Gaara sat by himself in a corner for the rest of the day. Kankuro stayed in the study practicing and Temari worked through her textbooks and made unpracticed attempts at housework. The rain continued the next day, and the next. Although Kankuro and Temari were finally coming to terms with the reality that Gaara was not an isolated problem but rather a symptom of the disruption in their family as a whole, it would take time for the older siblings to readjust years of habit in regard to him.

Gaara wandered into the living room one afternoon in response to Temari's order to go unpack a bag of his extra clothes and take them up to his room. He stood for a minute looking up at the pictures on the mantle. They said they loved me, but they really didn't. Nobody does. I don't have a reason to exist.

He opened the bag and pulled out some clothes. A little sand spilled out with them. It was strange being in a place without sand; Gaara had never before had to look further than the ground at his feet for sand, but now he felt at a loss. His personal sand seemed to have given up in the dampness and was now collected almost totally in a wet lump in his bedroom. The sand that formed his sand armor was still with him, but it took all his chakra to drive the water out and maintain it. Kankuro hadn't gotten around to fixing the gas fire in the living room yet.

Gaara took the clothes upstairs and came back down for his doll. To his surprise, it wasn't on the table where he'd left it. Gaara searched frantically for a minute before discovering the doll lying on the floor, halfway behind an old picture frame leaning against the wall. He pushed it aside and found the outline of a small door behind the wallpaper.

Battle formations for two ranged ninjas and two melee ninjas, facing a group of ten foot soldiers. The ranged ninjas should stay above the enemy and at a distance of no less than thirty feet. Temari groaned and rubbed her eyes. She didn't know how much more theory she could take. Most of it was common sense stuff anyone should know–wasn't it obvious where you should put the ranged and melee fighters? How was she supposed to remember all these diagrams? On the other hand, if she ever wanted to become a chunin, she'd better know everything in the book. Damn it.

She rested her head on her arms. It's all falling apart. Our family, our world, everything. It's going to pieces around me. Her tired eyes stung a little. Mother. Why did you have to die? Why did it have to be our family that the jinchuriki came through? Why did you leave us all alone? Their father was now the kazekage and spent all his time managing the affairs of the village, except for the hours he spent training Gaara. But for all that he doesn't even see Gaara as his son–he's just a tool, a weapon! And he never talks to Kankuro or me at all, except at briefings. I remember when Father and Mother were ordinary ninjas and they loved us and we were happy together.

Now even Yashameru, the glue that had held the family together since their mother's death, was gone and ominous cracks were forming around what little was left. Their father's expectations were clear–she and Kankuro would become exceptional ninjas and Gaara would be the village's ultimate weapon. That they were–or had been–a family was of no importance. I don't want to be a legendary ninja. I just want my family back! Temari clenched her fists; all that was left of her family was herself and her brothers. Whatever it took, she would hang onto that. She would learn to cook and keep house and be a little mother as well as a big sister. She would learn to fight better than any genin in her class, but she would do it so she could hold this little fragment of family together. I don't want fame or victory. I want peace–peace so that neither my family nor other families will be broken up by wars or power struggles.

There was a soft sound and she looked up to see Gaara standing in the doorway with his doll.

"What?"

"There's a door in the wall."

"Huh? What are you talking about?"

She followed Gaara into the living room and he showed her the outline.

"Oh. It's probably just for fixing the pipes and stuff."

"Open it?"

"You don't need to be getting into stuff and I have to get my homework done."

Gaara looked down and hugged the doll tighter.

Temari relented a little, "Okay, okay, I'll open it."

She went to the drawer in the kitchen were all the keys were kept and began sorting through them. I've got to be more of a mother and less of a big sister. He's never been a bad kid, he's just… different. Finally she found one that looked promising–an old-fashioned key with a handle in the shape of a button. She went back into the living room with Gaara trailing behind her and cut the wallpaper around the door. The key fit and turned with a rusty click. Gaara's face fell.

Behind the door was nothing but a brick wall.

"Sorry," said Temari. "That's all there is."

Her brother turned and walked off under his private cloud of gloom.

That night, Gaara had a dream. In the stillness, he heard faint squeaking and saw tiny forms flitting about near his door. He got up and followed them; in the hall, he saw several tiny, long-tailed mice hopping daintily about like little kangaroos. They bounced off down the stairs, cheeping softly and rather musically. Gaara followed them into the living room, where they disappeared under the crack beneath the little door. Curious, Gaara opened the door. His eyes widened as instead of a brick wall, he saw a softly glowing tunnel leading away into mysterious shadows.

After a minute, Gaara crawled into the tunnel. It extended for about twenty feet, then came out into… the living room. He stood up and looked around, puzzled. He was back in the living room. Only he wasn't; as he looked, he realized there were subtle differences in this room. The boy in the picture over the mantle was smiling, and there was a delicious smell in the air. A light was coming from the kitchen, and Gaara walked towards it. He stopped in the doorway and stiffened; a figure was standing there, a figure he'd only seen in pictures and his dreams. She was humming the same little tune Yashameru used to sing to him, the one he said Gaara's mother had sung to him when he, Yashameru, was a little boy.

The figure turned. It was his mother, just as she looked in the pictures, but with one strange exception–instead of eyes, she had two black buttons where her eyes would have been.

"You're just in time for supper, dear," she said in a soft, sweet voice.

Gaara stared at her in confusion, then his eyes narrowed.

"You're not my mother."

"Of course not. I'm your other mother, silly. Now go tell your other father that supper's ready."

Gaara didn't move.

"Well go on. He's in his study."

Gaara scowled at the mention of his father, but went to the next room. In the study, a man who looked exactly like his father–except for button eyes–was manipulating a large teddy bear puppet, making it dance.

"My father can't use puppets," Gaara said coldly.

"No need," said the other father with a smile, "this puppet can control me."

The teddy bear raised its paws and the other father began dancing, all the while singing a perky little song.

"Thinkin' up a song about our Gaara!

He's a bud, he's a pal, he's a fine fella!

He's as cute as a button in the eyes

Of everyone whoever laid their eyes on our Gaara!

When he comes around exploring

Mom and I will never ever make it boring

Our eyes will be on our Gaara!"

Gaara watched in silence. When the song was over, he said,

"It's time to eat."

"Mmm, who's starving? Raise your hand!"

The teddy bear raised both paws and he raised his hands. He followed Gaara back to the kitchen, where the other mother was setting a beautifully roasted chicken on the table. The smell filled the kitchen and made Gaara's mouth water in spite of himself.

"We give our thanks and ask to bless" the other father said playfully when they sat down, "our mother's golden chicken breast!"

The other mother laughed. The sound tugged at Gaara's heart; he'd always wanted to hear his mother laugh. Why had she died and left him all alone?

He ate until he was stuffed. A week of living on Temari's cooking had left him more than happy to eat mashed potatoes and other western foods with relish, and the chicken was one of the tastiest things he could ever remember eating. Yashameru used to cook things just for me. Why did he pretend to love me if he really hated me so much?

The other mother went to the oven and took out a large chocolate cake, which she set in front of Gaara. While he watched, lit candles appeared on the top and a line of icing wrote a message in a spidery script: Welcome home!

"We've been waiting for you, Gaara."

"For me?"

"Yep," said the other father, "Wouldn't have been the same without you, kiddo."

"Who are you?" Gaara asked, still suspicious.

"I'm you're other mother. And as soon as you're through eating, I thought we'd play a game."

Gaara's eyes narrowed again. No one, ever, wanted to play with him.

"Like tag or maybe hide and seek," the other mother added. "In the rain."

Gaara glanced at the window, "What rain?"

There was a flash of lightning with thunder following immediately after and heavy drops began splattering against the glass. The boy stared for a second, his feeling of unease growing.

"It makes the sand wet."

"So? Wet sand is just as good. We can make sand pies and sand castles and maybe find a sand dollar. Besides, it's great for poison oak."

Gaara looked down at the itchy rash on his hand.

"How did you know I had poison oak?"

The other mother had come over to stand beside his chair. Gaara stood up.

"I have to get back to bed before Temari starts looking for me."

"Of course, sweetheart. It's all made up."

The other mother and father took him upstairs to a room just like his own, only clean and warm, with a fire burning on the grate. The bed was made with a soft, fluffy comforter and there were strange and wonderful toys on the shelves. A little flock of paper cranes flew through the air, whispering softly,

"Hello, Gaara."

The other mother put him to bed and kissed him, then took a small jar and spread something damp and sandy on Gaara's hand.

"See you soon," the other mother and father said gently.

They sat by his side, humming softly, until he went to sleep.