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Sometimes Lee wondered why Kakashi thought it was a good idea to send him on a diplomatic mission in the first place. Only sometimes, because in truth he knew exactly why: if there was a mission to Sunagakure, it wouldn’t be complete without Rock Lee. He knew Wind Country better than almost anyone in Konoha and that seemed to take precedent over how woefully unequipped he was for this sort of job. As for the reason he’d become the Leaf’s resident Suna expert (a title he doubtlessly shared with Shikamaru), he liked to think discretion obscured the truth.
The look Kakashi gave him whenever he sent him off, that lackadaisical knowing, told him that he hadn’t entirely escaped notice. But if the Hokage knew something he shouldn’t - or realistically, probably should - he never said a word, letting Lee live on in blissful ignorance. He’d only cited Shikamaru’s absence on an S-rank mission and Lee’s experience proctoring the chuunin exams as his reasoning for shipping him off, leaving him with the keen feeling of being sent into the battlefield with no reinforcements.
Lee didn’t have a mind for politics, as anyone who’d ever known him would be keen to assert. Politics in Suna, no less? He was, in a phrase, way out of his depth. Yet just as well known as his lacking wordsmithing skills was his boundless sense of duty and he wasn’t about to fail his mission. That would be unthinkable. The stubborn tenacity was enough to keep him on-track through the first awkward week of meetings, but he had to admit as he sat in an uncomfortable chair surrounded by uncomfortable presences for the eighth day in a row that it was beginning to run out.
He hadn’t even seen Gaara once since he arrived. He was off on a mission in Water Country, and Temari and Kankuro were sitting in on the long slew of barely-disguised catfighting that called itself diplomacy. They were good company; in situations like this Lee was grateful for any friendly face in the room, and they managed to defuse the worst of the verbal blows exchanged across the sprawling stone table. But it wasn’t the same. The elders took liberties with Gaara’s siblings that they’d never attempt around their Kazekage and their favorite gripe, as always, was the growing bond between the Sand and the Leaf. Without Gaara to rein in their worst impulses they were keen to make jabs at any nearby representative of fraternization.
Shikamaru wasn’t here for once and they would only rib Temari up to a point, so it was Lee’s turn to take the heat. He supposed that was fair. He also supposed that he made a very easy target, much to his chagrin.
“It’s settled, then,” Ryusa said, resting his hands on the stack of papers in front of him. “The second round of the exam will take place in the Forest of Death, supervised by proctors from Konoha. Suna will be responsible for the written exam.”
Lee refrained from breathing a sigh of relief; the first week of meetings had been entirely abstract while the underlying battle was fought over who would handle what. Kakashi sent him with the objective of ensuring the Leaf hosted the second round but admittedly he couldn’t fathom why it mattered, or why several days had to be occupied by quarreling for it. He really wasn’t suited for this kind of thing.
He thought he heard someone mutter about Fire Country and stubbornness, but he elected to ignore it. There was only so much he could tolerate and for the first time in a while he was nearing the end of his rope.
“We are willing to dispatch a couple of genin to the Suna Academy,” Lee said, focusing instead on his objectives. “They can assist in preparing the prospective chuunin for the terrain-”
It wasn’t immediately clear what he’d said wrong, but the sets of disdainful eyes that immediately fell upon him told him he’d misstepped.
“Sand shinobi need no preparations for fighting in your lands, Leaf.” It was Goza who spoke first, brow pulled low over his eyes and a prideful set to his mouth. “They’ve been hardened by the desert, a few trees won’t be any trouble.”
He’d just opened his mouth to try and ease the perceived jab to their dignity when Sajo chimed in. “I’m sure you meant nothing by it. Your shinobi are much more delicate, but ours don’t need the same coddling.”
Something inside him snapped, the final drop breaching the dam. If he were level-headed he would explain that fighting in the cluttered terrain of the forest was as far from desert fighting as one could get, that Konoha was merely extending a kindness in exchange for the concession of the second exam, but all he felt was white-hot anger and he had to grit his teeth to keep from saying something that he’d soon regret. His face felt like it was on fire and probably looked the part too, if the smug look on Sajo’s face was any indication.
He clenched his fists in his lap, felt the tension snap as the bandage on one hand gave way to the pressure, forcing him to keep his hand balled up or else it’d completely unravel. Just another frustration on top of his already-cracked composure.
“Hey, don’t be a dick,” Kankuro rebuked the Senior with callous severity. “We took our exam in the Forest of Death, that place is a different kind of hell.” He turned a reassuring gaze on Lee - as reassuring as Kankuro could look, admittedly, through his face paint and ever present scowl. “‘Sides, can’t complain about getting a leg up on the competition. We’ll accept the offer.”
Lee was grateful for the support but it didn’t abate his anger. He sat there in silent fury for the rest of the meeting, gripping his torn handwraps in a fist that ached and wishing he was anywhere but here. This is the worst mission I have ever endured, he thought with vehemence.
As soon as he was free he bolted for his accommodations, prepared to scream into his pillow for a while before rebandaging his arm and beating out his frustrations on the training field. When he got back he was going to have a few words with Kakashi about sending him on a mission like this…
He was far too busy stewing to pay attention to his surroundings, but a shinobi’s reflexes were more reliable than their mind; awareness that he was being watched butted into his thoughts and he looked around just in time to see a veil of sand materialize, shimmering, forming a familiar shape in front of him.
There was never a time when Lee wasn’t happy to see Gaara, but this was certainly one of the happiest. It took every ounce of his self-control to remember where he was and not embrace him in broad daylight. “Gaara! You’re back!”
“A thunderstorm delayed our return journey,” Gaara said, deadpan as ever. He was already heading for the barracks, Lee falling into step next to him. He felt that dissecting gaze fixate on his clenched fist, but he didn’t speak until they were up the stairs and the door to Lee’s room was firmly shut behind them.
In private Lee was permitted to be himself, in every wonderful and miserable way. His fingers slackened, bandage uncoiling in languid movements and whispers of friction and piling on the floor. Tears welled up in his eyes. The cool shock of relief at seeing Gaara was such a stark change from the heat of his vexation that it stung what was left of his frayed nerves, and shame at his looming loss of composure certainly didn’t help.
Gaara was on him in an instant, gathering up his hand and inspecting it carefully. “What happened? Were you wounded?”
“No,” Lee managed through a shaky breath. Gaara was back for less than five minutes and he was already ruining it, he thought, only worsening things. “I just…”
He blinked, felt the warm prickle of a frustrated tear escaping and trekking down his cheek. Gaara’s fingers left his hand to curl around his cheek instead, wiping it away with his thumb. Consternation clouded the fine features of his face.
“I hate your council,” he admitted wetly. “They can get…” He never enjoyed insulting people, even when it was well deserved. The words he chose were carefully polite, if heavy with annoyance. “Kind of difficult when you’re not around.”
After some three years of secret meetings and stolen time, it felt like the Kazekage knew him better than he knew himself. The fingers of his free hand closed gently around Lee’s exposed wrist, guiding him towards the plain sand-colored settee; Gaara set his gourd on the floor and sat down, and Lee needed no coaxing to drop down next to him in a messy tangle of long, awkward limbs, cheek pressed to his chest. Gaara stroked his hair.
He smelled different, incense and summer-heat diffused by rain and petrichor. Lee tipped his head against his collarbone and breathed, letting the tension in his muscles unwind.
“I’ll speak to them,” Gaara said in the sort of tone that indicated a few elders would be sorely regretting the liberties they took today. For once Lee only took bitter pleasure in that knowledge. When he offered no assuaging of Gaara’s anger the hand in his hair grew more fervent, working its way through the strands and lightly rubbing his scalp. “Ever since Temari’s engagement was announced they’re quick to express their disapproval.”
Lee sighed into his shoulder, closing his eyes. His anger was still there, simmering somewhere in his chest, but it was hard to stay upset when his boyfriend was finally here. Now he was only frustrated at his own thin skin; Shikamaru complained often about the council but he’d never lost his cool, and Temari, like her siblings, was as immovable as stone. He should’ve been able to withstand a little ribbing without needing his lover to save the day. “I know...I’m sorry. I guess I just got overwhelmed.”
Gaara made a familiar noise, something like fond irritation. “I didn’t mean that as a justification.” He fit his thumb under Lee’s chin, meeting his gaze with a searching gentleness in his pale eyes.
Lee flushed a little. “I know…” He did, but it didn’t make much of a difference to someone who’d fallen completely into the hole of self-deprecation. “I just wish I’d kept my composure. I lost my cool a little.”
The Kazekage’s eyes went wide, and immediately he backtracked. “I didn’t say anything!” he insisted with a nervous flicker of his hands. “But I was upset and they could tell.”
The corner of Gaara’s mouth twitched upward into a faint smile that might as well be beaming on his usually stoic face. “I’ve never seen you lose your cool,” he said.
“You haven’t missed much. I am not exactly intimidating.”
“Mm.” His hands rose to cradle Lee’s face, warm and soft. The kiss was impossibly tender; Lee clutched the front of his robe and leaned into it eagerly, soaking up the affection he’d been craving and going miserably without over the past week. It was hard enough to bottle his longing when he was still in Konoha, even harder to be in his lover’s village without him, a test of patience far more difficult than his many self-imposed challenges in that regard.
When they could finally stand to separate for a moment, Lee felt himself grinning. It was mirrored on Gaara’s face, smaller and subtler but just as pleased.
“I think joy is a better look on you than anger,” Gaara hummed.
Lee muffled his own agreement with another kiss.