Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The desert… When most people think of the desert they tend to think of the same thing.  They see the endless expanse of dust and sand, as far as the eye can see.  They feel a hot, dry wind, perhaps carrying a lone tumbleweed blowing across the empty landscape.  Imposing cliffs, showing just how trapped and isolated that you were in this desolate area. It is a punishing area, a way of life not for the faint of heart.  One wrong move is fatal for anyone, regardless of their status or home.  One wrong step, a simple wrong turn, can have you lost forever, wandering the bare expanse without drink or food, and no way home. The scorpions and spiders are extraordinarily poisonous, able to kill a grown man with a single drop of their venom.

Yes, most people only see the various shades of brown and black, sometimes red when they picture the desert, very few green things come to mind.  This land is too unforgiving for that.  Not much life can survive in this area.  Perhaps the great cactuses come to mind. Their crocked bodies jutting out from the cracked and damaged landscape, completely equipped with needles like senbon to protect themselves from anyone who was foolish, or even desperate to try to steal their precious water.

Water is scarce, comes in an unpredictable cycle of heat and rain and drought, depending on how much the sun wishes to torture its victims.  And the variety of food that is available?  Even scarcer.  All things need water to survive, plants being no exception. As I previously said, not much survives here.  Death lurks everywhere, even without the ninjas hiding, watching your every move.

The people of the Sand village are no different than the resilient cactus.  They are strong and capable ninja and people, ones who have been trained and born to master the skills necessary to thrive and live in these harsh conditions, to prepare for the next heat wave, or shower, or even war.  The Village of Sand must always be fully prepared for what our warring neighbours have to throw at us.  It is the only way that the village can survive without constantly pulling and depleting the reserves of its allies.  As a result, the sand shinobi as a whole has made a name for themselves.  

The people of this village have truly accepted the way of the desert life: only the strong and mighty survive.  The weak will die and make room for the strong, giving up their resources to others. To give them a chance at life.

Yet, perhaps one day they will speak of the flower that grew among the cactuses.  Weak and frail, unable to defend itself from the harsh sun and other predators, unable to protect its water and food supplies from other dangers.  Yet, still, it grew and blossomed, sheltered among the cactuses, defying the odds of the desert.  Defying the rules of the strong.

Besides, isn’t there always one special exception to the rule?

* * * * *

The group of four ninjas sat around the little table, getting progressively louder and drunker, beginning to disrupt the other people around them.  But no one said anything to them, at least, not to their face though they were more than willing to complain to you or the other wait staff about them.  These ninjas were four jōnin, one most of the elite levels of ninja around.  One you recognized as a teacher from the nearby school, the other two were covered in scars and battle wounds, and the last you couldn’t be sure of but there was an aura of danger around him.  There was no doubt that they were strong and powerful, worthy of their title… but yet they were just as brash as the common drunk around these parts. Loud and obnoxious, jeering and swearing.  They seemed to think themselves the only ones in the entire restaurant.

You allowed yourself a quiet sigh as you tended to the other patrons at the restaurant.  It was just past four, meaning that the restaurant was at its peak.  Everyone here was trying to catch an early dinner or beat the rest of the crowd of people… so that meant that everyone showed up at the exact same time.  As a result, the four jōnin where seated on the outside edge of the patio, waving their sake glasses, and throwing their arms out wide where no one else could be accidentally hit by them.

Seems as if the hostess had been thinking ahead when they sat them.

Retreating the inside of the restaurant, you exchanged your empty pitcher for a full one, glancing at the bartender.  Tony, the bartender for the night, had been keeping an eye on the four since they arrived, carefully watching how much they had to drink.  “Please, at least tell me that they ordered large meals?” he pleaded with you, watching them unabashedly gape at a woman’s passing backside.

You nodded to him. “Four country club specials,” you assured of him, “and that’s the last of the sake they will order. They already acknowledged that.”

The bartender groaned before nodding. “Good.  Perhaps we can keep the relations board away from us for a change.” Another bar patron caught his attention and he let you go return to your duties.

It wasn’t a bad job, you reminded yourself as you went around refilling everyone’s water glasses, double checking on them.  Sure there was a few bad customers and a few bad days, and the pay wasn’t the best, but the majority of them were nice, understanding. And the tips that you collected were able to cover your Grandmother’s medicine costs, and, if you picked up a couple extra hours, you were easily able to cover the rent. It probably helped that they were all fond of your grandmother, Franchesica. She had been a fabulous ninja in her day, strong and kind, and she had raised father to follow in her footsteps, even from a young age.  Of course, she had been disappointed when your condition became apparent, she had wanted more descendants to carry her bloodline and her techniques.  Instead, she had only been able to carry Dad to fruition, and he and your mother were only blessed, or cursed, with you.

Although he and your mother did not have long for this world, she continued to raise you as her own. Your parents had died when you were young, she could have given you to the state, or at the mercy of those who ran the excuse for the local orphanage.  Lived her own life.  Instead, she raised you like her daughter until she became sick, nearly paralysed in her own bed.  Now it was your turn to look after her.

She counted on you to help feed and look after her, though the day nurse was able to help you while you were at work.  Luckily she was covered by your grandma’s insurance or you weren’t sure how you would be able to afford everything…

Someone slapped your ass.

You reacted instinctively.

Blood now boiling with rage, you spun around.  Quickly spying the culprit, it was hard to miss that cocky grin, that half smirk and dazed eyes.  You immediately reacted.  With a simple flick of your wrist, you dumped the rest of the ice cold water on the man’s head.  “HOW DARE YOU SLAP MY ASS!” you spat, hopefully loud enough to catch Tony’s attention.  “IF YOU HAVE YOU ANY RESPECT FOR THE WOMEN IN YOUR LIFE YOU WILL APOLOGIZE TO ME, RIGHT NOW.”

That’s when you recognized the man.

The teacher jōnin was soaked, swinging his arms in an attempt to rid himself of the water.  His eyes were not full of apology, however.

Instead, they were angry.

“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHO I AM?” he demanded of you, grabbing the empty pitcher and throwing it to the side. The glass shattered against the wall, the sound echoing through the patio.  The other patrons shrieked and ran, ducking for cover within the restaurant, unintentionally preventing Tony from getting to you.  You didn’t dare move. Instead, you watched as the teacher rose to his full height.  “YOU SHOULD BE HONOURED THAT SOMEONE SUCH AS I CHOSE TO TOUCH A CRETIN LIKE YOU! WORTHLESS WITHOUT ANY CHARKA, A SHAME TO THE VILLAGE ITSELF!” his hand reached out, seizing the front of your shirt.  “BACK IN MY DAY, THE USELESS ONES WERE KILLED AS SOON AS THEY WERE BORN. IT PREVENTED THEM FROM DEVELOPING SMART MOUTHS AND THINKING THAT THEY WERE SOMETHING BETTER, SOMEONE, WHO WAS DESTINED FOR SOMETHING BETTER THAN A LIFE OF PAIN AND SUFFERING.”

He shoved you, sending you toppling backwards.  Your foot became hooked on a chair leg, sending you tumbling to the chair seat, and then to the ground.  You hit your tailbone hard, and the chair that had been hooked on your leg fell on your ankle.  You grit your teeth against the pain.  You wouldn’t give this asshole any more pleasure than he already got.  Your vision was foggy, where were your glasses…?

“Are you looking for something?” he taunted you, taking a step forward.  “It would be a shame if something happened to them, now would it?” There was the smallest tinkling of glass.  He had stepped on your glasses, leaving you blind.  “Now…. how about you make up for your insubordination by…”

“That’s enough.” The cold, familiar voice sent a chill down your spine and sent fear to the man. Even without your glasses you could see the widening whites of his eyes, his shrinking pupils.  He began to tremble.

Three shapes carefully stepped in front of you, the smallest silhouette standing in front of you. It was easy to tell who they were. The wild red hair, the blonde double set of pigtails, and the head covering was more than enough to tell you who they were.

“Gaara… I…” the man sputtered, walking backwards to his other guests.

Gaara didn’t even blink.  His arms were folded across his chest, his ever-present gourd on his back. Those icy blue irises stared him down. For all his improvement that he had made, he still retained the look of murderer.  “Is this how you treat others when I’m not around?  I’m disappointed in the four of you.  I would have thought for sure a jōnin would know how to act in public, especially with them acting as the face of this village. Perhaps I should I strip you of that title?  That is, if it is too much responsibility for you to handle”

The man shuddered and shook, wildly shaking his head.  If there was one shame that was greater than a dishonourable death, it was the removal of a title, removal of power… “No, Lord Gaara,” he said bowing quickly, the others falling suit.  “I apologize for my actions.  The sun was too hot and I acted without thought…”

Temari sneered at them.  As always she was by her brother’s side, one hand on her hip, fan securely strapped to her back.  Ready to attack or defend should the situation present itself.  “Perhaps you should be drinking more water instead of sake then, especially in such… heat.” she managed, nodding towards the men’s empty cups.  Kankuro, said nothing to the men himself, but you could hear the little noise in his throat. He was unamused and agitated, standing tense and alert.

After all this time you could still read their body language and tone so clearly.

“You are absolutely right, my lady.  I will take that to heart….” he stammered.  “Please, allow me to go.  I have work that must be done.”

“Apologize to the waitress you brashly offended first, and then be on your way.  I hope not to see any of you in my sight.”

The man stuttered out a quick, half-hearted but fear-filled, apology to you before quickly trotting away, escaping with the rest of his crew.

Temari and Kankuro sighed in relief, dropping their imposing stare and stance immediately seeing the men flee.  Gaara did not. Instead his eyes stayed on the man’s back, eyes narrowing.  Watching like a hawk.

Kankuro sighed and bent to the ground, picking something up.  “Are you ok?” he asked, finally turning around to speak to you, something flimsy in his hands.  His face dropped the cold, unfeeling mask, instead there was something warm about it.

Something like concern.

How long has it been? Years…

Your shoulders sagged and you couldn’t quite meet his eyes.  Once upon a time, you had been almost close to the fearsome Sand Siblings, as they have grown to become known as.  That was before your lack of charka had forced your grandmother to pull you from the academy itself.  That was the death sentence for any chance at a normal life in this village.  “Well… would be better if they didn’t run off without paying their bill.” You said, getting up and dusting yourself off, ignoring the three’s odd look at each other. Make a bad joke, pretend that you didn’t hurt, you told yourself.  Acting… pretend you’re ok.

It was how you learned how to survive the desert of emotion that this village was.

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME? THEY DIDN’T PAY? THOSE LOUSEY MEATHEADS…” Tony grumbled as he finally made his way over to the table.  “NOT A DIME! THEY DIDN’T LEAVE A SINGLE PENNY ON THEIR FUCKING TAB!” he continued to rand and rave as he picked up the seats and table.  You sighed, softly.  Yes it wasn’t your fault, and no Tony would never see it as yours, but still…

You felt partially responsible.

“I’m sorry, Tony….” You started to say as Tony came over to your small group.

“No, it is me that should be sorry,” Gaara said quickly, cutting you off.  The young Kazekage to-be watched as the men scurried away from them, his eyes narrowing as they followed them. “I should have specified that they at least pay and tip before leaving the restaurant.”

Tony just shook his head, pinching at his nose.  “Doesn’t matter, their food was still cooking at the time of the incident.  We can resell it.  All they got was the sake.” He sighed before looking at you.  He looked disappointed almost.  “You, just… just go home.  We’ll talk about this later.” he said, gesturing for you to go.

“But… my shift…” you tried to protest.

“Go. You can’t see, let alone work, without your glasses anyways. You’re useless here.”  

You opened your mouth to argue, before closing.  You knew he was right.  He may not have meant it in that regard, but he was right nonetheless.  You were useless.  And yet…

Another cheque without full hours and your glasses would be expensive, add in the new medication your grandmother was on… you winced slightly, thinking of your bank account.  Red was beginning to become a common look for it.

“Yes sir…” you said, trying to untangle yourself from the chairs.  Twmari and Kankuro were by your side in an instant, grabbing your hands and helping you up. “Thanks, guys,” you miserably said, taking your glasses from Kankuro.  They were well and truly destroyed. The lens was shattered and the frames were bent out of shape.

“But…”

“I guess I’ll catch you guys around some other time.” you turned and walked away then, no longer sure that you could hold back your tears.

Shinobi Rule Number 25 – A shinobi must never show their tears.

Chapter Text

You sighed softly opening the door to the house you and your grandmother shared.  Closing the door, you fumbled with the lock, slipping it down with a little click.  Your eyes slipped shut as you leaned against it.  Well.  At least you were home.  Could worry about other things later on.

“Is that you, my Desert Flower?” An older voice sounded from around the corner.  Your childhood nickname allowed you to smile and the familiar rasp was soothing to you, like a band-aid over a paper cut.

You were safe. You were home…. it was here that you were loved.

“It’s me, grandma.” You came into the room, walking over to your grandmother’s seat and kissing her cheek.  She was sitting in a plush if faded plush sofa chair, propped up on pillows, and wrapped in blankets.  Her milk white eyes looked up at you, blind but still reflecting the love that had echoed in your first memory of her.  When others had attempted to cast you out, shove you away, she was the one that had brought you to the spotlight, shown them your potential.  The TV was on, the light dancing over her.  She must have been listening to some sort of soap opera on TV, but had muted the show when she had heard you come through the door.  “Did the nurse just leave?” you asked, nodding to her pills and water that sitting beside her.

She chuckled as she always did when you kissed her cheek liked that. A firm hand pulled your cheeks closer to her, letting her nuzzle against you.  “She left about an hour ago.  Said something about a baby being born in her next client’s house.  Couldn’t stay.  So she got me settled, checked me over and left. Young people, always in such a hurry these days to be born…” She paused in her speech, peeking at the television.  She may be blind but she could tell by colours and the way the actor’s moved to what show it was.  To what time it was.  “I don’t mean to nitpick, hon, but weren’t you supposed to be working overtime today?”

You flinched slightly, hoping that she didn’t notice the small movement.  Right.  There goes the comfort.  Her hand cupped your cheek, her aged fingers feeling the sides of your face.  “And your glasses are gone… the skin is giving off heat in a small area… were you in a fight?”

Despite her lack of sight, she was surprisingly cunning.  Every clue told her something else.

“Sort of…” you admit, your throat swelled then, and you could no longer hold back the tears.  They ran down your cheeks, dripping off your chin and onto her chair.  Your grandmother, feeling your tears, immediately pulled you into a hug.  Comforting you, trying to help you.  It was almost too much to bear.  Silently you wept, letting the frustrations and despair of the day finally leave you.  Your grandmother, bless her soul, didn’t say a word.  Instead she held you tightly.  You, a grown woman, almost in the lap of your grandmother. You were too far gone to think about the consequences though.

Finally, sniffing, you quit crying.  You rubbed at your eyes, clearing them of the remains of your tears.  Yet you continued to sit close to her.

“There… do you feel better, dearie?” Silently you nodded.  You had just broken one of the biggest rules of the shinobi law, but you no longer cared.  It was time to face the truth.  You were no shinobi, never would be.  You were just another struggling villager, trying to get by.

She continued to speak, her sightless eyes finding yours.  “I know that it gets hard sometimes.  If there is one rule that I always disagreed with, it was the rule of emotions.  Emotions make us strong, they make us human.  They give us empathy and compassion, along with the ability to read inside another’s mind.  And sometimes, for the healing mind and body, all that is needed is a great outburst.  A cleanse… and then we begin anew.”

Chuckling sadly, you lay against her arm.  “I wish more people thought like you, grandma.  Perhaps things would be easier on us..”

“Well, if the others would see things my way, we would all be the same.  And that would be boring!  Like having the same mush to eat every day!” she spat, glaring at her empty plate.

A small giggle escaped you before you sobered suddenly.

Right.  Groceries.  More money.

“Listen close to me, my Desert Flower.  I see emotions as the desert rain.  It will be dry and barren for months and months on end without them.  Death of the land and people is imminent without it. Emotions give us growth and life and love.  Little life survives this way of living.  Only those with hardened hearts and closed minds can see any signs of real life this way.” Your grandma gently squeezed your arm, trying to comfort you the way that she knew how.  “There is someone who has great plans for you, great plans indeed and somehow thinks that is the best way to prepare you for them.”  She looked up at you desperately, hoping that you understood her.

You allowed yourself a tiny snort.  “And yet coming around to me and talking to me is too much to ask?” you asked her.  You knew that it was a bad, a terrible joke, but you needed to move her on from this conversation.  You couldn’t afford to let her get too worked up these days.

She grinned at you.  “You should know by now that the celestials work in mysterious ways.”  She ruefully sighed.  “My son, your father, would be such a prime example.  He didn’t just come out of my womb banishing multiple kunai with ease.  The ninja school wasn’t even going to accept him at first.”

This… this was news to you.  “My father wasn’t going to be accepted into the ninja academy?  That’s… but why?”  It was hard to imagine the small, bouncing ball of energy not being enrolled.  His pictures still hung everywhere in the little house.  Your grandmother’s personal favourite, the one with him holding up his headband, sat beside her chair.

Your grandmother chuckled at your perplexed face.  “That’s right… I haven’t told you everything just yet.  An old woman has to have some secrets, otherwise she’s just another boring, old woman.”

“You’d never just be another old, boring woman to me, grandma.  You’d be my old, boring grandmother,” you laughed as you were weakly hit with a blur of a faded pillow.

“You, child, are my daughter-in-law’s child!  Such wit and such a sharp mouth!  You wound me!  What happened to children treating their elders with respect and dignity?” Your grandmother fake lamented, a wrinkled hand clutching weakly at her chest as if to protect her heart.  Always the drama queen.

Gently, you pressed her for more information.  It was so rare that she talked about your father and mother, caused her too much pain.  But, when she did willingly, you had to get every drop you could out of her when she did.  “Please tell me.  Why wouldn’t my father be accepted into the school?  I was told that he graduated top honours, top class, made the chunin exams on his first attempt.”

“Indeed he did.  Don’t misunderstand me, he was a gifted child right from the start.  A promising young ninja warrior.” She toyed with the small necklace around her neck, a long time ago gift from your unknown grandfather to her.  “But he reminded me of you in many, many ways.  At least in the beginning.”

Eyes widening, you stared at her.  Could it be possible that your “condition”, your boy’s failure to produce the smallest drop of charka, be curable?  Be reversed?  That was almost blasphemy.  “How?”

“He was an outsider in the village, at least at first.  Our roots are shallow here in the village, shallow but strong.” She said. 

Talk about an uprooting statement. Suddenly a few more things began to make sense.  How you could never find your family name in the local library, how your grandfather’s ashes were buried in a smaller grave instead of the normal crypts of this village. “You mean that you immigrated here?  That we…”

There was a loud knock on the door, causing both yourself and your grandma to jump and stare in the direction of the door.

“Appears as if my story is made for another day,” Grandmother chuckled, gently urging you to the door.  “Such timing.  Perhaps my nurse has returned.”

Fumbling for the door handle, you somehow managed to unlock it and open it, squinting at the blurry silhouette.  Not the nurse.  The small, twin peaks in the head garb was a major giveaway.

“Oh!  Kankuro!  I wasn’t expecting you here.” you openly admitted, trying to ignore the slight shaking in your hands.  Why was he here?  Too many scenarios ran through your mind.  Perhaps you were being kicked out of the village for causing a disturbance amongst the elite warriors.  Or for being a drag on the already strained resources of this land…

“I know that it isn’t the best manners for an old friend to show up uninvited on your porch,” he said, fiddling with something behind him.  His old leather carrying case clicked as he pulled something out.  “But the three of us, Gaara, Temari and myself, weren’t happy with how things ended today.  So we wanted to change that.” he pulled out a small object.  “Here.  For you.”

Taking the item from him, you carefully felt it.  Hinges.  So it opened.  “You guys did plenty enough.  Didn’t need to do anything else for me, especially not get me a present.”

“Wait till you open it.”

Pressing your lips against any other questions, you found the other side of the case and carefully pried it open.  There was a small glint of light.  “My… my glasses.”  You put them on immediately, feeling relief flood your body as everything came back into sharper focus.  “Thank you.”

Kankuro chuckled, sticking his hand back in his pocket.  “It was the least we could do.  Or, to be more accurate, the least that those three assholes could do.  Gaara tracked them down and got them to pay for a new pair.  We would have let them off with simply paying for the repairs, but your optometrist said that your glasses were beyond anything that he could do.”

You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face.  “Dare I ask how Gaara ‘encouraged’ them to pay for them?”  Glasses weren’t cheap here, and your prescription alone cost a small fortune. Add in how fast that they were created…

A shudder ran down his back.  “It’s better that you don’t ask.” He admitted, looking a little pale.

“WHO IS THERE, DESSERT FLOWER?” your grandmother called out from the room.  By the stars above, your grandma couldn’t see worth shit but she could scream like a banshee.  And she had used your special nickname…

“Do you remember Kankuro?” you called back to her, tossing it over her shoulder.

“THE YOUNG BOY WHO USED TO PLAY DOLLS WITH YOU AND TEMARI?  HE MUST BE ALL GROWN UP NOW!”  Both you and Kankuro flushed slightly at the repressed memory.  Indeed the three of you once passed the time playing with your large collection of dolls and soft toys.  Though, being the children of the Kazekage meant that they had the superior collection.  “DON’T LET HIM STAND OUT THERE IN THE SUN!  INVITE HIM IN.”

“Uhhh….” You turned to him, deciding to let your grandmother ask the question for you.

“Thank you, but I must decline.  We have another meeting with Gaara and the rest of the elders to finalize some paperwork, regarding his initiation into office.” He ruefully sighed.  “They are still debating.  There is no arguing his skill and commitment, but they are reluctant due to his age and colourful past…”

You winced.  It wasn’t that long ago that Gaara sparked fear in the public – both ninja and general alike.  He had been filled with such fury, such anger.  He had done a complete change after the chunin exams, was a completely different person.  “Well, hopefully you guys can get that sorted out quickly.” You said. 

Kankuro nodded.  “Well, I must be off now.  Talk to you later… Dessert Flower.” He smirked, sticking both hands in his pockets and strutting away.

Huffing, you called out in return, “Talk to you later, One Who Plays With Dolls.”

He snorted, waving back at you.  “Hey.  It isn’t dolls if it’s practice!”

Snorting, you closed the door and re-locked the door, returning to the living room.  “So grandma…” your voice trailed off.  She was fast asleep, eyes closed, and mouth wide open, leaning against the back of her plush chair.  “Convenient…” you muttered, stalking into the kitchen to begin to make supper.  Perhaps you would make the same mush, just to spite her.

Chapter Text

After the incident, things seemed to go back to normal for you.  Almost like it had never happened.  Customers came and went, tipped and paid, and the days seemed to flow into one.  Perhaps this was adult life, having no distinction of today or yesterday or tomorrow.  The only change was what position you worked in the restaurant.  You sighed, polishing what you assumed was the same glass for the hundredth time that week.  Your glasses, your new glasses, sat firmly on your nose as you wiped the glass clean.  Tony, as good of a boss as he was, was a perfectionist.  The glasses had to look brand new after the dishwasher.  Like no one’s lips or straw had touched them before.  No soap scum or water droplets could be seen, or the entire glass risked having to be rewashed.

It was tedious work, but at least he paid by the hour.

It was late evening by the time you arrived home that day.  You hated working double shifts.  The people and the work seemed to mentally exhaust you, but, compared to the stack of bills that were piling up on the kitchen table…

Well, you had no choice.  Your grandmother was counting on you.  And if you couldn’t make real money as a ninja warrior, and going to school was a luxury in itself…

Well, Tony’s restaurant would have to do.

“I’m home.” you said, placing your coat on the coat rack and your bag by the front door.  Tomorrow you were doing prep work and then waitressing for a couple hours.  Early mornings.

“Oh good, child.  Come into the living room.  My nurse found something when she was grabbing my favourite sweater.”

Curious, you walked through the doorframe of the room.  Your grandmother was wearing her pink and white woven sweater, her white hair piled into a large bun at the top of her head.  Your mother had made that for her when she had first started seeing your father.  It wasn’t the best sign to see her wearing it.  Meant that she was trying to slip into the past.  Smiling softly, you sat down beside her, watching as she was rummaging through a large box.  “What do you have there, grandma?” you asked her, trying to peek inside.

“Priceless memories.  Photos and art and all sorts of doodads.” She said, pulling out a picture frame and smiling at it.  “My dear Hisao… he was named in the hopes that he would outlast his father and brother.  Unfortunately, it seems that the power of his name could not rewrite his fate.”  She placed a framed picture of a young, handsome looking man beside her.  Although it was slightly faded, you could tell that he was dressed in a stunning blue kimono, decorated with diamond shapes.  He looked like a taller version of your father, almost, but with stunning blue eyes.  Your grandfather had died when your father was just a boy, leaving your grandma a single mom at a young age.  And, when your parents died, she became a single mom again in the years of when she should be enjoying peace.  Your family members seemed to have a habit of dying young.

“And here is their wedding photo,” your grandmother said, pulling out a white frame.  Your father and mother, smiling wildly at the camera in their wedding kimonos.  They made a handsome couple, him with his ice blue eyes and blonde hair, and her with her warm brown eyes and hair.  “Dad doesn’t look much like a traditional Sand shinobi,” you said quietly.

Your grandmother looked at you, seemingly debating with herself.  “Yes.  He stood out against the other children.  Everyone else looked like they could blend in with the endless sand and dirt, and here is this blonde boy.” She chuckled, her eyes looking distant and sad.

Not daring to say anything, you watched her carefully.  Her eyes were dull and clouded, blindness had stolen some of the colour from them with her age, but she had the same blue as her husband and father.  You too carried the same blue in your eyes.  She shook herself a little, bringing herself back to the present.  Hands began to search in the box again.

“Your baby book, Dessert Flower! I thought that I had lost it!” She pulled out a cloth covered book, settling it against her knee and slowly turning the pages.

Despite your worries about her and money, you had to smile.  “Look how small I was!” you exclaimed, looking at a picture of you lying on your mother’s chest, clutching your father’s finger.  Your grandmother was taking the picture you realized.

“Yes, so small and so early.  Your lungs were not yet finished forming by the time you came into the world.  I still remember.  You came out screaming, but then quieted after being wrapped in a blanket.  The doctors and nurses were scared that we had lost you then, you were so quiet.  Not a peep.  They told us then to say goodbye, that you wouldn’t live through the night.  But you proved them of your strength then.  Lived and slept through the first night, and then the second and third.” She smiled, still turning pictures.  “You spent your first months in the hospital.  Usually hooked up breathing tubs, helping your poor little lungs work.  The first day we brought you home,” she said, an arthritic hand shakingly pointing at a photo beside the other.  A tiny baby wrapped up in a blanket, squinting at the camera.  Your mom was kissing your little head, already tuffs of hair could be seen.  “That first night we came home you cried and cried.  You only stopped crying when you were laid down beside your mom and dad.” Your grandmother chuckled, turning more pages.

You saw your first years passed by in a similar fashion.  Slowly growing up and older, growing bigger.  A large smile never leaving your face.  “So happy…” you whispered.  You could still remember it slightly.  A smell of a desert lily, the feel of a fuzzy towel wrapped around you, the bubbling sound of a pot, and the sound of singing.

“And here’s mom and dad’s funeral,” she whispered, looking at the picture.  There you were, no more than five and dressed in a black and grey kimono, standing beside your grandmother and clutching her hand.  Both of your eyes were pink, cheeks puffy.  Your grandmother turned the page quickly, a shuttering breath racking her body.

Again the photos passed, but there were fewer smiles.  There were a couple of your back as you visited a couple gravestones, a few of you drawing pictures, sitting with your old teddy bear, and then…

“Here we go,” your grandmother smiled, stroking the edges of the photo.

A picture of you, Temari, Kankuro and an even smaller Gaara playing in the sand, buckets and sand shovels beside you.  You had the largest smile on your face, and all of you were looking like you were laughing at something. The page turned and the four of you were playing with toys.  The page turned and there was you guys playing dress up.

“We were so close….” You whispered, feeling a slight ache in your throat.  Kinder days, ones where you didn’t realize how different you were.  Where everyone thought you cute and adorable and precious.  Days where friendship and laughter lasted forever.

But it hadn’t.  You had been expelled from the academy, and, shouldering your blames and burdens, you had tried to disappear from everyone’s eyes.  Homeschooled by your grandmother while the others became top shinobi.  You had assumed that they had all forgotten about you.

“Times are tough, my little Desert Flower, especially for one that had been shunned by the village as much as you have.  But I always knew that you were a tough cookie.  I knew that you were strong.  In your own way.” her hand reached out, brushing away the tears that you didn’t know were falling.  “You have shown them once again that you will not bend to their opinions.  And for that, I am proud of you.  It hasn’t been tough, and the gods know that I had hoped that things wouldn’t go this way, but you have grown up to be a wonderful lady.”

You watched your grandmother.  Sometimes it seemed like she knew just what to say to help cheer you up.  “Thanks, grandma.” You said, hugging her close.

* * * * *

You yawned, hiding your yawn into your elbow as you continued peeling the potatoes.  There was a mug of coffee beside you (tea didn’t always cut it this early in the morning).  For prep morning, Tony had a careful checklist that needed to be done.  You were about halfway through it already, but had been holding off on the glasses till last.  Floors had been swept, bathrooms cleaned, garbage taken out, dishwashing had been started and now you were preparing the vegetables.

Soon you would be done.

You looked out at the restaurant.  Tony had opened up Sunday’s early for brunch and, although it always seemed to remain quiet, it pulled in a profit…

And a couple extra hours for you.

Looking around the restaurant, you tried to guess everyone’s story.  There was an older couple that only came in on the Sunday mornings.  They would always order the same thing to split.  Frank’s breakfast surprise.  Two pieces of toast, four sausage, four bacon and three eggs, tea to drink between them.

There was the group of rather rough looking young men who had ordered the steak and egg breakfast, all drinking Tequila Sunrises or “Irish” Coffees between them instead of the regular sake.  They looked to be discussing something secretive, already having shooed the waitress away a few times when she come over to collect the plates.  Perhaps they were part of the secret ops group that were seldom seen around the village, preparing for some sort of secret village.

And of course there were two or three lovely couples, all hanging off of each other.  Returning to your dishwashing, you hid the deep pit of loneliness that you felt when you looked at them.  It wasn’t their fault that you were different.  Wasn’t their fault that you were able to risk putting yourself out there.  After all, you all knew the stories of what happened to lonely or desperate women.

A hand tapping your shoulder interrupted your thoughts.  “Tria?” you asked.  “Do you need something else made up?”  In addition to prep, you were also the bartender on call.

The young waitress shook her head.  “No, everyone seems to be doing well right now, drink wise.” She gave an odd smile.  “But table five had specifically asked for you to be their waitress.”

A fifth table?  Tony was sure to be thrilled tonight.  “Wait, for me? Are you sure?” You wiped your table and grabbed your apron.

“I’m sure.  You’re the only one around here that goes by your name after all.” Tria said, shrugging.

You tied your apron around your waist, making sure that you had your notebook and pen on you, pushing open the door, now more than thoroughly confused to who was asking for you and why.

Table five looked to be made up of eight people.  Five were senior members of the high council, all high ranking officers and shinobi, the other three…

“Morning.  Was hoping that you were working today.” Temari said, smiling up at you, her eyes looking slightly strained.  She looked like she had been up for the entire evening, crying or arguing.  Kankuro gave a wave and quick smile before turning back to the other members.  He didn’t look much better, a little less puffy.  Gaara didn’t acknowledge you.  His hands were folded in front of himself and he was speaking lowly to the others.

Suddenly it made sense.  Because of Gaara’s age and previous episodes, there were a few obstacles to becoming the new Kazeage following the death of his father.  So they were looking for someone who would be discreet and quiet, one that they could count on not to reveal any details about their conversation or arguments. 

“You guys are lucky today.  Tony put me on earlier than usual.” You said, smiling at them.  Be professional, friendly but not too friendly.  “Now, what can I get for everyone today?”