So, since Gaara's birthday was the 19th, I decided I'd write something to celebrate, and it just so happened to fit quite nicely with the events in this story, and I figured I'd make this a prequel of sorts. Hope you enjoy!
A Prelude
"Kankuro, what in all hell are you doing?"
"Whaddaya mean, what am I doing?" He gave his sister an arch look, cheek smeared with something Temari assumed was batter. "I thought we were making a birthday cake, here, but all you've done so far is pace back and forth with the damn recipe book and nag at me about getting the directions wrong."
His sister's eyes narrowed. "Wait a—"
"Maybe," Kankuro's voice overpowered hers, "if you put the book on the counter so I can see what I'm supposed to do, we won't have a problem anymore."
There is a reason why siblings—these siblings in particular—should never be encouraged to partake in the joys of teamwork of their own volition, because the probability for excess name-calling, personal insults, and bodily harm increases tenfold. Temari and Kankuro operated much more efficiently when they were demanded to cooperate; at least that way, the threat of dire consequences applied to both indiscriminately, and they had no choice but to set aside their differences and get the job done.
Perhaps the root of the problem lie with the fact that they each took a perverse joy in taunting one another, and did so as often as opportunity arose. On the outside, it may have appeared as though their relationship was strained, however the contrariness was just their way of expressing love.
The term "touchy-feely" didn't exist in the family vocabulary.
Straight out of a scene from an old western movie, the blonde kunoichi paused mid step—she'd been making another trek across the kitchen—and stared hard at her brother, the aura of her chakra nearly visible.
"Put it on the counter, huh?" She grated between clenched teeth.
Kankuro stared back impassively. "Right. Or, better yet, why don't you postmark it to flippin' Konoha, for all the good it's doing here. That airhead Naruto can dictate the instructions over the phone, and we may have a cake when the next ice age rolls around, if we're lucky."
As if she were a fish flung from its tank, Temari opened and closed her mouth, speechless until her countenance changed.
"Ah," she said calmly, and slammed the book so hard on the counter that the dishes in the cupboards rattled, and an egg Kankuro had set near the edge for a moment toppled off.
Unfortunately, when eggs fall, they do not simply bounce a few times and roll like a marble. They splatter.
And boy, did it splatter.
Since he hadn't been wearing shoes, Kankuro felt slimy, raw whites trickle between his toes, and he was reminded of the time he stepped on a slug as a kid.
Slugs burst.
He shuddered.
"Oh, that was real slick, psycho." Features screwed up in a grimace, he lifted his foot as high off the ground as he could. The white was already becoming sticky, and he wanted it off.
Temari blinked, somewhat astounded at the supreme mess a single egg can create. She hadn't anticipated her endeavor would yield such a dramatic outcome, to be honest. It seemed like a good idea then.
But rage makes everything seem like a good idea.
"Well if you hadn't provoked me—" she interrupted herself when she noticed her brother had his foot in the sink. "Kankuro! That's gross!"
"Whatever. You put dirty dishes in the sink," he retorted absently, squeezing a blob of antibacterial soap onto his skin.
"It's not the same concept." Temari's reply was exasperated. "Lord knows what kind of nasty germs cling to the bottoms of your feet…"
She heard the sound of the tap running.
"For cripes sake, woman," the puppet master muttered as he scrubbed. "You think your mouth is any better? There are major diseases that can be spread by breathing on someone—"
"Okay, okay, point taken."
Once her brother started, it was well nigh impossible to get him to stop, and, fascinating a subject as STDs were—she knew without a doubt he'd branch off in that direction—she wasn't in the mood to hear about them while they were baking.
"Fabulous."
Temari's fingers twitched, so she balled them into fists. If she beat the snot out of him now, they'd never finish the cake, and she was determined Gaara have a cake on his birthday.
"Why? I don't even like cake," he said when she proposed the idea, clearly unenthusiastic about the whole thing.
But he did like cake. It was the hoo-ha accompanying it that he didn't like.
Temari ignored his preferences, naturally, and insisted his birthday was going to be a normal affair, with all niceties observed.
Gaara decided he would sleep in on the morning of January 19. Now that he actually could sleep, he discovered he was quite good at it.
The only downside was that being woken up evoked his temper, which meant he was usually grouchy the rest of the day.
Let them suffer his wrath if they dared.
"What on earth did you do now, idiot?"
Temari and Kankuro both looked around and saw Sakura standing in the doorway, arms crossed loosely over her chest. There was amusement in her eyes, and her cheeks dimpled when she smiled. "Couldn't make it to the bathroom?"
"Stuff it, Princess," Kankuro said, rinsing the last of the soap from his—eggless—foot. "Blame the nutcase over there." He gestured at his sister. "She needs anger management in the worst way."
"Do you want me to get my fan? I'll go get my fan, so help me."
The medic raised her brows. She noticed the egg on the floor when she came in, but she no longer had to ask what happened.
Though she'd only been a resident at the Kazekage's estate for a few weeks, Sakura, always observant, believed she understood the dynamics of the family well enough to read between the lines.
For all their quirks, she had come to appreciate these people more than she ever thought she would. Sure, she fully supported the cause that brought her here, but it was the Kazekage and his siblings who cemented the deal, reasserted the passion for her job, made her feel as though she were accomplishing something.
She grinned. "So the cake was a bust?"
"What cake?"
Temari appeared mutinous. "Kankuro…"
The red flag was out, waving in the gale.
"I'll help," Sakura intervened. "I've been told I'm a pretty decent baker."
And when she kicked Kankuro in the shins a second later, she explained sweetly after he protested that her vision had gotten sharp due to the nature of her training.
It was improper to stick one's tongue out at one's sister, after all.
"Shuddup…go 'way…"
Beep, beep, beep.
"I said, shuddup…bas'rd…"
Beep, beep, beep.
"ARGH!"
Sabaku no Gaara, esteemed Kazekage of Sunagakure and Sex God Extraordinaire—deemed by his legions of female fans—flung his arm out aimlessly and mashed the button on his alarm clock twice, which probably wasn't necessary, but he didn't care. Piece of trash deserved rough treatment.
Screeching like that so damned early…
His eyes shot open.
Ten o'clock.
Ten o'clock.
"One of them must've done it," he croaked, voice hoarse from sleep. "That alarm wasn't set when I went to bed."
Damn meddlesome ingrates.
Gaara rolled over on his back to stare moodily at the ceiling. Birthdays. Bah. So he was a year older. Big deal. He didn't feel any different, wasn't on the verge of some major epiphany that would change him forever from this point forward. He'd already danced that dance, right? Dying had to count.
"Oh no, of course not," he grumbled petulantly, flinging his red silk sheets to the side. "God forbid I don't want to make a fuss about some stupid—" he untangled one leg— "worthless—" and the other— "event."
Though the day of his birth wasn't exactly worthless, as the many individuals whose lives he'd touched, either positively or negatively, could attest.
Motor skills slightly impaired, Gaara slithered out of bed and almost fell flat on his face when he went to take a step. Cursing like a slattern, he steadied himself on the bedpost.
Wonderful start, indeed.
He knew it was juvenile, but he couldn't resist saying, "World, you suck."
Yes, yes, and it would continue to do so, too, thanks very much.
Whiner.
"Yeah? I'm allowed." The redhead—or, more appropriately, bed head—stuck his nose in the air. "I'm Kazekage, damn it. I've got a pointy hat, ha!"
It was strange, not having that other awareness around to answer him. Shukaku had always been very vocal. Nary a minute went by without him spouting a wisecrack here, a complaint there.
The worst were his blatant demands for blood. Selfish and self-serving, the tanuki was ruthless toward his vessel when he wanted it, filling Gaara's head with malice and hunger and needles, sharp, deadly, destructive.
And while he didn't miss that, the silence now was still odd.
Stumbling into the bathroom, he flicked on the lights—that blinded him temporarily—and peered at his reflection in the mirror.
Puffy, half-lidded eyes. Stubble—must be shaved. Hair…atrocious.
"Oy. Hello, junkie."
He sighed.
Eighteen. Eighteen years.
He sighed again, though this one contained a hint of desperation.
Going downstairs meant attention, coddling, well-wishes. Going downstairs meant embarrassment, and that was why he resisted it.
Going downstairs meant an exchange, a glance, a touch…
What possessed him to ask her to stay here? What naive whim had convinced him everything would be fine, go ahead and do it, she's just a medic, just a girl, just a fiery personality that'll consume you like an inferno and only leave smoke and ashes behind as a memento…
He allowed his forehead to fall against the glass with a thump.
"I don't need this," he groused. "Don't want it, either."
But if he knew anything, he knew you couldn't always get what you wanted. Who tells the heart when to love and when to hate? To conquer an emotion, you have to first admit it exists, and that is the dangerous part. Admittance brings the thing you've avoided into the open, forces you to see it for what it is, and by then it might be too late to bury it.
Gaara was inexperienced where love was concerned. Until very recently, he wasn't able to distinguish between the many facets because he didn't understand them. Love for your family was not the same as love for your friends, and love for your friends didn't equate to love for…for someone, the person who dominated your thoughts, your fears, your dreams…
Time had taught him the difference. Time. Choices. Repercussions.
And a medic from Konoha named Haruno Sakura.
Ironic. Eighteen years without her, and she was so twined up in his life that to cut her off was suicide. Like amputating a limb and watching the blood pool on the pavement.
The Kazekage closed his eyes.
She was everywhere, and he had no explanation for it. None.
Except for one.
"Shower," Gaara said promptly.
It was his birthday. May as well milk it for all it was worth, even if he didn't much care for the concept.
One should not have to think on one's birthday, especially about girls.
"Smells divine, doesn't it?" Sakura's expression was blissful as she inhaled the aroma. She loved chocolate almost as much as she adored strawberry. Almost.
"Be careful, Princess, or you'll get frosting on your nose," Kankuro chided.
Temari made a smug noise. "Aren't you glad I suggested we do this?" She said, poking her brother in the side, where he was incredibly ticklish.
"Woah!"
Sakura snickered. "Can I leave you two alone for a second?"
"Where are you going?" Kankuro wondered as he tried to fend off more attacks from his sister—and failed.
"To find the birthday boy."
"Good luck with that," Temari smirked. "I switched his alarm on while he was asleep, so he's probably in a pleasant mood—AUGH!"
Kankuro had struck back.
Shaking her head, Sakura wandered out of the kitchen and down the hall a ways, mentally ticking off possibilities. She doubted he was in his room, because listlessness bothered him, and, in his words, "bedrooms encourage that sort of thing." She knew he didn't have any meetings today, since his siblings went under his nose and cancelled them, so he wouldn't be in the council hall…there was a chance he could've holed up in the library, though she doubted that, too…
Logic pointed to the study, and Sakura was a logical person.
So she went to the study.
The door was cracked, and light filtered through the gap.
Slowly, she eased it the rest of the way open, poked her face in, and had to check herself fast, or she would've blown her cover.
The Kazekage sat behind his desk with his headphones on, chin resting in his palm as his free hand used a pen to tap out a rhythm on the desk's surface. He seemed to be staring blankly at a random point in the distance, and he had yet to realize she was there.
Sakura bit her lip.
He was singing.
"Sweet home Alabama, na na na na nuh na. Where the skies are soooo bluwaugh—" Gaara finally perceived his audience.
The pen dropped, and he flushed.
"How long have you been there?" His tone was harsh from humiliation, and he yanked the headphones off.
"Not very," Sakura replied, on the verge of laughter. She coughed once. "Er…Happy Birthday."
He developed a twitch in his right eye. "What's so happy about it?"
"It's just an axiom. You say it to people on their birthdays."
The twitching continued. "I see."
Sakura released her breath in a whistle. "Um…we made you a cake."
"Mm-hm." She heard me sing…oh dear lord, she heard me sing…
"Because it's your birthday."
"I never would've guessed." This is bad. Bad, bad, bad…now she knows I'm tone-deaf…
The medic appeared as though she wanted to stomp her foot in frustration. I'd smack him if he weren't a Kage…
"You're obligated to eat it, Kazekage-sama," she said, voice clipped. "So come along." With that, she spun on her heel and strode out, aware that her conduct teetered on insubordinate.
"Spoiled brat," she muttered.
Gaara blinked.
Did she say, "come along?" to him?
The other eye twitched.
"Obligated. I'm not obligated. It's my birthday!"
But he stood anyway.
"There'd better be coffee ready."
Women were so difficult.
A tense hush hung in the air, so tense it was almost suffocating. Three pairs of eyes were focused on him, and the thing he'd placed on the dining room table, next to a stack of dirty plates and the quarter of the cake that remained.
"What is it?"
Kankuro and Sakura exchanged glances, and Temari exhaled impatiently. "It's one of those birds that you set near a cup of water and then give the head a tap, you know?" She grabbed Kankuro's glass and plunked it in front of them to demonstrate. "Look."
She tapped it, and the bird's head began to bob like a seesaw, the beak touching water each time it went down.
Sakura giggled. "How cute!"
Kankuro snorted. "Absolutely adorable. It suits you, little bro."
Gaara gave him a look. "Bite me." He then turned to his sister. "Were you high or something when you bought this? I mean…what am I supposed to do with it?"
"I don't know. Put it on your desk."
"And distract myself. Great."
"Shut up. Your office is so boring. It needs personality."
"Whose personality is this, exactly?" Gaara poked the bird, which bobbed energetically. "Maybe if I was a seventy-year-old eccentric—"
"Here," Sakura interrupted, shoving a small gift-wrapped box at him. "Mine next."
He stared at it, a strange fluttering sensation in his chest that he instantaneously quashed.
So she got me a present. Doesn't mean anything…
"Well?"
He started.
"Oh. Sorry." Smooth, dumb ass.
Tearing off the paper—red—he lifted the flap of the box.
Gaara's mouth quirked.
She had gotten him a coffee mug.
"Nice one, Princess," Kankuro complimented, ruffling her hair.
Temari reached for her camera. "Picture!"
The Kazekage frowned. "I don't—"
"Just smile, Gaara-sama," Sakura told him, and flashed a smile of her own.
So he smiled.
And whenever he was offered coffee afterward, he wouldn't accept unless he had his mug.
Sweet Home Alabama belongs to Lynard Skynard, of course. XD