When a Flower Blossoms in Suna

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Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.

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The dry air left his skin with an unwanted kiss, the hot summer wind blowing against his uncovered face. The shinobi narrowed his eyes against the sand particles, guiding the edge of his knife with his thumb, carefully carving the details of his latest puppet. He sighed softly as he stretched his legs across the path, bending over to inspect his craftsmanship.

"Hey!"

Kankuro glanced up when he heard the sound of sandals shuffling in the dirt. He lowered his knife, using his hand to shield his eyes from the sun. He reclined, hoping the voice calling would keep going and seek out someone else. "Yes?" Kankuro answered when the cause of the low dust cloud paused before him.

The stranger didn't answer right away, instead inspecting Kankuro's face. Satisfied with his appearance, she managed, "I have a delivery for you," before licking her lips.

Past the blinding shine of the sun, Kankuro could make out the shape of a person leaning over him. He blinked until the white faded enough for him to make out a dark face - eyebrows knitted together, a scrunched nose lost beneath bandages. The child hand a hand on one of her wide hips, her glittering eyes somewhat severe. Kankuro frowned when she shifted, crouching by his side. He turned, his hair blowing slightly by the breeze. Who he had thought was a child happened to be reasonably older - a girl around his age, or at least a teenager. Her physique and critical eyes led him to his mistake in age; she was short but carried enough muscle and womanly stature to allow him to grant her the title of adolescence.

"A delivery?"

"It's face paint." She extended her hands, revealing an exquisitely crafted pot. Kankuro stared at it for many moments, his brows furrowing as he glanced into her now-earnest gray eyes. "Wh-?"

"Paint for that doll?" She opened the lid of the pot and glanced into it before tilting her head, bangs falling into her eyes. Kankuro scowled.

"This is a puppet."

"Where are the strings? Without strings it's a d-"

"Don't touch it!" Kankuro snapped, too slow to push her hand away, her hand moving faster than he had expected. He shoved her out of the way, barely able to save her from the shower of kunai knives. She huffed, the wind leaving her chest in a gust, her coughing deep as she gasped to replace her lost air with stale dirt. She sneezed and rolled over, wiping the dust from her eyes before sitting up, narrowing her amber eyes, the dark orbs finding no amazement in the weaponry of the puppet. "Where are you from?" Kankuro mused aloud, wandering to retrieve his scattered knives. Everyone he knew of knew not to touch anything of his - especially his puppets. Most people eyed them warily when they saw him around the village with them, whereas this girl couldn't be fast enough to touch it and carelessly endanger herself. She didn't answer right away, quirking her brow as she tried to piece together the cracked pot in her hands. The violet paint stained her bandages. She mumbled her reply as she brought a dripping finger to her mouth, tugging the bandage loose with her teeth, sucking the purple stain from the material. Kankuro wrinkled his nose as he watched her, alerting her with his disgusted expression.

"It's only a crushed herb - it's bitter but it's good for your organs." She flexed her fingers before standing, disregarding the dust on her already dirtied skirt. Kankuro frowned at her, shrugging as he shoved his knives back into the crude chest cavity of his puppet.

"I'm from here," her voice surprised him, causing him to pause. She gestured down the way she had come. "I live-"

"You're a member of the Rurousha clan, aren't you?" Kankuro shut the wooden compartment loudly. He knew many of them to have dark skin and disregard their appearances - he assumed the girl to be from such a clan. They were probably the only people capable of creating fine arts while living in their own waste. Since they had moved into Suna the stench of the alleys could only be attributed to their appearance. He couldn't smell anything from the girl, but her disheveled hair, brown complexion, and reckless curiosity towards his puppet left him enough to speculate her origin. "Figures."

"Figures," she repeated tonelessly, sighing as she crouched to pick up the remaining pottery shards. Untying her sash from her waist, she used the torn material to hold the broken pieces together. "I'm sorry - I'll get more and bring it right to you..."

Kankuro stepped past her, causing her to pause and glance at him, her face expressionless in response to his scowl. "When exactly?" Kankuro asked roughly, irritated by her distracted expression.

"Later today."

"I have a meeting later today. And I'll be leaving for a mission as after that is over with... I can come by your shop and get it just before I leave."

"It'll be ready by then," She bowed as she stood, finally reaching to straighten her skirt, smearing the stain along her hem. "My name is Fukiko Rurousha- if you can't find me then ask around - my father's stand has no sign."

Kankuro smirked, narrowing his eyes at her bandaged nose and stained skirt. "I'll find you."

She shrugged, turning back towards the way she had come. "Ask around," she repeated over her shoulder. Kankuro watched her leave before sighing and heaving his puppet over his shoulder, starting back towards the Kazekage's office. He could always tell how the day would end by his tone of referral in regards to his brother. If Gaara was indeed Gaara than he'd finish the day in a generally appealing mood - maybe even enjoying himself. If Gaara was Kazekage he'd either come home bruised and tired from a mission of be irritated soon after the first reference of his brother as such. He was proud of his younger brother, no matter how infuriating the position tended to be at times. Kankuro loved his brother - something he displayed through the act of hugs or playful miniature puppets left on his desk - something he never would have done five years ago. His family had come a long way from their childhood, but as the Kazekage's brother Kankuro had to fulfill many expectations that could have easily faded and died away with his father's assassination.

He scowled, pausing in the middle of the pathway and closing his eyes, tilting his head back to expose his neck to the warmth of the sun. Had his family always defined him? When he was the Kazekage's son he was expected to do well. When he was a monster's brother he was expected to be bitter and cruel and scornful. Now that he was the Kazekage's brother her was expected to be almost as good as him. Kankuro kept walking, shoving one hand into his pocket, his clenched fist heavy against his leg while his hands strained to keep the thick wooden arms of the puppet clasped together to keep it from slipping off his shoulder. Almost as good as Gaara. Almost. He couldn't be nearly as good as Gaara - at least not in the eyes of the people. He was his bodyguard and his advisor but he would never hold the protection of the people in his palm. At least not in the same fashion his brother did. But that was Gaara's dream - something he was proud to see and happy to know that he had. It wasn't the same thing for Kankuro - though he wanted to protect Suna it wasn't his absolute passion. What that happened to be he had yet to find out.

"Kankuro."

Kankuro glanced up at his brother's voice, the corners of his mouth twitching in acknowledgement as he entered his office. He sighed as he set his puppet on the floor, taking a seat before the desk and removing his cap, running a hand through his hair.

"Have you finished it?"

Kankuro would have been disturbed by his brother's curiosity if not for the fact that Gaara seemed to be making a genuine effort to create an outwardly closer relationship with him. He was actually slightly entertained - since his brother had started the attempt shortly after Temari had made arrangements to have housing in Konoha. (Where she tended to spend most of her time; haven forgotten the fact that she was supposed to return to Suna every month and only visit Konoha for a few days at a time.)

"I'm almost finished. The joints are still too stiff and I haven't poisoned the weapons yet - I got interrupted by a delivery girl."

"Ah," Gaara smiled as he returned to his seat behind his desk, opening a drawer and producing a file, handing it over to Kankuro. Kankuro opened it, glancing over the edge of the paper when he saw Gaara's hand in his peripheral vision. He smiled slightly as he watched his brother reorganize the puppets on his desk. He quickly returned his gaze to the report before Gaara could take note of his observation - it wasn't something he would have wanted Kankuro to see. He was supposed to carelessly use them as paperweights or accidentally lose them. The unsaid code of their relationship was ridiculously complicated but comforting. It amused the both of them that now, after growing closer, they still felt the need to conceal their affections for one another. "This is all I wanted to give you so you can finish your puppet."

Kankuro nodded, standing as he closed the file. "I'll review this first and then finish it - I think he'll be a fine addition to my collection." Kankuro grinned as he held the puppet up, displaying it for his brother. Gaara shrugged, opening his drawer. "I think you're getting worse, actually. Sasori is your best puppet and you had nothing to do with making him." His words received a snort in response. Kankuro pulled the puppet over his shoulder again before starting out the door. Once out of his office, Kankuro grinned.

Gaara liked it.

I hope it wasn't too bad. I haven't written fanfiction in quite some time. Well - an introduction of my original character and some conversation among the siblings. The time is set two years after Shippuden - so Kankuro is twenty and Gaara is eighteen. I'd like to think they've gotten time to become much closer but still are unable to display it outwardly due to personalities and awkwardness. Anyway, that's it. Everything will be pretty vague until I settle on a plot.