Kankuro stumbled towards the kitchen, yawning. Rubbing the remains of his usual purple war paint out of his eyes, he kicked open the door and threw his arms up, stretching, before reaching down and giving his bare stomach an almighty scratch for the sheer hell of it.
He leaned across towards the fridge… and then stopped, frozen in his tracks despite the usual desert heat. It wasn't that there was anything wrong per say with the sight in front of him. It was just that it was highly unusual, to the point of bizarre.
"Good morning," he grunted, recovering slightly and examining the sight in front of him with a curious expression.
"Morning," Gaara was standing by the sink and the sink was full of hot soapy-looking water. It was quite a sight. Kankuro could count the number of times, in all his life, he had seen his younger brother voluntarily do the washing-up on about one hand. No, actually, he probably didn't need any hands. It had never happened.
Gaara hated water, more so than most cats. Presumably he did drink the stuff, or at least he had thus far failed to die of dehydration, and he washed regularly, although you probably couldn't soft-boil an egg in the total time it took him to finish in the bathroom, he probably even watered the plants in his office, but that was about where it ended. Constantly covered in a fine layer of sand, these days at least, water made Gaara feel uncomfortable and vulnerable. It weakened his defenses and made him unpleasantly sluggish and slow and well… wet, for ages, until the sand dried. The whole experience was horrible, his brother had assured him, and it certainly made him miserable.
There was nothing Kankuro dreaded more than the wretched, withdrawn, sulky Gaara they put up with for hours after every fight with a water-using opponent or, for that matter, if it rained. No amount of chakra-sand based shielding could protect his younger brother from a half-decent rain shower. Nothing could be done except to pile on blankets and water-proofs and keep building the fire in the nearest shelter until he had finally dried out. Else you could have wet tendrils of soaking sand lashing at you for every third thing you said, in fits of touchiness otherwise uncharacteristic of the Kazekage, while Gaara sat there huddled in a pathetic surly-eyed sodden heap of gloom strangely reminiscent of his younger self. Thank pretty much anything you like that they lived in the desert. Gaara might just have been unbearable in a wetter climate.
He didn't exactly do much general cleaning either. It wasn't that Gaara refused to do anything, in fact if they had asked Kankuro was pretty sure that these days his brother would only be to happy to oblige. Gaara's room and office were always spotless, his plates reliably scraped clean before being stacked by the sink after a meal and he never left a room messier than he entered it, but somehow… they just never asked. The idea of the Kazekage, the powerful leader of one the five greatest shinobi nations, scrubbing dirty plates or dusting the furniture seemed somehow… sacrilegious. The fact that the youngest sibling, despite being only sixteen, had somehow developed a knack for walking around with an impressive sage-like air about him didn't help; neither did the fact that it was only a few years ago that he would have destroyed half the house at the mere mention of housework.
Nevertheless there he was, with rolled-up sleeves and a plastic apron covered in a fake green patchwork print and hideous pink flowers, elbow deep in a bowl of washing-up. "There were some plates left over from last night," Gaara explained, holding up a sponge, "I washed them after I had finished with the water bottles."
"Thanks," Kankuro nodded; then he paused, knitting his brows slightly, "Water bottles? Are we going somewhere?" All of Suna's shinobi routinely carried a supply of water with them when they left the village. It was the only good practice when living in the desert.
Gaara shook his head, setting the last plate out to drain as he wrung out the sponge and set it down by the sink. "Hamsters require a daily change of water in a clean bottle," he told him, pulling the plug and draining the sink. An oversized pair of bright pink rubber gloves covered his hands and he tugged off them with care, flexing his digits as he turned to face his brother. "Stagnant water can get old very quickly and bacteria start to build up in it, especially in the heat here."
"Oh," his older brother shrugged, nodding as he adjusted the weight on his feet to make himself more comfortable, "The hamster, right. That kinda water bottle. How is the little critter anyway?"
"He seems well," Gaara confided, sitting down at the table and stretching his hands so that they would be caught in the sunlight. Evidently they had gotten a little damp, despite the gloves. "He comes up to the cage bars when I approach now and seems to enjoy shredding tissues to use as bedding."
Kankuro frowned. "Didn't Temari and I get you a whole load of cotton-type bedding when we got the hamster?"
"Yes," Gaara nodded, still stretching his hands, "But that type can sometimes be hard for a hamster to digest if accidentally swallowed or can cause injury to small digits. Unscented tissue or toilet paper is better for him."
His brother sighed, mentally rolling his eyes. "Fair enough. I'm glad the little fella's happy." He finally turned to the fringe, tearing it open and reaching for the milk on the lower shelf of the door. Then his eyes fell on some of the rest of the contents.
There was a moment when it seemed as if Kankuro's face could not decide which expression it wanted to wear. In the end it gave up. He remained gaping blankly into the space before him, staying like that for quite a while, and then he blinked and shut his mouth. Closing the fridge, he took a step backwards; and ripped it open again as if he couldn't quite believe what he had seen.
Slowly recovering himself, Kankuro shook his head as if clearing it and vaulted backwards to the kitchen door. "Tamari!" he screamed, hanging out of the frame, "Why the hell is there baby food in the fridge?"
"It's mine," came the impassive response behind him.
Kankuro turned and stared quizzically at his younger brother. The person in question had finished sunning his hands and was now flexing them awkwardly, apparently readjusting the sand over them.
"Yours?" Kankuro asked him, more than slightly nonplussed, "What do you need baby food for exactly?"
Gaara looked up, seemingly a little surprised at the question. "The hamster," he replied, as if this was obvious, "Baby food and porridge are excellent treats for young or elderly hamsters, providing you make sure to exclude spicy or acidic foods such as onions, tomatoes and garlic. It's good for their…"
"The hamster," Kankuro repeated, interrupting him in mid sentence. He nodded and rubbed a hand over his eyes, sighing loudly to himself, "Of course, I should have guessed."
Carefully Kankuro replaced the milk and shut the refrigerator door, stepping away from it slowly. "Well, see you later," he waved vaguely at him brother and left the room, deciding he could skip breakfast for today. Internally he wondered if the madness was catching…