I mentioned that I would be updating more often, now that I'm trying my best to focus on this story so that it can reach its conclusion in a more timely manner than the one for which I'm assuredly notorious.
I doubt it will be much of a surprise to you all that I struggled with the Wave Country arc. While it eventually concluded in a satisfactory manner, I do feel that it dragged on for too long, and part of that problem was that I stuck too close to canon. That's not the point of a story like this.
Hence, I'm treating the Chuunin Exams differently. I'm weaving in my final conflict, and it will change the perspective and the eventual path of the arc. I'll do my best to keep the most interesting and thought-provoking elements intact, because this arc (my personal favorite of the entire series) deserves no less.
There are problems with this story. I acknowledge it wholeheartedly. I do hope, in spite of those problems, that the ride has been, and will continue to be, enjoyable. Right up until we reach the last chapter, whenever that might happen to be. I'll probably go back and touch it up later, but I think I'll need the luxury of perspective to do that right. So I'll just focus on reaching the finish line, and let it breathe for a while.
That seems the reasonable thing.
It bothered Hinata—surely it bothered Naruto, too, but he seemed bound and determined not to show it—that Gaara's reunion with his caretaker was so bleak. As days turned into weeks, and the Chuunin Exams loomed over their heads, Gaara simply continued his training. He joined in when Naruto took the young medic out to lunch, but he said little more than a handful of words in a given conversation.
Not that Gaara was especially talkative in the best of times; but they all would have expected him to be delighted, playing tour guide for his uncle. They expected him to open up, for the shell that had been crystalizing around him since Gatou to crack.
It didn't.
Perhaps it wasn't an expectation; perhaps it was simply hope.
Delusional, ultimately pointless hope.
Yashamaru might have been hurt by this distance, but he didn't show it. He was just as light and friendly as he'd ever been, urging Gaara to participate without showing any sense of disappointment when he inevitably didn't. More than likely, Gaara had been like this before, so it was—sadly—no surprise.
Naruto might have taken Gaara aside to chastise him, if not for the fact that he felt like he had no right to say anything. He'd confided in Hinata: "What'm I s'posed to say? He's gotta decide whether or not he wants to…kill his own dad. I mean, do you have any clue what that feels like? I don't."
Hinata didn't know, but it still bothered her. She remembered Yashamaru. She remembered him fondly. And it stung, whenever she saw the quickly-hidden pain that lanced through his face when he looked at his nephew.
Gaara trained, the same as the rest of them; it was a testament to his discipline that he managed to focus on anything. He was becoming more and more violent, but paradoxically, his control over his own body, not to mention the sand, was increasing. Nonetheless, there was something in his eyes, some dark gleam that had been festering there for what seemed like weeks.
It was like Yashamaru had brought the Hidden Sand back with him and, like an addict falling back on old habits, Gaara was withdrawing into himself.
Hinata redoubled her efforts, like she always did when she was nervous and conflicted, but she noticed that she was doing most of her training at the Hyuuga Compound. It wasn't that she didn't want to be with her team. It was that she didn't feel like she should.
Hanabi noticed the change in her sister. One day, after sparring together in front of their father—who said nothing throughout the entire ordeal, and simply left as soon as it was over—she asked. "What's happening? Why aren't you on duty? Why aren't you working with Naruto-san and Gaara-san?"
Hinata sat down, wiped her forehead with the back of her right hand, and said, "…I think they need to be alone right now." She didn't say that she was afraid for her safety, but it was written on her face. She loved the two of them like brothers, but she was intimately aware of the danger that lurked inside them. She'd seen it, firsthand. There was no question in her mind that if either of them lost control like that again—or Heaven forbid, both—and she was caught in the crossfire…she wouldn't make it out alive.
No matter how much she trained; no matter how dedicated she was at improving herself; no matter how talented she might become; she was no match for a jinchuuriki in the throes of its unholy power.
She said none of this, yet somehow her sister seemed to read…well, at least parts of it on her face. Hanabi said, "Are you frightened of them?"
"…Sometimes."
"Do you think they'll hurt you?"
"Not—not on purpose."
"But you think they might. Don't you?"
"Yes. That's why they need to be alone."
"I'm sorry."
A heartbroken little smile crossed Hinata's face, and she stroked back her sister's hair. Hanabi smiled back. Hinata leaned forward and kissed the girl's forehead.
They stood, and resumed their stances.
When they arrived, Naruto was training with Konohamaru and what was fast becoming his personal entourage. There was Hanabi, of course; but there was also a red-haired girl named Moegi, who seemed bound and determined to win Konohamaru's affection away from the young Hyuuga. Hanabi, for her part, remained determinedly oblivious.
And there was Udon, an unassuming boy with eyeglasses who was…well, for lack of a more sophisticated way of putting it, a mystery. He wasn't particularly strong, nor quick, nor even precise in combat. But when time came to plan things out, even Konohamaru deferred to him. A tactician? Perhaps he was like Shikamaru. Nobody really knew, and Udon seemed perfectly content to keep it that way.
They called it "Playing Ninja," but Naruto was never happy unless he was finding some way to improve himself. The game, as the Konohamaru Corps seemed to see it, was to force Naruto's hand. The game, as Naruto seemed to see it, was to use the most outlandish techniques possible to handicap himself. He would stand on his hands, tie one of his legs to the opposite leg of a clone and fight like he was in a three-legged race. He would pull his headband over his eyes to blind himself. He would fight using objects, and refuse to touch his opponents with any part of his body.
One time, he invited Hinata to join in, and attempted to recreate Jyuuken. He told Hinata that she should emulate his style. She tried, but it ended up looking just as ridiculous as Naruto's attempts to use the Gentle Fist.
The young students were delighted to engage in these games, eventually coming to realize that this wasn't just fun; it was useful. Iruka approved of the practice, and even Kakashi seemed pleased—though it was always hard to tell with him.
Gaara tended to avoid these events, for reasons they'd both learned not to question.
The kids were in the middle of their latest plot—which involved gunpowder, bed-sheets, and superglue—when the first visitors arrived. One of them was dressed all in black, his face painted with strange symbols; he wore some strange, bandaged burden slung over his shoulders like a pack. His headband marked him as belonging to the Sand.
Another, a girl this time, was blonde-haired and carried a giant fan. She was dressed in a light-colored robe over a fishnet shirt; her legs were bare, well-toned, and her skin was lightly tanned. She had dark eyes, and wore her headband around her neck, like Hinata. Unlike Hinata, however, she exuded confidence like a perfume.
The third member of this party was…strange.
He seemed younger than the other two. His jet-black hair framed his face, though it spiked up wildly in the back. He was dressed in a white robe like Temari was, though his was long enough to whisper about his shins; a sleek, unadorned sword was tucked into a sash around his waist. He wore black gloves and black sandals. He moved slowly, smoothly, deliberately.
His eyes were an abyss.
Hinata recognized him, barely, as Uchiha Sasuke.
Which meant that the other two were Gaara's brother and sister.
Sasuke had distanced himself from the other two, glancing about his surroundings with a detached sort of interest, like a scientist observing something outside of his field of study; his training refused to let him do a sloppy job, but he clearly didn't care a lick for anything he saw.
The other two watched the children at play, and the expressions on their faces—while subtle—showed general distaste.
Konohamaru, who was certainly not known for his observational skills (particularly when it came to his surroundings), was looking over his shoulder and ran headlong into the one in black. Hinata searched the back of her mind and remembered Gaara telling her once that his name was Kankurou.
Time slowed to a stop as Konohamaru stumbled backward and fell onto his backside.
Kankurou stared down at the boy, looking innately superior. "…That hurt. Is that how you welcome visitors? Rude." This last came out in an almost seductive hiss.
Konohamaru winced and collected himself. "…Sorry," he mumbled.
Something flashed in Kankurou's eyes. "Sorry? You're sorry?" He reached down and lifted the Hokage's grandson up by the scarf he wore around his neck. "That's all you've got to say? You're pretty…impertinent. You know that, kid?"
The girl—Temari?—sighed heavily. "…Here we go."
Sasuke blissfully ignored the entire exchange. He seemed to be pretending not to notice Naruto.
"H-Hey!" Konohamaru grunted. "I said I was sorry! Lemme go!"
"Yeah. Sorry. Real sincere." Kankurou sneered.
"D'you know who I am? Don't you call me a liar! Let go!"
Hinata stepped forward. "Kankurou-san?" she ventured. "That is your name, isn't it?"
The boy with the painted face turned his attention to her. He looked surprised. "…Who're you?"
Hinata bowed. "My name is Hinata. I'm a genin for the Hidden Leaf. I'm helping these students with their training." She gestured to the other three. "I take full responsibility for Konohamaru-kun's mistake. Please. Let him go. He meant no offense to you."
Naruto, following Hinata's lead, let his rising anger slough off his face. It was surprising, seeing him exert such control over his emotions. He was usually so quick to attack anyone he perceived as a bully, which Kankurou more than likely was.
Perhaps it had to do with Gaara.
"You take responsibility, huh?" Kankurou smirked, and scoffed derisively. "Well, ain't that something? Hear that? She takes responsibility."
"That's right," Naruto murmured. "So I'd say it might be one dandy idea if ya let the kid go. If you don't, I'll hafta take it as a sign. I'm gonna guess, by that little symbol you got there on your forehead, you're from the desert. Think I mighta seen you, few years back. So there's some leeway, since you don't really know how things work around here. But, uh…generally not considered polite to go pickin' on people smaller 'n you. People might talk. People might think you're grandstanding. Oh, lookit me, I'm a badass. I can beat up on trainees."
If there was one thing that his years of living alongside Gaara and Hinata had given Naruto, it was this calm belligerence. It was like, and yet unlike him; and it was always fascinating to watch him use it. Kankurou, for his part, seemed legitimately surprised. Temari, too, looked impressed in spite of herself.
Sasuke wasn't listening.
Kankurou kept hold of Konohamaru's scarf, holding him up in the air, though he lowered his arm slightly, pulling the boy down toward his side. One of Konohamaru's feet scrambled to reach the ground. "What's your name, Leaf?"
Naruto quirked an eyebrow. "Let's skip the part where you pretend to care. That kid's a friend of mine. I don't like it when friends of mine are treated like trash. Tends t' make me angry."
Kankurou glanced dismissively at Konohamaru, then tossed him aside like a cheap doll. He began to step forward, arms at his sides, his fingers twitching spasmodically. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were threatening me. Is that any way to treat your elders?"
"…You don't wanna know my track record with my elders. Look, listen: I got nothin' against you. Yet. And we're all here for the same thing, right? Gonna go for the gold, prove to our elders we got what it takes to move on up. So how 'bout we shake hands, move past this whole thing, and save it for the field. Huh? Whaddaya say?"
Naruto offered his standard toothy grin, but Hinata noticed without much effort that it didn't reach his eyes.
Kankurou stopped a bare inch from Naruto, staring down at him.
"…How 'bout not?"
Sabaku no Gaara watched as his brother—he didn't recognize the look of him, but knew the feel of him immediately—reared back to strike. The fact that Naruto vanished in a puff of smoke, as he was wont to do, made no difference to the sudden swell of indignant fury that rose up in Gaara's chest. Something about the surprise on Kankurou's face only served to anger him further. It felt like an insult.
"Kankurou. Enough."
The words came out dark, and seething. Some part of him knew that it was the demon, leaking through the cracks in his defenses; the rest of him put up only the feeblest of efforts to fight back. He understood what his uncle had meant, now that he was faced with it. This was the breed of ninja that his father produced. That his people produced.
The brother Gaara had once striven to impress; the brother he had once longed to stand beside, was now a product of hubris. Gaara wanted to break him.
No. No, that wasn't right.
The demon wanted to—damn it!
Oh, God.
A torrent of thoughts and fears danced across Gaara's face as he stepped into the daylight for the first time in a week. He was pale, and cold, and angry. The demon was gratified to see Kankurou's face slacken. The demon chuckled when Temari—sister dearest, elder to them all—drew in a gasp. The Uchiha boy was finally gripped with some measure of interest, and that was fine for the demon, also. Just fine.
"…Gaara," Kankurou offered, his painted eyes going narrow with suspicion. "You're softer than I remember."
This was a lie. The demon knew it, and it was the demon's smirk that lifted Gaara's lips.
"It's…good to see you," Temari offered. She had always been the one who tried to play peacemaker, back then. But even so, she only put in the most rudimentary of efforts. She was only concerned with…well. Gaara didn't know what his sister was concerned with. He only knew that it wasn't him. It wasn't the family.
"'Bout time you showed your face again." Naruto was up in a tree, lounging, and all eyes turned up to him. "Want we should, ah…leave you alone? Letcha reacquaint yourself with the family?"
Gaara blinked, slowly, like a lazy cat. "…No. I have seen what I needed to see." He glanced passively at the people he had once counted as family—blood of his blood—and turned away. "Save your peacocking for the exams. Unless, of course, that's all you have to show for yourself."
He began to walk away, realizing that not a single one of his innumerable questions had been answered by this meeting.
Nothing had been resolved.
"You are the third son of the Kazekage. Aren't you?"
He turned. The third member of his siblings' party had spoken. Deep black eyes burned with some invisible fire, and the demon reared up in anticipation.
"And you are the last son of the Uchiha," Gaara replied slowly.
"…I want to fight you."
Gaara frowned. Then he turned away again, and kept walking.
"I'll not begrudge you the chance."
"I look forward to it."
"You shouldn't."