A/N: Many thanks to Scarlett71177 for the support and beta. All recognizable characters, locations, and concepts are the property of Masashi Kishimoto. No copyright infringement is intended.
Chapter 2: Our Doubts Are Traitors
"Don't think the worst of me for saying this," said Kankuro, slouching against the wall, "but peace is boring."
He often came here to speak to me while I focused on other interests. This studio had been built down the hall from my personal rooms in the tower, converted from unused office space at my request. Some members of the council had protested – because no Kage had ever asked such a thing before – but I dismissed their objections as old-fashioned. It was a modest room, furnished with a workbench, a growing collection of tools and glass torches, select pieces of Bokuyo's brilliant stained glass, a small terrace for my cacti, and a pair of chairs. One was empty, as my brother was too restless to sit.
"I do not agree, but I can appreciate your frustration," I said, my attention on the soldering iron I held as I carefully placed molten drops of lead to a foil seam between two pieces of colored glass. "Shinobi are bred for action."
"Then how can you stand it, Gaara?"
It was the hesitation before he said those words that told me what he was thinking. That Father had bred me to become the ultimate shinobi of this village, a relentless weapon with no capacity for benevolent purpose. I did not blame Kankuro. The miracle of my transformation – of my escape from that destiny – was not easy to comprehend or fully trust. I had begun to question it myself, had I not?
"The answer lies in finding other constructive pursuits," I said.
Kankuro was grinding his teeth. "But you're the Kazekage — above all other shinobi. Doesn't all this sitting around drive you insane?"
"I am sitting, yes, but not sitting around. Making windows for the new culture and arts center is a worthy use of my time." I paused to adjust the work lamp above me. "The Kazekage must lead by example, Kankuro, and I will help shape Suna's new future with my own hands. It is what we all should do."
"I've been thinking about today's council meeting," said Kankuro, ignoring my attempt at advice. His tone suggested he was about to seek my indulgence instead.
"What of it?"
"Well, if that band of hellions from Yagukure is trying to start trouble, then—" He hesitated, as if he feared proving himself too anxious.
"Then?"
"Well, maybe I should take a few men and do some reconnaissance — go out and meet them before they can cause any sort of trouble for Suna. Just because it's peacetime we shouldn't get soft, and it would be good training, don't you think?"
I began to run another line of molten lead on the next foil seam. From the corner of my eye I could see he was watching me, awaiting my answer.
"If it is training you wish, I will fight you," I said.
"That's not what I—"
I let him founder.
"Forget it," he said finally, back to grinding his teeth. "I was only trying to be proactive."
"The intel I have received indicates they pose no serious threat, only bored young men with no direction," I said with a smile, certain it would annoy him. Kankuro drew breath to argue, but I did not allow it. "And if, for some reason, they were headed for our village, they would first have to pass through the Land of Fire. Naruto would have the rabble dealt with long before they could reach the Wind's border. There is no action we need take."
Kankuro pounded the back of his head against the wall several times and growled. "I'm just not like you, Gaara. Not the new you, anyway. I can't be satisfied like this."
"Like this?" I stopped my work for a moment and looked him in the eye. "What do you mean?"
"I mean all this arty stuff," he said, waving his hand impatiently at the room. "I mean the cactus growing and the yoga. The meditation. This stained glass stuff and the daily music appreciation hour. The celibacy. I can't do it. I'm not…I'm not a monk."
I had not expected him to strike a nerve.
My recovery had allowed a closeness with my siblings that I could not enjoy in my former life. For so long I had kept to myself, torturing anyone who strayed too close. Kankuro and Temari had endured, then forgiven and accepted me – all gifts of the spirit I would not take for granted. But despite the bond I now shared with my brother, his boldness often shocked me. There were boundaries that I, Gaara, might be willing to cross that the Kazekage should not. I was still learning how to speak of private matters.
"I am no monk, Kankuro. You, of all people, should know this," I said.
I did not mean my history as a demonic sociopath. Kankuro had not failed to mention the most recent evidence of my worldly inclinations whenever he could. It amused him greatly, and eventually I was forced to forbid him from speaking the words 'prickly pear' in my presence.
"It's not the absence of lust that makes someone a monk, Gaara," he said, unusually to the point. "It's knowing lust — wanting something — someone — but choosing to deny yourself that pleasure. That's the very definition of monk."
It was my turn to founder.
"I am not denying myself. I—"
"Oh, right, right, right," he said, interrupting. He snapped his finger and thumped the heel of his hand against his forehead in mock forgetfulness. "That's why you sent her away. Because you're not denying yourself."
Her? When had Matsuri become her?
I remained silent, unable to think of a comfortable response that was not an outright lie.
"Big deal. So you're hot for a girl," Kankuro went on casually, gripping the back of the empty chair and leaning forward. His boredom appeared to have vanished for the time being, as he considered this subject one of his areas of expertise. "It happens." He laughed. "Hell, it's happened to me with two different girls this week. Why are you making it a problem?"
"You don't understand."
"Then enlighten me."
He met my gaze unwaveringly, and for the first time I considered sharing my thoughts…considered revealing the feelings and fears I have had for Matsuri these last months. I sought the counsel of others when it came to the welfare of Suna; was Matsuri not as important to me as the village? Had Kankuro not earned my absolute trust? Perhaps I could confide in him, if only I knew what to say.
The soldering iron suddenly felt very hot in my hand. I set it and the lead solder on the workbench to cool, and faced my brother once more.
"I am not a normal man."
Kankuro laughed again. "That's really ironic, you know? Because admitting you want Matsuri is by far the most normal thing you've ever told me about yourself."
Had I admitted I wanted her? Even to myself?
"I am the Kazekage." Uneasy now, I rose and moved to stand at the archway to the terrace, the view of the sun setting on the village serving to remind me of my responsibilities. "I am in a position to admit nothing."
"Well, granted, the rest of us mere mortals aren't so elite or sophisticated."
I stared straight ahead and said, "I don't understand what that is supposed to mean."
"It means that I would have put her shapely assprint in the sand a long time ago — no soul-searching required."
"Kankuro."
"My point is," he said, dismissing my warning as easily as his own crudeness, "only you would go this far to resist her. And I get it — to a certain extent. You have to worry about the burden. About being a symbol. You're under constant scrutiny. It's about control."
"Yes."
"But Gaara, no one — not even the uptight council — expects you to live this way. You're right — you're the Kazekage, not some temple priest sworn to renounce the sins of the flesh. You're allowed to have a life."
"The flesh is a realm I know well," I said.
"Okay, that's interesting," said Kankuro, jumping to the easiest, most juvenile explanation. "Have you been holding out on me? Is there something you haven't told me?"
"There is much you do not know."
I had my brother's full attention as he waited for me to continue, and yet I did not know how to explain. At this moment Kankuro still believed, as I once had, that all the dark thoughts within my mind had gone. That I was changed. He knew nothing of my renewed conflict, and telling the truth about it now was a risk.
I closed my eyes and recalled the festival dance once more, bringing the sensation of madness to the edge of my mind so that I might try to describe it.
"It began the night of the last festival," I said, my voice suddenly unfamiliar to my own ear. "When I watched Matsuri dance. I lost control."
"What happened? What did you do, Gaara?"
The feeling behind his words seemed more curiosity than concern. Arms folded, I returned my gaze to the expanse of the desert, watching the thin clouds of dust and sand blowing along the ground.
"My thoughts and reason blurred — darkened until I could think of nothing but her — her body — the blood that heated her flesh, and the spirit within her. I — I was not myself." Confusion and shame made my throat too dry to speak without pain. "I burned, Kankuro, as if Shukaku was still there — whispering in my mind. Controlling me."
"You — you wanted her blood? To kill her?" he said, his voice a near-whisper.
Now he was concerned, and it sounded as if he had pushed off from the wall and was standing closer.
"I don't know."
"Don't know? What do you mean you don't know?"
"I do not know the words to express what I felt."
"This is pretty important, Gaara," Kankuro said gravely. "I think you need to try."
He was right. It was important. Important that I hold myself accountable. Gathering my thoughts and the necessary courage to continue, I took a moment to pray for the return of my better self. For a return to the days when I was free and knew nothing of this madness.
"I wanted to…own her. To overpower her, and then taste…consume her…defile her. I—"
My brother's laughter abruptly filled the room. The pang of humiliation I felt at having trusted him quickly flared to anger, and I turned to face him. His hand was already raised to plead for my forgiveness.
"Why do you laugh?" I demanded.
"Sorry, sorry. I'm sorry," he said, but I did not believe him. He was wearing Father's smile again. "It's just that — well, defile is a monk's word, but other than that you just described what every man feels when he sees a woman he wants to, uh, have sex with."
I knew how Kankuro and his friends viewed women – the tactless things they often said and did to them – and knew he was cleaning up his language for my benefit. Not because I was the Kazekage, but because of his assumption that I was naïve. It only proved that he still did not understand, nor did he realize the full scope of my past depravity.
"It was not simply about sex," I said, unable to hide my disillusionment. "It was something else. Something frightening to me."
"I'm sorry, Gaara," Kankuro said soberly. "I won't laugh again. I want to help."
I turned away again, not willing to let him read my expression. The shadows cast by the rows of homes and shops were stretching and merging, and in an hour's time the village would be swallowed by the night.
"When I was one with Shukaku…my inner world was a morbid wilderness of chaos and lust, and for many years I indulged every horrifying whim and fantasy — desperate to fill the loneliness and find purpose in my existence. Naruto showed me the path out of that darkness, and then — when I died and was given life again — I was finally liberated. I could be a truly decent man. More than the sum of my past actions. I could be deserving of love."
"And now?"
"That night of the festival…the chaos and lust returned, and every day since I have feared for Matsuri."
"Only Matsuri?" Kankuro asked, as if he were collecting data for an equation.
"Yes."
"So you sent her away."
"Yes."
"Okay, but—"
He was about to smooth it all away, to find an easy explanation, but I refused to hear it. I began to pace like a caged animal.
"She is my friend, Kankuro. Don't you understand? A fatherless girl who has placed her trust in me. What man is there to protect her if it is the Kazekage himself who puts her in the greatest danger?"
Kankuro blocked my path and I was forced to meet his gaze.
"So the night of the festival you wanted to kill Matsuri?" He stared without flinching, trying to read me. Trying to see into my soul. "And every day since you've wanted to kill her? Think about it, Gaara. Is that what you're saying?"
Tears stung my eyes.
"Is it?" He was close to shouting.
"I don't know!"
Kankuro was pressing me in way he had never dared before, and I did not know how to answer his questions. I raked claw-like fingers through my hair and shut my eyes against the idea. The image of Matsuri's beautiful face loomed in my mind – her laughter and soft touch, the smell of her perfume perfectly preserved in my memory. I could not bear the thought of hurting her.
I had to restore my sense of calm. Where was my honor? My bravery? This was no way for the Kazekage to behave, even in the privacy of his own rooms. Fear and misery would not dictate my actions. Taking a deep breath, I chose to stand straight and face my brother. To face the truth.
"All I know, Kankuro, is that when I am near her the madness is intolerable and I cannot control myself. I need, somehow, to take her flesh and spirit into my own — as if — as if she has become the new meaning of my existence. That urge confuses me — frightens me — as I have not felt such an imperative since Shukaku's demands for blood. I don't know what else it could mean."
Kankuro took several steps back then, as if he no longer had a reason to challenge me. Rubbing his hand across the back of his neck in an almost defeated way, he whistled.
"I don't blame you for being scared," he said. "You're right — it's a hell of a frightening thing."
I was disappointed by the finality of his statement. Was there nothing that could be done?
"In what way is that helping me?"
"Oh, it's not." Apparently Kankuro forgot he had agreed not to laugh again. "I think you're already beyond help."
Out of patience for this practice of confession, I moved onto the terrace and pretended to examine each of my cacti. "As usual, I do not understand what you mean, or what you find so amusing," I said.
Kankuro had followed me and was standing in the archway now. "You say you don't know what else this feeling for Matsuri could mean, but I do," he said.
I reached tiny Ki-chan, Matsuri's cactus, on the end of the middle shelf. I tested the strength of its tender spines with the tip of my finger, watching them shine in the fading sunlight.
"And?"
"Well, I hate to be the one to break the news to you, brother, but you don't want to kill Matsuri," Kankuro said, a strange lilt in his voice. "You're in love with her."
It was late.
I had been here, lying on the roof of the new cultural center for some hours now. Long enough that the moon was high in the sky. Long enough that sand had gathered and become charged, like metal shavings on a magnet, and formed a perfect outline around my body. I had been here long enough. But after Kankuro's visit I had needed the escape, to be alone with my thoughts and the plans I had for the future.
Neither were the same as they had been when this day began.
At first I had sought refuge in the company of Bokuyo, the artisan whose handcrafted stained glass graced the windows I was making for this building. He took me to his workshop again; it was little more than a cave in the dense clay of the southern cliffs, with a vented furnace large enough to heat several types of molten glass at a time. A practitioner of the rarest form of alchemy, Bokuyo blended our native sand with precious metals and his own chakra to create thin panes of glass, the colors and texture beyond nature itself. His family had been making glass in Suna for many generations, and I was proud to honor their service in a new way.
Then Mariko, Bokuyo's wife, had insisted I share their evening meal. I could not dishonor them with a refusal. It was pleasant, at least until she served fig yokan for dessert. But I finished it before I bowed and left, proving that I could master my disgust when necessary. It was more tolerance than I had been able to show my brother earlier.
Kankuro had gone on to say that Temari had predicted my feelings for Matsuri from the beginning. That they had made a bet between them – a bet Kankuro had lost today with my so-called admission of love. It was upon those words I had ordered him from my sight. Temari was fortunate to be in Konoha with the Nara clan; by the time she returned my wrath will have faded.
And I was punishing Kankuro too harshly, I knew. He had begged me to see the humor in it but I could not. It wasn't his fault. I could not expect him to understand what I did not understand myself.
Who was I to love an innocent girl?
This chaos – the aching need – it had deepened the stain of my shameful past. In the beginning I was a victim, yes. I was Shukaku's defenseless puppet. But in time that changed and Shukaku became my excuse. It was I, Gaara, who committed those unspeakable acts. It was I who had satisfied every dark, violating need – terrors that only I and the beast now sealed away had survived. Such a stain should never mark another soul.
I believed in my reclamation. I was changed. Repentant. But could I swear on Matsuri's life that would always be so?
She was safe from me for now.
The desert had cooled along with my temper, and despite the moon the night was rich and dark, the stars more like jewels than I remembered. How many sleepless hours had I spent, fearing for my soul and staring at the heavens, searching the inky blackness for relief? I found no more now than I had then.
I left for home, wind singing in my ears as I skimmed a few rooftops along the way. The homes and businesses were dark, the villagers long asleep. Apart from the manned guard posts, I might have been the last person still awake.
A bedside lamp had been left on for me, and the moment I landed on the window ledge of my private room I saw Matsuri's letter. Kankuro had gone through the post and found it, I was sure, slipping it under my door as a way of making amends.
I would apologize to him tomorrow.
Jumping down, I removed my sandals and put them in the hallway outside the door. It was a signal to the staff not to enter my rooms; a signal that I was at home and did not wish to be interrupted. As was the custom, the pale silken sheets on my bed had been turned down, and the sheer curtains – meant for privacy and protection from insects – had been lowered.
Sleep could wait. I would read her letter now. Drawing the curtain back, I sat on the edge of the bed, carefully unfolding the paper and leaning into the light…
Dear Kazekage-sama,
I want to believe my visit here is going well, but I don't know for certain. It isn't easy to tell.
This is such a different world. The culture here is more like a competitive military camp than a growing community. Everything is structured and ordered, graded for its purpose and utility rather than any pleasure it might bring.
There is a rugged beauty here, in the land, the wildlife, the view from the mountains, in their songs and dance and art. But they don't seem to define it or connect with it the same way we do.
The Iwa are very proud, as you know. Their cold and blunt manner takes time to accept. But they have a deep reverence for their way of life. It is unspoken, as if to say it aloud would weaken them, and instead is woven into the fabric of their society, into their very beings. It is the strong devotion to these ideals, I think, that makes it difficult for them to view another culture such as ours with equal respect.
You have given me a great challenge, Kazekage-sama, but I am making inroads. Each day I hope to learn something new from the clans of Iwagakure, and hope to reflect only the best of Suna to them in return.
I have met several of the Kage's staff who seem genuinely interested in my work here. It seems the Tsuchikage has copied your idea and recently appointed his own cultural ambassador. The son of a ranking council member, his name is Setsuji. Like you, he is young and has his eyes on a better future for his people. He is mindful of tradition and history, but at the same time open to different ways and new ideas. I look forward to working with him in the coming weeks.
I don't yet understand how things work here, and it leaves me with a strange feeling. I am relying on you for insight and guidance. I have remembered your final words to me, but there has been no reason to worry. The Tsuchikage has been accepting and very generous. I have settled in and feel welcome enough.
I do miss the warm sun and soft sand, and all that makes Suna my home. I hope you are still listening to music when you can. It's good for your soul.
May this letter find you well, Kazekage-sama.
Yours sincerely, Matsuri
I had read every word and imagined the look of concentration on her fine features as she wrote them, the graceful movement of the brush in her hand. I could see her smile as she thought of her home here.
My heart was beating too fast to think of denial.
I loved her.
