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“You want to what?! ”
The desert wind howled through the meeting room, through the council sitting leaderless at the round table, through the jounin lining the walls in perfect order. Apart from one.
The council stared at Baki- Baki stared back, stoicism abandoned in the face of sheer, monumental, brain numbing stupidity. Baki had lived for this village, fought for this village, and nearly died for it many times over. He had never questioned an order, always towed the line- but this, this he would not take. The desert wind was deafening.
At last Fujita-sama, head of ANBU, replied.
“The Kazekage is dead. Goro-san, Maki-san and Akihisa-san, his students, are also dead - some for many years. Ebizō-sama is old and infirm, and Chiho-sama is-”
“- a warmonger.”
“...feisty, and ill suited for peace-time.” Fujita said, his deep,powerful voice washing over the meeting room. Artfully aged and rugged, with one hand raised in a quiet command for silence he had the paper facade of a shinobi’s shinobi. But his smile reminded Baki of Orochimaru.
With carefully posed gentleness, Fujita continued,
“Who else is a more natural fit to succeed Rasa-sama than his own children? He himself succeeded his father at a young age.” Fujita-sama smiled. “And of all his children, Gaara is by far the strongest.”
Again a ripple of unease passed through the circle, and Baki took a sharp look at all his comrades- trying to ignore the great, yawning gaps from those who fell in Konoha. There was no overt sign of distress on their faces, they were all too well trained for that. But over his many years of service Baki had trusted his life to many of them, and he could see the tell-tale twitches and tensing that told him that they hated it too. And as the silence drew on, he knew they would watch and say nothing.
It was infuriating.
“He is thirteen,” he growled, appointing himself Minister of the Bleeding Obvious.
“He’s an adult in shinobi terms.” said Fujita mildly, a patronising smile fixed in place.
“He’s a genin. And a jinchuuriki.” Baki said, voice ice cold. In truth he was throwing anything out there to make them come to their senses and face reality. Sand politics was delicate, the loose coalition of tribes and clans was more akin to cats in a bag than a natural bonding of allies. It was welded together not just by the strong arm of the Kazekage but their wit and silver tongue too. Gaara, crazy and newly vulnerable, would tear it to bits.
“The Mizukage is a jinchuuriki, I wonder if he’d agree with your sentiment.” The ANBU commander leaned back in his seat, no longer smiling. Instead he stared at Baki with a look of restrained contempt. It was cloyingly familiar, even after all these years. “Ours has his problems-” a shudder ran through the room “-but as you say, he is a genin.” He gave a choreographed shrug. “And genin can be taught.”
Performance over, a small murmur of begrudging agreement ran round the council table. But their eyes were firmly, but nonchalantly, avoiding each other. Baki stiffened, stifling the hot rage that boiled in him. A puppet ruler- that was what they were going to make of Gaara. A flimsy facade of power and continuity while the council ripped itself apart vying for control over him like jackals vying over a scrap of meat. A scrap of meat so damaged he thought the Shukaku was his mother.
Forget what he’ll do to the alliance- they’ll eat him alive.
But just as he was about to really kick off, to ( finally ) do his duty as a sensei, Fujita leaned forward.
“But if you have any better ideas, please feel free to share- nobody is more pained than I to see a promising youth shuffled into responsibility before their time,” he said, teeth flashing in his grin.
Baki froze, pushing his rage down until it became cold and sharp. An offer like that, made even as a trap, had power. He would make his old commander regret it. His eyes raced around the room, cataloguing the surviving jounin. His heart sank. The most powerful had been in the Kazekage’s retinue, and had been murdered by Orochimaru. Many of the rest had been in the areas of thickest fighting in Konoha, and had been killed. None of the rest were strong enough to hold a candle to the Kazekage, let alone to Gaara. None were especially political, or popular. And whilst some were clever, far more so than Baki, none of them were clever enough to make up for their other deficits. And almost none were even as experienced as himself - let alone equipped to take on the hat. Heart sinking, he ruled out each Jounin in turn, and realised that though he’d trust his life to these people- he wouldn’t trust them with Sunagakure. And that left-
The council. He looked at Fujita’s smirking face, the bastard. The apathy and barely concealed rage on Yuki-sama’s as she clenched her hand in the official robes of the head of medicine and supplies. She was a genius- medic and puppeteer almost beyond measure- and had invented a new form of prosthesis after Gaara had ripped her grandson's leg off. Yamada-sama, the civilian representative, was chronically obsessed with the view that shinobi would ignore the needs of civilians and take advantage of them. Which, Baki had to concede, was not entirely unfounded. Ao-san, head of the biggest single clan in Sunagakure- their genin made up almost a quarter of every graduating class. And Renji-san, the head of their biggest rivals- turning out only a few genin every couple of years but almost every single one being geniuses in their specialty. The other seats were empty, the clans who had lost their heads being thrown into disarray. But the world- or rather world politics- couldn’t wait.
These five were the oldest, most experienced ninja (and one tradesman) in the whole village. They were also the living, breathing proof of the phrase familiarity breeds contempt.
Pick one and the balance of power would be utterly destroyed.
“Well, Baki-san?” said Fujita, smiling from ear to ear.
There was no more time, and for a split second it felt suspended as he struggled to make a decision. Abandon Gaara? Or break the council?
And then the solution came to him and he let out a deep, booming laugh.
“Why Fujita-sama, if you wanted me you should have just asked.” Fujita’s face did not stop smiling, but it did twitch in a way that gave Baki a sense of deep satisfaction.
“I’m sorry?”
“Gennin can be taught? Naturally, we all know that Gaara can’t rule independently- he will need advisors.” He swept his eyes over the council, trying not to look too accusing. “Advisors he can trust-” he smiled brightly “-and who could be more trustworthy than his own sensei?” No need to tell them that giving Gaara orders was like trying to navigate a scorpion pit in the dark.
Fujita was no longer smiling, and Baki had to fight to keep his face a mix of shocked gratitude. Got you, you conniving bastard. Working his voice into its most syrupy consistency- oozing with false respect, he continued.
“After so many years away from ANBU -” Because Fujita had assigned him to Gaara when he’d looked like he was becoming popular. “- I had no idea that you still thought so highly of me Taicho.” He bowed his head in a simulation of humility.
“You used to be ANBU, Baki-san?” said Ao-san, sudden interest in his voice. Baki fancied he could hear Fujita’s teeth grinding.
“Until five years ago I was its’ longest serving member- apart from Fujita-taicho of course.”
“Five years ago? That's when you were assigned to be Gaara’s sensei, wasn’t it?” Ao said, tapping a long finger on his chin.
“That’s when I was assigned to my genin team, yes,” he corrected mildly. Suddenly Yamada piped up, his reedy voice carrying despite its quietness.
“Yes I remember, you couldn’t take any missions outside Sand could you? It was quite difficult for us if I remember rightly- but I suppose it does mean that you’ve travelled all over Sunagakure doesn’t it?” He looked at Baki thoughtfully.
“Yes Yamada-sama.” Surreptitiously he calmed his breathing, then made his face more contrite. “I realise having no clan makes me an unusual candidate, but Gaara will listen to me-” If he feels like it “-and perhaps he will be ready for the hat in a few years, but in the meantime, why not cut out the middleman so to speak?”
There was a deafening silence and Baki met Fujita’s glare evenly. He knew what he was suggesting was a leap- the Kazekage had almost always been from the lineage of a single family. But, strictly speaking, it wasn’t a hereditary title- no divine right to rule in the desert. Fujita’s face had gone red with rage, and Baki knew the man would never remain silent.
“ You - ”
“Would make a wonderful Kazekage, Baki-san.” Yuki-sama said, flourishing her hands. Baki blinked in shock as she turned to Fujita with a smile of her own. “Well done Fujita-sama, I never guessed you’d have the foresight to suggest what we had overlooked all along!”
“Yes, he is well acquainted with domestic matters,” said Yamada.
“And as a classless shinobi from a civilian family he has a vested interest in not playing favourites,” said Ao-san, shooting a nasty look at his rival.
One by one, the other council members agreed- apart from Fujita who still looked like he might explode. Yuki stood, medics robes flowing around her.
“Then we are decided- Baki you have been nominated as Kazekage by councilman Fujita-” “ I did not! ” “-and have been found acceptable by the other council members here to represent Sunagakure,” she shouted. “Do you accept the nomination?”
“I do.” It took everything he had not to break into a shit eating grin.
“Do you pledge to rule fairly and evenly, and to protect this village to your dying breath?”
“I do.”
“Do you accept the duties of Kazekage and the sovereignty of council and clan?”
“I do.”
“And Jounin!” They snapped to attention.
“Do you accept Baki-sama as your new leader to follow you in life-”
“Hai!”
“In death-”
“Hai!”
“And into the gates of hell itself!”
“HAI!”
Baki stood gobsmacked and touched in the sudden silence, hiding his emotions as best he could. Yuki-sama turned back to him looking triumphant.
“Then I shall see you Kazekage-sama, tomorrow. May I request a meeting at 9 o’clock to discuss hospital budgets? They’ve been delayed for quite some time due to all this mess.”
Baki blinked at her, head still muggy from shock.
“Request granted.”
She smirked. “Excellent. Then I declare this meeting adjourned. All of you, get out!”
As one the shinobi vanished, fleeing in every direction to plot or celebrate or mourn. Baki meanwhile just stood there, elated, but too dumbstruck to do anything but let it sink in for a bit. He’d done it. He’d actually done it.
Perhaps his conscience could ease off a bit.
He was brought to as Yamada slowly rose from his chair and cracked his back. He smirked at Baki, who thought he’d kept his face stiff enough that it made no difference. Yamada still patted him on the shoulder as he went past, like a doting Grandfather who’s favourite, but slightly stupid, grandson had just done something funny.
“Ah, good to see that the young can still give us old fogies a run around- I’ll give you a heads up, Yuki -chan likes a cup of tea in the mornings but always forgets to make herself one before ten. Your life will be infinitely easier if you have a pot in your office waiting. Good luck.” And then he walked away.
Baki just stood there as his brain, which felt like it’d been left behind, caught up.
Oh. I’m Kazekage. Well, shit.
He’d told his genin that evening and, given that he was stepping into the shoes of their recently murdered father, he felt they took it rather well. Too well, in fact- Kankuro had laughed at him, Temari nodded imperiously, and Gaara just watched him. There had only been a few moments of grief from the trio on the way back, so subtle that only someone who knew them as well as Baki would ever notice. And he hadn’t got the impression they were holding it in either, that the tears and rage were suppressed out of pride or fear of Gaara. Raza, and his brutal death, just didn’t have that much effect on them.
In the Leaf they have the phrase: you reap what you sow. In Sand they have the saying: water runs clearest from a well dug with your own hands.
Perhaps it wasn’t such a surprise that they didn’t mind him stepping into their father’s shoes. He’d been doing it for years already.
So when he turned up for work in the morning, so early that the sun was still only a pink light on the horizon, and found Gaara sitting silently at the entrance looking as though he’d stayed there all night, he was surprised.
“Why are you here?” Baki said. Gaara disliked small talk- it was the one thing they had in common.
“I didn’t know when you would arrive.” His voice was quiet as always, and his pale grey-green eyes were impassive.
“Do you want to come in?”
Gaara nodded and they walked into the building together. Baki had expected him to peel off, or to announce his intentions- possibly require Baki to talk him down from brutal murder- and be on his way. At least to have a shower and change of clothes. But instead, he just followed him. Like a tiny, terrifying shadow. He didn’t even leave when Baki’s hand picked ANBU guards began to shadow him- although Baki managed to prevent him from coming in the meetings at least. He stalked his sensei all day, always two steps behind unless Baki went to a room where he couldn’t follow, like the bathroom. He didn’t speak a word, an intense but unidentifiable look on his face. Privately, Baki hoped it was only a one day thing.
It wasn’t.
For the next few days, this strange ritual would be observed. Gaara would meet Baki outside the Kazekage’s palace, they would exchange a short greeting, and then Gaara would silently tail him for the rest of the day. Never more than two paces away, he scared the ANBU guards witless - more than once Baki caught one or both of them trying to hide behind plants or furniture to avoid the boy's intense look. It would have been hilarious if he didn’t sympathise entirely, Gaara was scary enough when he wasn’t looming over you as you did paperwork.
At least he could be certain that Gaara would have no interest in spreading secrets. The boy had no friends and interacted with no one but Baki and his siblings. His little stalker had other benefits too. As a bento delivery system for instance, as Kankuro figured that making two and sending them with his little brother was the best way to make them both eat something during the day before Temari and he swung by in the evening. And though it was perhaps not the most diplomatic of reasons for keeping his young student around, Baki found that deals were easier to secure when delegates and council members had to walk past his terrifying glare to get into the meeting rooms to discuss their demands and suggestions.
If they didn’t realise that the homicidal glare was Gaara’s default facial expression, then he wasn’t going to enlighten them.
So when his chakra signal was finally keyed to the windows of his office, so he could come and go securely, he found himself asking that Gaara’s be added too.
As the uneasy ritual settled into something like the status quo, Baki finally decided that he could ask why.
“I want to become Kazekage.” They were in Baki’s office, and the ANBU that still shadowed him suddenly stopped trying to hide and subtly tensed. Not that they’d be able to do anything if Gaara did decide to kill him.
Still, Baki kept his face impassive. Gaara did not look particularly homicidal, just intense in that unfamiliar way he’d been since that first day.
“Why?” he asked eventually.
Gaara blinked. Perhaps he had not expected the question; people rarely questioned him, just ordered or cowered. Questioning was something you did to equals- to someone you expected to have a worthwhile answer. If he was being charitable, questioning was what you did when there wasn’t a risk of getting your head ripped off.
Gaara’s mouth opened and closed and his face contorted into a look of extreme thoughtfulness. For a moment, time stretched, elastic- hanging on his answer.
“DIE TRAITOROUS SCU-”
crunch.
The assassin who had almost broken the moment hung in the air crushed and pulped like a scrap puppet in Gaara’s sand. The boy didn’t even acknowledge him. Baki would have to have a word with Fujita- it was a waste, sending skilled assassins to certain death. A leg slipped free and thumped wetly to the floor.
“I...I want the village to acknowledge me, to validate my existence.” Gaara said with uncommon carefulness.
Baki stared at him as blood dripped onto the carpet.
“Why don’t you kill me then?” he asked. “You know, you would have been the council's first pick, originally.”
Gaara seemed stumped, though it was nothing he couldn’t have figured out himself. He bit his lip, which made something in Baki’s chest twist painfully-
“I have realised…that there is a great deal I do not understand about people.” Gaara’s voice is raspy and flat, but Baki can detect a … wistfulness to his voice that Baki has never heard before. “That perhaps they can give me meaning in a way other than their deaths. I want to see if that is true.”
Ahh , Baki thinks, that Jinchuuriki brat.
Baki doesn’t know what, exactly, happened in that forest between the two Jinchuuriki, only that ever since his encounter with the blond Gaara had been changed. Quieter, stranger- but softer too, more human than Baki has ever seen him.
Come to think of it, the vessel of the Kyuubi wanted to become Hokage, didn’t he?
“I’m not sure that answers my question, Gaara,” he says to distract himself from that discomforting thought, “Why follow me and leave me alive if you want to become Kazekage? What is it you’re hoping to see?”
“They like you.” Gaara says it much more quickly, a fierce look on his face. “They respect you, even if some of them would rather you didn’t hold power because you are not from a clan…” he pauses. “I want you to teach me.”
“Pardon?”
Something steals in Gaara’s expression. “I want you to teach me how to be a Kazekage worth respecting. I want you to teach me the worth of a person beyond their death.”
And Baki. Thinks, for a second, about the Kazekage position- about the way it normally changes hands and the way it tears the village apart when it does, and the way having a successor may play out- “And when would you want to take over as Kazekage, huh kid? Don’t think that what you’re asking can be easily taught. It takes time.”
Gaara frowns, folding his arms, clearly thinking. Mentally Baki braces himself- Gaara has never been a student. Not really, not relying so heavily on his sand the way that he does- “Four years.”
Baki blinks, “I’m sorry?”
“Four years,” Gaara says, calmly, “I think I can be ready in four years. Though-” and a frown forms between his brows. “As my teacher, I suppose it would be your job to tell me when I’m ready, traditionally.”
Thoughts race through Baki’s head, first and foremost of which- “And what would happen to me once you ascended to the hat? Political rivals can be troublesome, you know.”
Gaara frowns, and thinks again for a minute. Baki finds himself wondering if this is the most Gaara has ever had to think in Baki’s presence- he wonders if he can make it a habit- “I would want to make you my second in command.”
He suppresses a splutter of shock. “Why?” he asks levely.
“You would have extensive knowledge of the position, domestic and foriegn policy.” Gaara says, arms still folded. “You would have contacts throughout the services, and experience with working with those people. And finally-” and Gaara pauses, an uncertain look flickering so quickly across his face Baki barely catches it “- I - do not believe you would betray me.” The kid swallows, voice audibly trembling. “I do not think so, anyway.”
Oh Gaara. How can you be so cold, yet so naive?
It’s a thought that punches through Baki’s entire heart. Gaara isn’t naive, not really, and with his body count it can be so so easy to forget that he is, in fact, only just turned thirteen. To forget that he is still a child- that he is still malleable, like untempered steel. Still growing-
“Deal,” he says. And makes himself a promise as much as he makes one to Gaara,
That he will never, ever abandon his duty to his students or his people. He will never allow himself to be a tool like Raza.
“Thank You…sensei.” Gaara says, and bows.
Never again.