Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Gaara blinks. Reads the message again. And again. Silently, he hands it to Kankuro and spends a long moment wondering when he will be able to retire. This job is beginning to weigh on him.

“Wow,” Kankuro says, grinning. “That took guts. I respect it.”

“Otogakure is a respected village and a credit to their neighbours,” Gaara says. “But yes, absolutely.”

“Will you allow it?”

Gaara closes his eyes and exhales a long breath through his nose. “When Orochimaru of the Sanin and his star pupil ask for a meeting at my earliest convenience, we clear the schedule, Kankuro. We don’t ask questions. We most definitely don’t revisit old grudges.”

“So spoketh the General of Allied Ninja Forces, Almighty Gaara,” Kankuro says. “Praise be, praise be—”

“Cute,” he says, quirking his brow. His facial expressions have gone a long way, or so Satsumi has assured him. “Don’t be a pest. This is serious.”

“Doubtful,” Kankuro says, waving a hand. Too bad he doesn’t want the hat. He would be a fine Kazekage. “Orochimaru has been minding his own business.”

Orochimaru-sama minding his own business; what a concept. “Have you known Orochimaru-sama to be obliging? Reasonable? Tame?”

Kankuro’s obnoxious grin deflates. “No,” he sighs. “No, it’s going to be terrible.”

Gaara inclines his head.

“At least Temari and the Terrors are in Konoha for the rest of the year. That’s something.”

Gaara inclines his head again. He’s not worried as such, but his curiosity is tinted with caution. You can never tell with either Orochimaru or Uchiha and with diplomatic relations being as they are—He shakes his head and redirects his thoughts. Nothing good will come of dwelling. He had left a slab of lamb to marinade yesterday?

He puts down his brush and summons his aides.

“I am taking the afternoon off,” he says. “Summon the council reps. An urgent matter has come up, and I will not be available for most of next week.”

***

Neither of them changed much outwardly, Gaara thinks. Some cosmetic differences are obvious—Orochimaru-sama had finally talked the last Uchiha into jumping bodies, so he has both arms—and they are keeping their Chakra politely tucked behind their skin, but the dignity and disregard in their body language is as omnidirectional as always.

Well, that’s not true, he allows. Gaara still might feel like an unkempt savage in their presence, but it’s been at least a handful of years since they went out of their way to inspire that sentiment.

“Otokage-sama,” he says, inclining his head. “Uchiha-sama.”

“Gaara,” Uchiha says and gets a reproachful look from his mentor. Gaara’s interest sparks. He had a handful of in-person meetings with the Sanin—all of them memorable—and a couple with Uchiha Sasuke, but the last time he saw both of them together was during the tenth anniversary of the war when he hardly had many opportunities to exchange pleasantries. Somehow, the most infamous Shinobi on the Continent respects his mentor. He rolls his eyes at the silent reprimand but doesn’t comment. If anyone else tried it—Well.

“Kazekage-sama,” Orochimaru says. “Thank you for agreeing to see us.”

“I am off the clock,” he says, with some care. The phrase is new; he’s still breaking it in. “So, please, follow me.”

A restaurant is out of the question, and, moreover, he doesn’t get to cook much these days. When the Terrors are in town, he can hardly step out of the kitchen before one of them is about to expire from hunger. Those are fun days.

The two S-rank monsters fall in step with him. With considerable gratitude, he notes they don’t insist on filling the silence. Maybe this afternoon will be pleasant yet? With that in mind, he makes a mental upgrade to the quality of their meal, as a reward and a bribe. One good turn deserves another.

***

The letter didn’t specify a time limit for their meeting or suggested a time-sensitive dimension to whatever they need of him. With that in mind, Gaara leads his guests to his third favourite private terrace, covered with carpets and cushions, with a glass roof reinforced with Fūinjutsu.

“Sit, please,” he says. “Write what seals you need to feel comfortable. I will be back shortly with refreshments.”

Any host can be impressive if given a list of preferences and dislikes. A good host will go in blind, armed with a wide array of starters, observational skills and an ability to improvise.

The dip-trays are his opening salvo. Sixteen bowls filled with ground vegetables, nuts, seeds, leaves, roots, oils, etcetera. No meat, because he will investigate those preferences in the second course.

“The base ingredient: eggplant, chickpeas, red peppers, yoghurt,” he says, tapping each grouping of four bowls. “Four variations on the base, no meat.”

“Accompaniments,” he continues, wheeling out the second try. “Flatbreads—” Four varieties: thin and crispy; thin and soft; thick and crispy; thick and soft. Typically, three types are served. Gaara likes his quartets.  “Rice—” Long-grain, round-grain, brown, waxy. “Drizzle—” Four, again; pomegranate molasses, garlic oil, chilli oil, basil oil. “Seasoning.” Salt, pepper, basil, ginger. “Enjoy, gentlemen. I will return with the second course.”

***

The second round of trays he, admittedly, improvises on the spot, but he is a sand user. He can damn well make some clay four-by-four trays and make them pretty. “Chicken, lamb, pig, cow,” he says, wheeling out the first tray. “Boiled, roast, baked, fried.” He wheels in a second four-by-four. “By base ingredient: quinoa, bulgur, couscous, lentils.” The third tray is grouped by the base of the salad. “Cucumber, tomato, pepper, cabbage.” And finally, the fourth. “Oil-based sauces. Nut-based sauces. Herb-based sauces. Milk-based sauces.” He nods, happy with the neatness of it. Four by four by four by four—times four. His mind is quiet and delighted by the clear, satisfying rightness. “Enjoy.”

***

This time, he doesn’t retreat fully but lurks to observe the reception. Boiled meat is unfavored by both. The Sanin appreciates the more unusual flavour profiles, the stronger the better. The Uchiha prefers quiet, soothing dishes, with clear notes and no surprises. They both eat meat, but just enough to satisfy their bodies’ need for protein. Once they meet that norm, they focus on the vegetables, dips and sauces. Flatbread is a success, too. Thin and crispy and almost black for the Otokage; pillowy discs of fried dough for his student.

***

And finally—

“Oh,” Orochimaru of the Sanin says, looking between the two dishes Gaara slid over the table to him and his student. “I don’t doubt the quality, but I admit I am curious about the change in procedure.”

“I have all the intel I needed,” Gaara says. “I know the dessert will be to your liking.” He does know and he’s eager to be proven correct. “Fried phyllo rolls, stuffed with cream and soaked in rose water syrup for Uchiha-san. Cardamon and saffron semolina cake for Orochimaru-san. Enjoy.”

Victory, he thinks, not a little smug. They love it.

Two pair of eyes find him and he flicks his hand at the wrist. He doesn’t need praise. “Would you like an after-dinner cordial? I can mix a pitcher of Sandstorm Soother. ”

“Please, no,” the Uchiha mutters. “I’m already dreading what Sensei will give you to pay you back for the meal.” At Gaara’s expression, he rolls his eyes but keeps his expression relaxed. “Kidding. If you didn’t want to cook, you wouldn’t have.”

Gaara nods, satisfied. That is exactly right. His time is priceless, in that it has no price. He certainly never cooked for the Raikage. Or the Hokage, for that matter. Funny, how life turns out.

“You are a talented host with a delicate temperament,” Orochimaru-sama says. “I had suspected it, but experiencing it from this side was thrilling.”

That’s a bit much. “I would hardly bring you to a restaurant,” he says, pressing his lips together briefly. “You’d terrify my Shinobi.”

“That’s true,” Uchiha says. “Sit, won’t you? Let’s talk business.”

***

“Academy exchange,” Gaara says, then frowns. “No. Not Academy. Civilian exchange?”

“We don’t have civilians,” Uchiha says, voice far too helpful for the unhinged things he’s saying. “With that said, the Academy is not for fighters, no.”

A headache threatens to build behind his eyes and he doesn’t let it. There is a reason why the two are here, and not in Konoha. The reason is probably looking at him with a faint air of impatience, like Gaara’s slowness is a personal affront. After the War To End All Wars, Konoha continued as it had been, more or less. And, of course, there was the wedding.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” he says because he values his village enough not to want Kankuro to be the interim Kazekage, until Temari’s brood is all grown, “but I understood that Otogakure is still—” He blinks slowly, trying to find correct phrasing. “A Shinobi village.”

“Yes,” Orochimaru-sama says, voice relaxed. “Albeit with a somewhat atypical system of governance.”

Right. “But you don’t have civilians.”

“We don’t have Shinobi either,” Uchiha says. He sounds impatient, the horrible monster. “We haven’t accepted any combat-based work in years.”

Gaara blinks. Considers this. That can’t possibly be true, except—

“Our Shinobi accept contracts for civilian applications for Chakra-work,” Orochimaru-sama says. “Exclusively.”

Oh. Gaara lets his thoughts spin, for a long moment. “A civilian Academy,” he says, tasting the word on his tongue, relishing in the possibilities inherent in it. “An institution of learning.”

“Precisely,” Orochimaru-sama says, leaning forward. “Our citizenship is based on academic achievements, goals and potential. Mostly, we accept people for a set amount of years or a specific project.”

An apprenticeship, he thinks and doesn’t laugh. An autonomous country that is, in essence, a single institution of learning, beholden to nothing and no one.

“Let’s talk terms, Otokage-sama,” he says, mind spinning. “What will it take to send my people to you?” And they will be safe, too. Who will attack them? Konoha is the only one who could, and Naruto would sooner tear his heart out of his chest than let a hair go missing on the Uchiha’s head. “Who will you accept in the first batch? Adults, to start. Paper-Chūnin and -Jōnin—”

***

The issue of demilitarisation has been at the very top of Gaara’s list of priorities since he took power, but he only really got started in the post-War years. He has made some strides, but the work was uphill and excruciating. First, there was rebuilding. Then, Sunagakure had to survive the political upheavals from their neighbours. Lightning Country went through a quiet but terrifying sequence of civil wars, culminating in the territory splitting up into united four nations that call themselves Lightning Country but have four distinct rulers. Konoha flirted with a similar fate but managed to squeak through on the back of Naruto’s political connections. Waterfall, Bear and Mountain Countries dissolved into Earth Country. Amegakure disbanded, with its territory split between Wind, Fire and Earth, and its people going every which way. Gaara did what he could, but his best efforts couldn’t stop their Daimyo from accepting Fang, Claw and River into Wind Country.

Peace years, they call them. Bah. There is peace, in that they are not at war, but damn if he can sometimes tell the difference. He huffs. Check yourself, idiot. No difference? Please.

With that said, the concept of demilitarizing a Hidden Village is a wild and nebulous one; a guiding star to strive towards, much like a firefly would gaze wistfully at the moon. Impossible to conceptualise in practice, but satisfying to imagine.

And now, now Orochimaru of the Sanin, presumably driven by boredom, has gone and done it. He did away with his Shinobi and his civilians and made his village valuable in peacetime. If all you have is a hammer, everything looks like a nail. In a continent full of military dictatorships and traumatised soldiers, you constantly jump from war to war. Until now. Until Otogakure went and made itself one big Academy. Made a village-wide highly specialised industry that makes them valuable.

Granted, he has a few advantages Gaara doesn’t. Number one: he doesn’t care about people, or accept any responsibility for the ones living under his rule. That’s a big one right there. Gaara wouldn’t be surprised if the only permanent residents in Otogakure are a handful of S-ranked and A-ranked monsters Orochimaru-sama is personally fond of. Two, he is unknowably strong, in that nobody knows how strong he is, and he’s got Uchiha. Having Uchiha means having Naruto means game over. Three, Otogakure is so small and Orochimaru-sama is so old, independently wealthy and well-connected, that he can afford to reject any civilian authority. Gaara is dependent on his Daimyo for food and trade agreements, not to mention a river of horrible contracts he has to honour because he’s The Good One, the one Shinobi Kage in Suna’s history that isn’t reneging on any contract or treaty that doesn’t suit him.

Still. Gaara never thought he would get all the way there. Suppose he can cobble together a competent cadre of administrators, a simple but robust legal system and an economy that relies on manufacturing and commerce. In that case, he won’t need a Daimyo either.

“Shinobi integration, economic cooperation and cultural exchange, Kankuro,” he says, tearing through his office to find the binders he needs. “That’s subsections five, six and nine on my ten-step plan.”

“Uh-huh.”

Where is that dratted thing—He has a dozen drafts for legislature that would standardise identification documents across state lines. Kazanari retired last year, so he should be able to cram the Chakra signature record office down the Council’s throat—

“No Shinobi,” he mutters. “No Daimyo. No lunatic civilians hiring us to murder their business rivals.”

“Uh-huh.”

“We might be able to send our youth to school without worrying that Enjin’s group of idiots will recruit them for whatever they are calling their little rebel group this year.” He sounds like a madman even to himself, and he doesn’t care. “They will learn science, not how to inflict and resist torture.” There! Success! He makes a note on the list of documents he needs and dives back into his binders. Organising with Fūinjutsu is a fantastic way to conserve space and prevent physical damage, but damn if it’s not a nightmare to browse. “No, better, they will learn whatever Orochimaru of the Sanin thinks they should, not the thrice-cursed Council. Orochimaru of the Sanin—”

“Look, I get that you’re thrilled about this, but—”

“No Daimyo, Kankuro—”

“No, I get it, I do, but—”

“Do you think this alliance could count as a disarmament agreement?” He feels like he’s smoked the fermented cactus juice again. “He doesn’t have Shinobi. I couldn’t put through an age limit for Chūnin exams, and he doesn’t have—”

“Why is he here, Gaara?”

Gaara blinks and frowns. “What are you talking about?”

Kankuro’s expression’s got almost enough crazy eyes in it to rival Gaara’s. “Uchiha. Why is he over there, grinning at me like a jungle cat.”

Oh. “He’s Orochimaru-sama’s envoy,” he says. “Here to, presumably, serve as an object lesson in why we don’t want any more child soldiers.” At Uchiha’s bark of laughter, Gaara hesitates. “No offence intended.”

“Right, then,” Kankuro says, voice bright and cheery. “I’m off. You two maniacs enjoy your day. Uchiha, try to keep him watered. Gaara, keep the Uchiha fed. Bye.”

“Strange man,” Gaara mutters, diving back to his rifling. “Noxious fumes, probably. I told him there were better ways of getting green pigment than throwing acid on copper, but what can you do—” Maybe he should find that one set of essays on the merits of an international set of laws, while he’s at it. If his people will be living in Oto, it might be useful to—“A standardised bureaucratic baseline—”

***

Shockingly, even without his mentor around, Uchiha Sasuke ends up being pleasant company. He is quiet, possibly by nature, and years have forged a confidence that he lacked in his younger years. If left alone, he will seek out a quiet, warm place—in direct sunlight, if possible—and stretch out into a nap. Considering his height, build and power, this was a charming sight in itself.

Mostly, however, he had a reputation and enough wickedness to use it. What was left of Gaara’s authority from his youth was eaten up by his sister’s children and well-known adoration of all things succulent. Uchiha Sasuke looming behind him with a blank expression and infamous red eyes meant that suddenly everybody remembered how to do their jobs without consulting him on every little thing.

“Makurūbe,” he says, nodding and scribbling down a shopping list. Whatever clerk is on rotation will handle it. “For dinner.”

Uchiha curves his torso to the side, an act that should look comical considering he is wedged on top of a bookshelf in the far corner of Gaara’s office. It doesn’t; he just looks like a lazy housecat, following the sun around the room. “Hm?”

“Layers of lamb, rice, and tomatoes, cooked together, then flipped upside down when serving,” he says, amused. “As payment. Efficiency of my clerks jumped at least ten per cent.”

Uchiha’s lips twitch. “You like them incompetent,” he says, body curving back and closing his eyes. “Means they’re not afraid.”

Well. “Not incompetent,” he mutters. “Inefficient. As I said.”

“Mm.”

Gaara huffs—inwardly, because it would be performative and dramatic otherwise—and returns to his work. Uchiha is not wrong. The goal is long-term stability and a way to expand the government apparatus. Sunagakure has never been bigger or more complex, but her sense of autonomy has been slow to grow. The only people he had who knew how to operate with any significant authority were combat-Jōnin, and even they were taught to stay in their lane, as it were. Growing a bureaucracy has been—a lot.

“Naruto threw the high-ranking Clan brats at most senior management positions,” Uchiha says. His voice doesn’t once stray from the idle and unconcerned, but Gaara knows a test when he sees one. “The ones used to wrangling people and making decisions.”

“If I wanted a Shinobi Council, I would have a Shinobi Council.” The whole point is to diffuse the power. Yes, the high-ranked Clansmen and -women are used to leadership, but Gaara isn’t looking to continue the status quo. The goal now that they’re not in crisis is to move beyond the paradigm that made peace last as long as it took to grow another crop of Shinobi to kill.

Glum.

“Yeah, yeah. Only you have a Shinobi Council,” Uchiha says. “And a Civilian Council, something I’m tentatively calling a Guild Council, and at least four more bodies of governance whose purpose and makeup elude me.”

And this man is the first apprentice of a Kage. What a time to be alive. Against all odds, it’s become more and more obvious that Uchiha Sasuke was as politically literate as a well-travelled turnip.

“I have a clutch of brave patriots trying to do work they aren’t qualified to do, without adequate logistics support, training or tools,” he says and drags his eyes away from his paperwork. “This is where you come in. By the time the ones who survive Orochimaru-sama’s Academy return, I will have, hopefully, created a legal framework for them to sink their freshly made claws into.”

And doesn’t that just sound super? I will have created a legal framework. Pah. He can’t even wrangle a proper set of reforms of their internal legal system. It’s all bits and bobs they picked up from the civilian courts, chosen for how vague and permissive they are. Kage as a rule didn’t want rules they had to work hard to bend, and they made sure to pick only administrators who had similar views. Gaara wasn’t idle all these years, but he’s barely got more than bare bones, and now he’s going to start legislating cross-country trade regulations.

A quiet laugh comes from the Uchiha corner. A moment later, the man flips down, padding over to the counter. Snack time, then. Uchiha has enough food sealed away on his person to feed a people for a month.

“Sensei had the same problem,” he says. “At the end of the day, a Kage has to work with the people he’s got. And the people he had were exiled mercs.”

Oh? “And what was his solution?”

Uchiha’s shrug is loud, as he sets out two plates. Gaara cranes to the side—cabbage and rice rolls. Nice. “Exiled some. Poached a lot of civilian scholars from all over. Trained up some of his missing-nin. As it happens, the temperament of a missing-nin is a good fit. They could survive Sensei’s methods.”

Gaara sighs. None of that will work for him. He’s a terrible instructor, he can’t poach, because their loyalties will never be trusted by the populace and he is far too short-staffed to exile anyone. Back to square one, then. Just because he can’t train them, doesn’t mean they can’t be trained. Outsourcing it to Orochimaru-sama sounds like just the thing.

The sooner he finishes this outline for establishing trade regulations cross-country, the better. The fact that Orochimaru-sama’s Otogakure mostly exports abstract goods is a blessing. He doesn’t have to bother with import and export duties, tariffs, trade licenses and permits yet. No, he just has to put together a decent plan to regulate quality standards. Maybe add in a couple of dispute resolution mechanisms for trade-related conflicts. It will all get shredded by his council in any case, and then by whatever version of a council Orochimaru-sama permits to live in Oto.

“You don’t gotta stress too much,” Uchiha rumbles, setting Gaara’s plate on the corner of his desk and migrating to the sunny corner by the door. “Sensei wants this and, in my experience, what Sensei wants, he gets.”

Hah.

“That,” he says, grabbing a red wax-sick and slashing it through a terrible line in his proposal, “was never in question.” He will probably need to make a department for this. International trade. Who would have thought it? Six months ago, Gaara had four and a half solid, long-term trade agreements, all of them inconsequential. Now, he’s thinking about a whole bureaucratic apparatus. “And I’m not stressing.”

***

Haruki Enjin (炎刃 春樹) — Opposition leader

Haruki (春樹): Meaning "springtime" and "tree."

Enjin (炎刃): Signifying "flame blade."

—

Waka Kazetsuyu (羽風 風露) — Previous opposition leader

Waka 羽風

羽 means "feather, wing."　

風 means "wind."

"Kaze" (風) means "Wind."

“Tsuyu" (露) means "Dew."

Chapter Text

Gaara decides enough is enough ten days into the bizarre situation and moves Uchiha out of the apartments reserved for visiting diplomats and into an auxiliary building of his compound.

“I didn’t know you were also a Clan brat,” Uchiha says, the first time he crosses the wardline, eyes roving over the empty buildings. “Old Clan, too.”

How could he possibly not know? “Sunaori,” he says, amazed. Sunaori are one of the three founding Clans of Sunagakure. “Old, yes, but not blood-based,” he continues when he sees no spark of awareness on Uchiha’s face. He could be feigning, but, in Gaara’s experience, Uchiha rarely bestirs himself enough to lie. “Sand affinity has popped up in many different bloodlines. When it does, the direct line will get folded into the Sunaori Clan. Get given to the desert, colloquially.” He shrugs at his arch look. “Gaara of the desert,” he says. “It’s neither secret nor subtle.”

Uchiha doesn’t say anything, but the tension layered on his shoulders lightens a little. Fair enough, probably. With how bloody and horrific their history has been, Uchiha is far from unique in being the last of his Clan, but, as the world can attest, he can be a bit intense at times.

“Is the succulent thing inherited too?”

“No.” Gaara blinks. Looks around. Did he go a bit overboard? “My family don’t like it here, and not using the space would be wasteful.” He tries to look at the compound with an objective eye, and nods, satisfied. The empty houses overtaken by Chakra-sensitive succulents look fantastic.

“Mm?”

What—Oh. “Trauma,” he says, flicking a hand at the wrist. “Abuse. Assassins. Violence. The usual.” Well. “There were no succulents then, of course. These succulents are keyed into the wards and will suck up the blood of intruders, but to each their own.”

Uchiha sends him an impressed look. Gaara responds with a nod. I know, the nod conveys. Very cool.

“I kept a few houses succulent-free and, therefore, fit for human habitation,” he says. “Pick whichever you like.”

***

Nothing much changes with Uchiha living in the compound. Gaara still spends most of his time in the office, which Uchiha was haunting either way. The only tangible difference is that they don’t part way at the end of the day, but make their way back home together.

It’s novel, really. Nobody ever spent that much time around Gaara. His siblings were loners by nature and choosing; if given half a choice, they would work on his puppets, in Kankuro’s case, or her fans, in Temari’s. After she and Nara had started reproducing, she only had less time for him, and Kankuro’s side gig as a set designer similarly ate up his time.

With that said, sooner or later, Uchiha was bound to leave.

“Oh.”

He can’t for the life of him identify the off note in Uchiha’s voice, or the expression that flickers over his face. “Sensei needs me to remind everyone back home why the alliance is a good idea. And, for that matter, why the expansionist dreams of the Land of Stone will remain dreams.”

“Of course.” He blinks. It’s—It’s been a handful of weeks but—“I appreciate the time you spent here,” he says. “I enjoyed your presence.”

Another strange expression. It might have been fondness on a more human face. Gaara chooses to interpret it as pleased. “Likewise. I will be back as soon as I remind all of Sensei’s people what monsters you can hatch if you breed for psychopathy and turn up the pressure.”

Hah. “Well phrased,” he says, lips twitching. “If my schedule wasn’t as horrific as it is, I would have made an appearance to back up your object lesson. My people have forgotten the, ah—” He forces his lips into a smile. It’s harder than usual. “—Gaffes in my youth, but I find most other Shinobi have not.”

“They most certainly haven’t,” Uchiha says. “Well. Goodbye. For now.”

Right. “Until next time.”

***

Diving back into the thick of things, after, takes a little doing. Uchiha was, for the most part, an unobtrusive but bold presence in his space. No sane man would ignore a meteor of Chakra so close to their squishy hearts and lungs, for all that someone finally sat Uchiha down and taught him how to keep it more or less leashed. That said, he was unknowable and, consequentially, easy to know. Leave him be, indulge the few requests he makes if possible and explain things if not. Shockingly straightforward, in other words.

“It’s okay to miss him,” Kankuro says, three days later.

Gaara considers this strange statement and decides a frown is appropriate. “Pardon?”

“Uchiha.” Kankuro tilts his head to the side. “It’s okay to miss your friend. It’s good, even. Shows you have a cool person to miss.”

For a long moment, Gaara tries and fails to find something to be irritated by. Kankuro’s expression is too damn calm and accepting. “I hardly know the man,” he says, feeling petulant, irritated at the feeling, which only makes him feel more petulant. “Before just now, we hadn’t spent more than a handful of hours in each other’s presence.”

Kankuro snorts, but lets the boldfaced lie stand. To make matters worse, he knows how he would have reacted if Kankuro had brought up the Wedding and subsequent catastrophes. He might be, in all honesty, in something of a mood. “Alone, I mean,” he grumbles. “I barely spoke to him at all before the War.” After, they both had other things on their minds.

“Doesn’t matter. You get along now. He’s—” Kankuro trails off, letting a pensive expression flicker over his face. “He’s not a bad guy these days. A bit quiet and a lot scary, but good company. Makes a killer cup of coffee.”

“He roasts the beans with lightning and fire,” Gaara says, dissatisfaction churning around his ribcage. Dissatisfaction that could, to the uninitiated, seem like melancholy. “And cooks it with air and fire. It’s a whole production.”

“Mm. I understand that Hatake patented the technique.”

Right. Hatake. Now that was a Hokage he in no way enjoyed working with. Come to think of it—

Never mind that.

“He gave Matsuri scrolls for wind Ninjutsu,” he says. His milk rice is going to burn and he’s going to let it because he already put too much orange zest in it to be worth anything. “And wrote out another set of instructions because she never had to translate from Konoha standard to ours. .”

“Oh, good,” Kankuro says. “Another helper in your quest to baby Masaki into incoherence. She is not a child, you realise? She is a combat Jōnin in her twenties—” He breaks off, exhaling a put-upon breath. “You are not distracting me. I am trying to encourage you to both accept and re-frame your feelings. You miss your friend because you two get along, and that’s as it should be.”

Gaara judges he’s made the concoction about as horrible as he is able, picks it up with his sand and crushes it into gloopy powder. Bits of milk and rice threaten to ooze out, but he’s grown since he was eleven; he knows how to catch organic material dripping out of his sand before it makes a mess.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Kankuro sighs. “Of course, yeah. My mistake.”

***

He didn’t lie. Poaching is not on the table. Plenty of thinkers have cropped up in the past decade, that’s not an issue. The issue is that he can’t offer them much. Suna is, Sage love her, more insular than most. Even if he could convince the scholars, philosophers and politicians to move here and somehow provide enough security to guarantee their safety, they wouldn’t have a lot of success disseminating their knowledge.

With that said, he can get in touch with them and try to transplant their ideas in a more roundabout way. Ikemoto-sama, for example, is perfectly willing to send over a packet of his works and a list of ideas for implementing them, if he is compensated fairly.

It had been slow-going in the beginning, admittedly. Scholars are a flightily lot and, while they like nothing more than talking about their work, they are hardly interested in adapting it to Suna’s unusual circumstances. In a fit of inspiration, he had, off-handedly, mentioned a potential alliance with Oto in one of his letters to Akizuki-sama. The word had spread like lightning, unsurprisingly, especially since he had implied the alliance hangs on Sunagakure clawing their way to a more equitable nation.

Not a very fair play, but far from his most underhanded methods. He didn’t even lie. He is working on an alliance with Oto. Granted, he doubts it has anything to do with Suna’s political climate and everything to do with Orochimaru-sama’s dedication to following his whims wherever they might take him, but that’s their problem. Gaara will do his part and will mention them to Uchiha when—

He cuts off that thought. He will mention it when an opportunity arises. Moreover, he has something of an idea of how things are run in Oto. Orochimaru-sama is not to be swayed by man or beast, but he is also indulgent with his student. Uchiha, in turn, has a healthy strain of practically buried underneath all that hedonistic menace. He likes things that work. If Ikemoto-sama’s ideas about a constitutional monarchy limited by a representative assembly take root in Suna, he will make a note of it. So. In a roundabout way, Gaara spoke the Gods’ own truth.

He rips into the next letter from the stack, compartmentalising the unwelcome feelings as he goes. This should be from Katsura-sama—

He blinks. No, he knows this chicken scratch, for all that he hasn’t seen it for a hot minute. What does Naruto need—He reads it again. And again. When things don’t make more sense, he flares his Chakra to summon his clerk.

“Tomoka-san,” he says, staring at the bizarre letter. “Did I lose all touch with reality and forget that Uchiha Sasuke-san and a delegation from Oto are, in fact, staying in Sunagakure?”

After all these years, nothing much fazes Tomoka. “No, Kazekage-sama,” she says, straight-faced,  radiating so much professionalism, that it skirts the edge of parody. “Uchiha Sasuke-sama left twenty-one days ago. I don’t have any record of an incoming diplomatic visit from Otogakure at this time.”

Right. “Pencil one in,” he says, swallowing a sigh. “And, while you’re at it, also one by the Hokage, Hokage’s wife and whoever they think to bring.”

“Pardon?”

He sends her a bland smile. “You heard me. The Hokage is coming to visit Uchiha Sasuke and is bringing his wife with.”

“He is coming to visit Uchiha Sasuke-sama,” Tomoka says. “Here. Not Otogakure. He is coming here.”

Yes, yes. Gaara is very much aware. “I’m sure he has his reasons.” The dynamics between those two are not to be examined too closely. Uchiha probably tried to blow Naruto off and invented a diplomatic visit to Suna. Naruto met his bluff, because of course he had, and here they were.

That was a rookie mistake on Uchiha’s part. What Naruto wants, Naruto gets, and what he wants, apparently, is to ruin Gaara’s month—He exhales a calming breath. That’s not fair. Naruto is a delight, most of the time. Crazy as a sack of cats, but kind, generous and endlessly compassionate. It’s not that Gaara doesn’t want to see him. It’s just—A headache pulses behind his eyes. Is it too much to ask for that Naruto’s drama doesn’t play out in his village? Naruto and Uchiha are, among other things, S-ranked monsters. When they inevitably start ripping up the skies in one of their spats, it’s his hard-won infrastructure that will suffer. “Someone get Scorpion in here,” he says. “Or, rather, let her know that the Hokage and Uchiha Sasuke will be visiting.” Rion will know what to do. She has a good head on her shoulders and she’s at least somewhat familiar with Naruto.

“As you say, Kazekage-sama. When should we expect our guests to arrive?”

“The Konohan delegation will be here in four weeks. The delegation from Oto shouldn’t require your efforts.” Especially if Uchiha comes alone like he hopes he will. If the lunatic brings Orochimaru-sama, Gaara is taking a pleasure trip to Kiri and damn the consequences.

***

The preparations, such as they are, don’t take too long to organise. Suna is very familiar with calamities, after all. The internal security division—the Scorpions, as they insist on calling themselves—had spread the word and evacuated all civilians from the vicinity of the apartments Naruto and his people will be staying in. Emergency shelters are checked and re-stocked, and evac protocols will be practised by everybody until their response time meets Rion’s exacting standards. Gaara doesn’t need to involve himself at all, so he forces himself to return to his correspondence.

He’s still at it when Uchiha appears at his window, less than four hours after Naruto’s letter had hit Gaara’s desk.

“I can explain,” he says, hands put up in a defensive gesture. Gaara doesn’t examine why he’s suddenly a hundred per cent less aggrieved. Uchiha, bless him, looks like an errant civilian aristocrat, caught kissing one princess too many.

“If you feel it necessary.” He puts away his brush and seals off the remaining stack. “I think I have a rough idea. He called your bluff, yes?”

Uchiha grimaces, hands falling. “No,” he says. The unexpected sweep of amusement in Gaara’s chest vanishes. Uchiha is upset. Not good. “No, I diverted him here on purpose.”

What possible reason would he have to—

“He is bringing her,” Uchiha says. “Hyuuga.”

Gaara inclines his head slowly. He knows this. Why that is such an insurmountable obstacle is another question. There might be no love lost between Uchiha Sasuke and Hyuuga Hinata, but he’s seen them interact civilly.

“The Branch Hyūga have been living in Oto since the War.”

Oh. Gaara tries to process this with grace and dignity. Oh, wow. And they never—Everybody, Gaara included, assumed they crossed the sea. Not that anybody was eager to dwell. The Hyūga Exodus from Konoha was one of those catastrophes that every Hidden Village went through and was eager to leave in the past.

“It’s not a secret,” Uchiha says, frown cutting between his brows. “Naruto knows, he is just callous. That said, Sensei won’t have her near them.”

“I imagine not,” Gaara says, dazed. Wow. “What could possibly be so important—”

Uchiha shrugs. “A family matter, I assume,” he says, voice tight with discomfort. “I don’t—He was very instant. In retrospect, I should have offered to come to Konoha, but—”

Gaara huffs a laugh. It comes out flat, mostly because of the shock he’s still very much in. A family matter means he finally agreed to reproduce. With Hyūga. Naruto’s baby will be half Main Line Hyūga which didn’t matter five minutes ago, but does now, because—

“Strawberries,” he says, closing his eyes. “Glazed strawberries on a fluffy sponge, drowned in custard—”

***

Gaara’s Clan

Sunaori (砂織):

   - "Suna" (砂) means "Sand."

   - "Ori" (織) means "Weaver" or "Weaving."

   - Meaning: "Sand Weaver" or "Weaver of Sand," symbolizing the clan's mastery over sand manipulation techniques.

—

Scholars

Syouma Ikemoto:

Establishment of a constitutional monarchy, where the power of the ruler is limited by a constitution and a representative assembly.

Ikemoto 池本

池 means "pond, pool."　

本 means "book, main, true, real."　

Syouma 勝真

勝 means "victory, win."　

真 means "truth, reality, genuine."

Yumi Akizuki:

Establishment of independent judiciary and legal protections to ensure the rule of law.

Akizuki 秋月

秋 means "autumn, fall."

月 means "moon, month."

Yumi 由美

From Japanese 弓 (yumi) meaning "archery bow". It can also come from 由 (yu) meaning "reason, cause", 友 (yu) meaning "friend" or a nanori reading of 弓 (yu) meaning "archery bow" combined with 美 (mi) meaning "beautiful". Other kanji or kanji combinations are also possible.

Kasumi Katsura:

Importance of trade and economic diversification to reduce dependence on feudal structures.

Kasumi: From Japanese 霞 (kasumi) meaning "mist". It can also come from 花 (ka) meaning "flower, blossom" combined with 澄 (sumi) meaning "clear, pure". Other kanji combinations are also possible.

Katsura - 桂良

桂 means "a type of tree or shrub."

良 means "good, excellent, fine."

—

Gaara’s staff

Gaara’s clerk

Tomoka 倫歌

倫 means "ethics, morals, principles."　

歌 means "song, singing."

—

Head of Internal Security Division,

Rion 利音

利 means "profit, benefit, advantage."　

音 means "sound, noise."