our children to be loved. Our village to be strong and safe under a leader.
I had provided none of those. I didn't even save her.
Looking back, my vows to her upon my wedding day all seemed like lies now. The promise I had made her to raise our village into something respected by all had ended in shambles. Our village was crumbling. My promise to Chiyo to change our village so no child would become like Sasori was instead amplified. I put that promise on a one way, nonstop train through the express lane. Instead of stopping any child from becoming like Sasori, I'd modeled my own three after him. My daughter now held her tongue and did as she was told, not as she felt. My eldest son was as cruel and sadistic as Sasori had been in his later years before his disappearance. He was well on his way to be exactly like the boy, so much that every morning I found the boy still here amazed me. I was almost sure he would have run off within the night. My youngest child-no, the demon- was as emotionless and hardened as any parent could fear their child become. He held no life in any worth, not even his own. If he could have ended his own life, he would have done so years ago. A part of me believes he tried. He sought after blood and death, always. What's worse, he did so in the name of her. Mother, he called it, in his sickening, twisted voice. He was no longer human, no longer my child. He was a flesh covered tool seeking satisfaction in bloodlust. I was sure he held more similarities with Sasori than simply hair color (which amazingly enough I actually did have to confirm was not present on my eldest son as well. He, after all these years, resembled me perfectly, with brunette hair hidden under his hood and ears).
The promise I made my mentor had been lost as much as the others. The village was no more better off than it had been when we had had no leader. I had prematurely entered office. I still had had so much I needed to ask him, needed to learn. I never surpassed him in terms of strength. My goals in my youth had been lost, just as in my daughter they had been silenced.
I deserved the death I received.
When I returned to the world of the living, I was amazed. Amazed that she was preserved-she had remained, her image and spirit and dream. Her love had persisted-had passed to our children. I saw this prominently within the demon-no, our son-who had risen to take up my title and do with it what I intended originally. He had raised the village to prosperity. His envision of a strong village became a reality where I had failed. He'd created a village to be feared, to be respected- to be reckoned with. And he'd been loved. Loved by that sister, who with all her strength and opinion had not voiced it against wrong. Loved by that puppet, that reflection of a boy forever lost and the shadows of a man who was a monster.
But she was speaking now. From a distance I saw her, and saw what she had become. The spitting image of her mother. Strong and leading. I was sure she was the strategist I'd envisioned her to become but even more than that I saw it in her eyes. Love. I knew she was and would be just like her mother. Loved by all and in return would love all. Something I had not seen in her eyes, nor anyone's, in years. She stood up for what she believed in, for what she fought for. If her mother could see how our Temari had unraveled to become, if she could see her now...
And he was no longer behind the shadow of the monster, of me. I could not recognize who he had become, and I was thankful for that. For if he had turned out anything like the men I'd known- myself or Sasori- then I truly would have failed. He would truly have been a failure. I saw in him once again that image of the boy who held his brother, and no longer did I question why he didn't run away as Sasori had. His eyes were nothing like mine. Mine were hollow, and now, in my revived state, they matched how I had been when I was living-dead. His eyes looked nothing like mine. His features no longer reflected me, and it had more to do with just his face paint and uniform. It was the love behind those eyes that I ha don't seen reflected in my own in years. It was the determination and pride that he seemed to glow with, and none of it was directed towards himself. Where I had 'humbly' been absorbed in myself, he gave his everything to his siblings, to his village. To his brother.
How happy she would be to know her children stood by each other as siblings. Kami knows they learned that on their own, for she had never been around, and coincidentally neither had I, to teach them the importance of each other.
And Gaara...Gaara was human. That had been the biggest surprise to me. No longer was he the vessel of Shukaku-it was as though things were now as they should have been. No longer were my children fearing monsters. She was no longer a tool. She was important. He was no longer just an image of lost promises and faces. He was his own person, a success. And he was no longer a demon. He was more human that I had ever been. They were no longer failures.
But they had never been. They certainly were not any now. And she had done that.
Despite her absence in their lives, I knew it was her influence, her love, that had raised them where I had not.
My ashes were buried beside hers, my ring enclosed with me. It was tarnished, as gold should never be.
I had been forged, reforged, tarnished, rusted. Underneath all those layers of grime and dirt and sand and blood, there was still gold underneath. But it was just metal. Cold and uncaring.
She'd always had a heart of gold. I never had a heart.
A/N: It's long and wordy and old but I had to post it, sorry :I At the time, I had a lot to say about this. But after months of pushnig this story far from my mind, all I can really think to say is that while I find myself slippnig fromt he Naruto fandom (I'm sorry, it's just...) I still have immense love for the Sand Sibs, and above all else, Kankuro :p So, hope you enjoyed this angsty little ficlet, if you bothered to read throguh it all~
Thanks and Hope you Enjoyed!