Because he was twelve years old—nearly thirteen, but not quite—when he received the title of Kazekage of Sunagakure no Sato, Gaara of the Desert had always assumed it would be a very long time before the members of his generation overtook the previous ones in skill and glory and began their time of sitting on his council and serving as his bodyguards and Black Ops. He didn’t have a problem with that. His own generation was the hardest to win over. They had been raised thinking of him as a monster and it was hard to give up something that ingrained. The elders saw the mistakes had been made by his forebears, not just him. The young ones were taught to bow when he passed and refer to him as “Kazekage-sama.” As people age, the games change, but the rules rarely do. He wasn’t allowed to play with them as a child and he wasn’t allowed to play with them now. It was the way things were and he could accept that because he knew how difficult it was to change the mind that had decided to hate.

The first member of his generation to take a seat on the council was appointed after one of the very oldest of the elders unexpectedly passed away. The replacement had been argued over for months by the others, but Gaara stayed out of it, not wanting to seem that he favored any one of his shinobi over any other. He held all who served their village to the best of their abilities and judgment in the same high esteem.

The appointee was a year, maybe two older than him, a kunoichi from a well respected clan within the village. She was bright, talented and a hard worker. Gaara had distinct memories of disliking her as a child and had he seen her more than he did, she probably would not have lived to see eleven. She was in her twenties now, had served the village well and he was fine with her appointment to the council.

He watched her carefully during meetings because she was a new appointee and was still learning what her role was. How she should speak to the senior members, how she should speak to him, what aspects of the village she was looking out for and how much of her opinion was appropriate. She was borderline manipulative and made it no secret that she wanted her opinions heard. He supposed her fears were being forgotten, unimportant, useless.

But the longer she was on the council, then less interesting she became, and Gaara once again returned to these meetings trying not to look dreadfully bored and failing. He knew everything that happened in Hidden Sand. It was a small village, he had a lot of spare time and with a little bit of chakra, every single grain of sand became his eyes and ears.

Kankuro and Temari had their own lives. He kept the council around for the company, the voices, the opinions. He liked to watch them argue, to know that they all shared his passion for the Village Hidden in Sand. Those were the times he knew he was not alone.

Part II: Deal

One day, she said to him, “I think we could help each other.”

He was half-way reclining in a chair not built for such things, supported by the back two legs as he stared at the ceiling. His gourd was propped in the corner, the sand more than ready to catch him should he lose his balance. He knew how to distribute his weight so it seemed unlikely, but his sister and her mothering instincts were always telling him not to. Gaara will do what his sister asks when she’s around, but since she wasn’t, he tipped the chair back. “In what way?” Gaara wasn’t aware that he needed any help, but she was probably too proud to ask for a favor without having anything in return, he supposed he could pretend to have interest or need for what she was offering.

“I want what’s best for Hidden Sand. I love this village. Most of the council doesn’t care about my observations or my suggestions. If I could just ..have your ear, have you listen to what I say and really think about it, then I could give you what you want.”

“What is it you suppose I want?”

“I can give you love. We could have a child and you would raise that child to love you.” She smirked. “That way, we both get what we want.”

His eyes narrowed. He always had thought her to be manipulative.

“My ideas and viewpoints are just as valid as anyone else’s. I don’t see why my input should be less valuable just because I’m the most recent appointee.”

“We put you on the council, but you have yet to prove you belong there. Validation is something that is earned, not given. You are merely seeking the highest level you can attain in the shortest time span and smallest sacrifice.”

“Maybe.” She shrugged. “But I don’t like to settle.”

Part III: Ichigo

With the thin atmosphere and cloudless sky, desert nights were freezing, just as desert days were sweltering. Gaara enjoyed the dichotomy and the cold, biting air. His son was four years old and tried very hard every night to stay awake with his father, though the boy hadn’t come close once. More than the effort, Gaara appreciated the way the boy would fall asleep against him, while they sat on the roof of the Kazekage’s adobe estate, sitting on cushions of sand and staring at the moon.

The boy had complete unwavering trust in his father and the sand. He was a foot soldier in the war against loneliness. Every time a tiny hand gripped his pant leg or tugged on his hand, it was another battle won.

Part IV: Accustomed

Out of the blue, she said to him one day, “I’m sorry for all the times I called you a monster.”

He was startled by the apology. He was surprised she was willing to admit that she once thought of him as such…most people, they wanted to pretend it never happened, but they didn’t have to live with Shukaku day in and day out. He could not pretend. He was disturbed that she had dropped the usual formalities. She collected her files and papers and scrolls, added, “Gaara-san,” and left him alone in the council room.

They named their first daughter Eri. She wasn’t like Ichigo—-her name did not mean anything significant, she was not born to fulfill a purpose, there was no niche in the world carved out and waiting for her. Eri was only Eri and when she was born, Ichigo’s shinobi training began.

Part V: Protect

When Ichigo was eight, Gaara asked his son what the boy wanted to accomplish as a shinobi. Ichigo had been in training for three years at this point. Like his cousin Hakusen who came before, each of the siblings and their former teachers contributed to his training. He wasn’t a fast learner, but he was focused. He knew the meaning of his name, his history and the reason he had been born.

He answered his father’s question, “I will become someone who protects everyone, the strong, and the weak. Everyone needs someone to support them and keep them strong. I want to be that for the entire village.”

From that day on, Ichigo wore a tattoo made from blood and sand on his left arm and it said ‘go.’

Protect.

Not long after that, his second sister was born. Aya was not Ichigo—born to be something molded and decided. Aya was not Eri—a daughter of familiarity and something mildly comforting. Aya was only Aya and she was there because blood and sand had originally carved ‘ai.’

Love.

The last three parts are significantly shorter than the first two. I really hate that, but had nothing more to say.

Ichigo's mom doesn't have a name. She's only important in that she is Ichigo's mom. Ichigo's sisters have names because they are both an important part of what makes him tick. The names "Eri" and "Aya" were choosen solely because I wanted something short and feminine. I got them from FLCL and Ayashi no Ceres, respectively.

The relationship between Ichigo's parents is something that I made up when I created the character and it has come up in the RP a few times. Ichigo hates his mother because he thinks she's only using Gaara for political/social power. Intially, that was true, but their relationship has evolved over the 13+ years they've been together. Ichigo, however, doesn't think people are capable of change.