Author's Note: I have fixed them now, but I am sorry for the weird-ass typos in the original version.

Chapter 5

Everyone settled around the supper table and began eating. Temari and Gaara didn't comment on their lateness; probably chalking it up to Kankuro having to work extra hard to get their father out of the office.

For a few minutes, Kankuro glanced at their father, and he caught their father glancing at him when his father didn't think he was looking.

"How was your day?" Kankuro asked innocently.

"Fine, fine," Yondaime said, nodding. He lowered his gaze to his fish, picking it apart into white flakes with his chopsticks. Then he raised his head and smiled at Temari. "So, how was your mission? I heard it was a little bit difficult."

"No, just time-consuming," Temari said. "Baki wouldn't help because he said that would defeat the purpose of a training mission. So he just stood there and supervised! His wind release is a lot stronger than mine. He could've done the whole street in half the time."

"Less than half," Yondaime said, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Baki is one of our most seasoned jonin. I briefly captained a team with him on it in the past. His performance is what led me to consider him for the post he now occupies."

"You were the captain on Baki's team?" Kankuro asked, interested. "When?" He absently ate a bite of rice.

"Oh, a long time ago," Yondaime said vaguely. "Back when he was a boy. He wasn't much older than you, Kankuro, when he left to captain his own team."

"We might be getting our own teams soon," Temari said, brightening. "If we pass the Chunin Exam."

"Oh, joy," Kankuro said, rolling his eyes. "Little brats to teach. Just what I want to do with the rest of my life." Teaching was not in his plans. Becoming a great puppet master, yes. Having to deal with kids and making command decisions that could end somebody's life all the time? No. For the same reason, he knew he would make a miserable Kazekage, and he wasn't even going to try. He'd leave that duty up to someone else.

Temari scowled at him. "Teaching is an important duty, and if we don't do it, who is?"

"I dunno." Kankuro ate a bite of his fish. "People who want to? That would be a good idea. It'd suck to get a sensei who didn't even wanna be a sensei."

"I do not think either of you are qualified to teach a student," Gaara said.

Kankuro and Temari both glared at him.

"What do you know?" Temari said after a moment. "It's not like you'll agree to teach anyone."

Gaara looked at her incredulous. "What…would I teach?"

"Oh, you know lots of things," Kankuro said.

Gaara narrowed his eyes at his older brother. "Do not mock me."

"I wasn't –" Kankuro raised his hands. "You know what? Forget it. Fine. I was 'mocking' you. I'm sorry." Now he was mocking Gaara, a little bit, for being so hostile all the time. But he couldn't help it. His brother's touchiness got on his nerves.

Gaara lowered his head and absorbed himself in the silent consumption of his meal. He avoided all the peppers and green beans that came with the meal, picking around them.

"Eat your vegetables," Yondaime said mildly.

"Hn," Gaara said.

"You can't get by on fish and rice alone."

Gaara glanced up at their father. "Don't tell me what to do."

Kankuro opened his mouth, and then shut it again. No. I will not get involved. He resolved to eat his fish and stay out of it. Things never improved when he argued anyway.

Temari sat back in her chair. "Well, I can't wait until I get my first team," she said, changing the subject. "I wanna be a great sensei. Someone my kids can really look up to. So that means kicking lots of ass, so those little snot-nosed boys don't make fun of me for being a girl. I see how kids are. I'll have to be super cool and intimidate them a lot until they fall in line."

Yondaime snorted and stifled a chuckle by biting his lip. "You are going to make me a very proud father," he said, with an admirably straight face. "My daughter, the teacher."

"Damn straight." Temari folded her arms over her chest.

After that, the conversation flowed gently through Temari's detailed account of their village cleaning mission, Gaara's half-hearted complaints that the village would look exactly the same in a day or two thanks to the next sand storm that would inevitably roll around, and Kankuro for the most part just stayed silent and shot his father meaningful smiles.

Yondaime was a strong man not to blush or act as though anything was out of the ordinary.

xXx

After Temari and Gaara went to bed, and Kankuro made sure by scanning their chakra levels that they were asleep, he met his father in the living room for another chat.

His father was sitting in the oversized armchair, looking basically collected. The bottle of plum wine and a full glass sat next to him on the end table.

Kankuro raised his eyebrows. "I'm impressed. I wasn't sure if you were gonna show." He sat down on the sofa, the kotatsu table situated between them.

"You…You asked me to confide, so…here I am." His father awkwardly cradled his glass of plum wine in both hands, looking down into the dark, rich liquid. "What would you like me to confide?"

"Whatever's bothering you," Kankuro said immediately.

His father gave him a sad smile. "That would be too many things."

"Like what?" Kankuro asked. "Pick one."

"Something that bothers me is…what you saw of me last night," Yondaime said.

"Why?" Kankuro asked. I thought we discussed this already.

"Because it gives you entirely the wrong impression of me," Yondaime said.

"Yeah? Like what?" Kankuro looked at his father contemplatively, chewing his lip.

"You probably think that I am suicidal," his father said bluntly.

"That? No." Kankuro shook his head.

His father looked startled. Then he smiled. "Why not?"

"Because you said that you wouldn't, even though you said that you wanted to," Kankuro said. "Because you understand that Mom would be mad at you. She would never want you to commit suicide, because of her or for any other reason. But especially not because of her."

Yondaime looked saddened, but he still smiled, nodding slowly. "Yes…you're right." He took a small sip of plum wine. "Of course. I could not betray her like that. Or you. Or Temari. Or Gaara. Though I suspect that he thinks that he wouldn't care nearly as much as he really would if something were to happen to me. Whether he knows it or not, he does want a relationship with me. He just doesn't know it's possible to feel something other than pain or hatred. Much of that is my fault; I should have –"

Kankuro shook his head. "No, stop it. You're slipping into self-hatred again."

His father paused, grimacing. "I'm sorry." Then he looked horrified. "All I am doing by discussing my problems and my feelings is making you feel hurt and responsible for me."

"We're a family," Kankuro said. "Aren't we all responsible for each other? If Gaara actually asked me for help, I'd help him no matter what. Isn't that the same thing I'm doing for you right now? Age is irrelevant."

"Age is very relevant," Yondaime protested. "The older one is, the more one ought to know, the more experienced one ought to be, and the more self-sufficient."

"Yeah, and what about grandparents?" Kankuro asked. "Don't they move in with their kids and ask for help? Age is not always correlated with independence."

"Chiyo-sama seems to feel it is," Yondaime muttered.

Chiyo was actually Kankuro's great aunt. Kankuro shifted, leaning forward. "See? Doesn't that piss you off? You've asked her and Ebizo to move in with us countless times, and she says no because she'd rather act independent. Her health is terrible. You've said so yourself. If she were a little less prideful and a little less enmeshed in this culture of independence, then she would just give it up and come back to us. You know Ebizo-jii is only out there with her to keep her company. If she surrendered, he could too. And his health isn't so great, either. Didn't you say he has bad knees?"

His father sighed. "Yes, he does." He bowed his head and massaged the bridge of his nose. "We are getting pretty far afield."

"No, I don't think so," Kankuro said. "You're just saying that because this isn't going the way you want it to go. My point is: I'm the eldest son. You'd be living with me at some point anyway. And then I'd be taking care of you, like I want to take care of you now. What's wrong with getting a head start?"

Eldest sons in their culture always ended up staying close to their parents' side and taking care of them. That was the norm. Kankuro didn't see what was so unusual about his request to start early.

Yondaime squirmed. "But you – you want more than that. Kankuro, I'm no fool; you're looking for a way around my decision so that you can…" He looked at Kankuro with discomfort, trailing off.

Kankuro grinned. "So that I can what? Seduce you?"

Yondaime flushed.

Kankuro rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Now, would I do a thing like that? You said no, remember? You even told me you don't like teenage boys."

"But you're hoping I like grown men," Yondaime retorted.

"Well, you said it yourself, I'm still developing," Kankuro said innocently. "Why don't you wait and see who I grow into? Maybe you'll be attracted to him."

"You are as pushy as the day I tried to say no to your fourth cat," his father said, tossing his hands in the air with exasperation and flopping back in his seat with a chuckle. "You stood there, holding Chiko around the middle, saying, 'Please please please' until I gave in."

Kankuro grinned again. "Yeah…Chiko was the best cat."

His father's expression softened. "Chiko was the best cat. She turned out to be my very favorite. She'd accompany me across the Complex to my office, and no one could keep her out. Not even the jonin guards could figure out how she was doing it. In spite of their best efforts, there she would be, rubbing against my leg while I did paperwork, as contented as you please."

Kankuro still missed Chiko. She'd died of old age two years ago, shortly after graduation. She'd already been seven years old when he fell in love with her at the animal shelter. He spent a few moments thinking about that funny bobtail cat, with her orange and black patches and white body. She'd had a big orange spot right over the left side of her forehead, and a black patch over that ear. And she'd had the most distinctive meow. It was more like a 'rawr' instead of a classic 'nyan' sound.

Then he shook himself, smiling at his father fondly. "See? I was right, and you were wrong."

"Aha," Yondaime said. "I'm sorry I brought the cat up." But he was smiling.

Kankuro said softly, "You never know what you're going to like until you try it. I'll grow on you. Maybe you'll even fall in love with me, too."

His father snorted, and then burst out laughing. "You are hopeless. Please, listen to yourself for a moment. I am not going to fall in love with you, simply because you are endearing, stubborn, and my eldest son, whom I already love very much. Our relationship is going to stay at the same normal, platonic level, no matter what you do to seduce me."

"Oh." Kankuro's eyebrows rose, and he grinned mischievously. "Is that a challenge?"

His father paled slightly, but stood his ground. "No."

"It is," Kankuro teased.

"No," Yondaime insisted.

"I accept," Kankuro said.

His father smacked his forehead and groaned. "If you don't cease and desist now, I am going to have to think up ways of keeping you from this course of action."

"Like what?" Kankuro asked.

Yondaime stroked his chin. Then he gave Kankuro a slight smile Kankuro didn't like at all. "You like psychology, don't you? You respect psychology's insights into the world around us."

"Yeah…" Kankuro nodded slowly.

"So I suggest we both research as much psychology as we can to back up our respective points," his father said. "You try to prove, impartially, that your course of action is harmless. I shall endeavor to prove that your ideas are dangerous and that we cannot under any circumstances cross socially mandated lines of behavior."

"Fine," Kankuro said.

"Alright?" his father raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah." Kankuro rose from the couch. "You're on."

"Good," Yondaime said. "I suggest we call a cease-fire until such time as we are both prepared to present our research."

"Sounds like a good idea," Kankuro said. "I accept." He stuck out his hand.

His father rose from his armchair and shook Kankuro's hand.

"Now, you're going to talk about yourself, because you still evaded my most basic question from earlier," Kankuro said.

"Earlier?" His father looked confused. "When?"

"At the dinner table," Kankuro said. "I asked how your day was, and you allowed the subject to fall through the cracks on purpose. You changed the subject to Temari."

Yondaime flushed.

"You thought I wouldn't notice?" Kankuro raised an eyebrow. "I am always using misdirection. I am a puppet master."

His father bowed his head. "It went miserably." His voice came out a strained whisper.

Kankuro was startled. "Huh? What?"

"It went miserably," Yondaime said. "The Council meeting."

Kankuro didn't reply. He let his actions speak for him, squeezing his father's hand.

"I suggested alternate means of raising funds, so that we did not have to go to war," his father whispered. "They laughed at me. I didn't show them I was disturbed, or upset by their actions. But they hurt me. They said no Kage ever grew great, nor any nation, by being peaceful. We must strike now, before we weaken further, they said. Because of my policies – because of my vow of peace – they said Wind has been steadily declining as a nation. We're hardly any better than Kusagakure, they said. All talk and no fight." Kusa was known for its diplomacy.

Kankuro pressed his lips together and narrowed his eyes, angered by the Council's dismissal of his father. "They're just a bunch of old war hawks," he said finally. "They didn't have to fight in the last war. They've forgotten what it's like. Or they liked it in the first place. Sadists. They just want an excuse to relive the glory days through the younger generation; my generation. Your generation. They don't care if we get hurt. Every loss will be a 'glorious' loss. Every death will be an 'honorable' death. It's all a bunch of bullshit. Ego-stroking bullshit."

Yondaime's head snapped up. He looked at Kankuro with a startled expression. "That statement was so like Karura of you. She believed the same thing; that the Council is just a group of old men spoiling for a fight because they never got a sufficient taste of war in their own day. The current council is composed of the generation that war skipped over. They probably don't know what it's like; they were too young for the Second Shinobi World War, too old for the Third."

"Wow…" Kankuro nodded slowly. "That explains a lot." He hadn't known the precise age range of the council members.

His father smiled at him and shifted; his mood seemed lighter. "Thank you, Kankuro. I needed to be reminded of that fact. I can use that against them in the next argument – I mean, meeting."

Kankuro cracked up, amused by the slip.

"Well, they are," his father protested. "Arguments, I mean. Every council meeting is simply a formal argument between two factions that can't agree: me, and them."

"That sounds lonely," Kankuro murmured.

Yondaime reclined, crossed one leg over the other, and sighed. "I swear they decide everything without me." He picked up his glass and took a sip of plum wine.

"They probably do," Kankuro said.

His father made a face. "Thanks for that. How comforting to think that the village is actually being run by a group of old blowhards who can't get their heads around what a real war is like, as opposed to the man elected to be the village leader, who's had experience in the last war this nation has seen, and in fact, distinguished himself in that war sufficiently to be declared Sandaime's successor."

Kankuro shrugged. "I never said you couldn't take control back."

His father drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair, looking away thoughtfully. "How?"

"I dunno," Kankuro said. "Somehow." He looked at his father with a combination of faith and concern. Less agonized, his features relaxing in contemplation, his father was handsome. Even, maybe, beautiful. His father's delicate bone structure extended to his features: high cheekbones, a slim jawline, narrow chin. An unusually delicate nose. Really, if his father had long hair, he would be androgynous.

Yondaime finally noticed Kankuro studying him and flushed. He took another sip of plum wine. "Yes? Is there something you would like to state?"

Kankuro found himself smiling. His father was even more attractive flushed; the pink in high contrast with his father's pale skin. "I really wish I knew enough to paint you," he said softly.

His father's eyes widened. He didn't look as though he knew what to say.

"You're beautiful," Kankuro explained, as if that was in question. From the look in his father's eyes, maybe it was.

For a few moments, his father remained silent. Then his expression changed, relaxing into a rueful smile. "Ah…you're tired. And I'm tired, too. We should probably go to bed."

Kankuro was disappointed with his father's response. He doesn't believe me. He scanned his father again. Man…with a body like that? He must have really low self-esteem not to see it. He's totally hot. "Maybe…" He drew out the word. Then he stood up. "Would you like me to sleep with you? You know, to keep you company?"

His father's expression turned regretful. "No. I don't think that will be necessary."

But you want me to, Kankuro thought.

Yondaime rose from his chair, stared at the bottle of plum wine on the end table, and then glanced at Kankuro. "I can manage. I've spent twelve years sleeping alone. I think I've got the hang of it by now."

Kankuro crossed the space between them and gently squeezed his father's arm. "People don't get the hang of being lonely, Dad."

Yondaime looked as though he wanted to cry. "I hope you never have to find out…they do." He gently withdrew his arm from Kankuro's touch. Then he picked up the bottle of plum wine and his glass. "Good night, son." He gestured with the bottle. "I'm going to return these things to the kitchen and then go to bed myself. You should go on ahead. There's no sense in waiting for me."

Kankuro wanted to call him back, but instead he watched his father walk across the living room and disappear down the hall to the kitchen. Kankuro let out a sigh and let his shoulders slump. Dad…what am I going to do with you? I'm trying to help.

He walked slowly to the stairs, in the opposite direction from the way his father went. He paused there, his hand on the banister. I'm just trying to help.

By the time he walked to the top of the stairs, Kankuro had made up his mind. And I'm going to help, no matter what.

He went to his room, nodding to himself. No way was he going to let his father get the upper hand. Nobody could be right all the time. And this was one of those cases where his father was just wrong.

There's no reason to cling to loneliness, Kankuro thought sleepily, climbing underneath the covers and getting comfortable in his bed. It's just not right.

He fell asleep, entertaining thoughts of how he was going to reason with his father by any means necessary.