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Every shinobi has different edges.
Different points of contention and buttons you didn’t push.
Rock Lee has thoroughly learnt his teammates edges. He knows them. He understands what makes them tick, how to pull a smile onto their faces, and when to back off and when to stay silent.
The war is different. Lee's working with not only different Konoha shinobi he has not worked with before, but shinobi from all different villages. There’s tension between some and an odd sort of camaraderie with others, and it’s walking a minefield to stop anything from fracturing.
It also means there is little time to just take a breath. In moments like this, of no combat, of waiting, it's hard to settle. Sleep comes to only those who fight tooth and nail for it.
His ears are unintentionally tuned to the forest, cataloguing every noise carefully, searching for anything out of place, any sign that their cautious peace is fractured.
The waiting is worse.
He does nap once - it's light and superficial. He hears the leaves in his dreams, the distant chatter of shinobi desperate to dispel the silence between them, dotted, blunted chakra splattering the forest, some familiar and others biting, foreign to his muted sensors.
His is torn from the dream, a voice ripping through, into his dream and then - he is awake, the canopy splayed above him, and he jerks, tenses up, before his brain catches up - no enemy, just Kakashi calling him. He twists slightly too far to the right, sleep muddled, he doesn't catch himself.
He hits the ground, paws at it, getting his bearings as he pulls himself up - two shinobi, tired and strained to the end of their rope - and he salutes, Kakashi is his commanding officer after all, and Lee just managed to fall out of a tree. He is a Konoha shinobi. And he fell out of a tree.
Kakashi and Sai don't react, no more than a raised eyebrow on his captain’s part. He's lucky Kakashi is as lax as he is with possible, albeit unintentional insubordination.
"Lee," Kakashi leans back slightly, like it's an invitation to step closer. "I want you to be Sai's bodyguard," and Lee straightens, he can't help but brighten, now with a definitive task ahead, something finally tangible to hold on too.
"The sealing jutsu is taxing, and Sai will not be able to defend himself whilst preparing it. Your mission is to assure that Sai is not harmed." Kakashi's voice strikes him with a calm surety that settles his nerves like a match doused in water. He takes a steadying breath. He is a good leader, Lee understands.
He salutes again for good measure, "yes sir," spilling from his lips with a little too much volume for the sedentary, quiet display of pent-up shinobi scattered around the forest. Neither Kakashi nor Sai react, not even a blink. They are the type that remind Lee of a stone in a rushing river. Calm, steady, and reliable.
He thinks civilians would find it off-putting, but in an environment where chaos is all there is, where everyone's emotions are wire-thin and thinning, a steady hand on the steering wheel is what keeps a unit functioning, and having other shinobi to combat your own erratic energy calms anyone down.
He thinks Sai would be a good leader one day, from what experience he has with him.
Lee takes a step closer, bridging the valley between them, watches as Sai's eyes glance across his face, tries to ignore how it feels like he's being assessed.
Kakashi nods, mostly to himself, ticking a mental box and moving on to the next task. He lays a hand on Sai's shoulder, and that is the first time Sai reacts, twisting to look at Kakashi’s hand, then up at his face.
Lee freezes in place, letting the less-than-professional display of affection play out in front of him. Sai's face doesn't change, steady, impassive, but Kakashi seems to understand something underneath what Lee can’t understand at the surface.
It seems well-placed, even Lee can sense the tension in the air. And sometimes, an affectionate shoulder-pat can do wonders, regardless of how superior-subordinate dynamics typically work.
Just because Gai-sensei has never been too strict about physical affection boundaries, Lee's worked enough missions now to understand many Jounin commanding officers wouldn't stand for it typically.
As Kakashi turns away, disappearing into the woods, Lee crosses the threshold, coming to stand near Sai, careful to leave a respectful distance between them.
Sai watches him, his eyes catch on to the shadows, Lee thinks, swallows them whole like a black hole. He thinks he could get lost if he looks too long. He doesn’t look happy or sad or anything that Lee can identify.
"I'll make sure to protect you, Sai," he kicks out to the side, twisting, kicks out to the other side and punches, like Sai is someone he needs to demonstrate his skill to, like Sai gives off the energy of someone who he should listen to in battle. It’s a unique feeling.
Sai does not back down from the volume or enthusiasm, remaining still.
Lee takes a risk, steps closer, undoubtedly in Sai's personal space. Sai is a shinobi born into it and knows nothing else. Lee understands that enough to be cautious, that Sai is not like him. There was no academy, no choice. Not to mention Kakashi is also worried about something to do with Sai and this jutsu – all unexplored, dangerous territory.
ROOT is classified, beyond classified, and way above Lee's pay grade or anything he'll ever fully understand, but he does know that's where Sai comes from, and he's heard rumours. Truth or not, rumours start something, and sometimes, the way Sai acts confirm Lee's darkest worries.
Sai is a shinobi. He has not had the kindness of a Gai-sensei to teach him the ins and outs of shinobi life. Gai-sensei would tell him to be kind, even if Sai's brain understands the world differently to Lee.
And for however long or temporary, Sai is under his care in a way. It's a perfect opportunity to get to know him.
Sai closes his eyes for just a moment long enough to be noticeable, doesn't pull back from his presence, and Lee counts it as a win, no matter how small or superficial it may be. He's not sure what it would take to make someone like Sai flinch, but no outright rejection is a win.
"Thank you, Lee-san," Lee's only heard Sai speak a handful of time, sometimes to rub any of his teammates the wrong way, or to confirm an order, but nothing beyond that. Somehow his voice is softer than Lee remembers.
"Just Lee is fine! You have a lovely voice," he says before he can stop himself. He's not sure what would make Sai uncomfortable, what's too much.
Sai replies with a blank stare, looking into Lee's eyes like he can find the answer in there. "Are you complimenting me?" He pulls a smile onto his face that's got no meaning behind it, only moving the bottom half of his face. It doesn’t look right, like Sai using all the wrong muscles. Sai is just trying to fill the roles which he believes he should.
"Yes!" Lee gives him a thumbs up, sends him a smile of his own, shudders at how easy it is for him to be happy and express it, how obviously challenging it is for Sai.
"You don't have to smile if you don't want to around me," Lee says. "I like you as you are."
Sai's smile fades immediately but doesn't reach the stale nothingness of before. It’s like a brightness wants to break through, but the message gets lost in the unfamiliar territory.
"It's okay?" Sai blinks, his gaze drifts to the dirt at his feet.
"Of course," Lee doesn’t touch him, no matter how much he wants too, he doesn't think Sai would appreciate it.
A bird chirps somewhere above them, and they both glance up, a foreign sound piecing their bubble of peace.
"Thank you," Sai says again, flat as just as everything else he's said, but Lee sees the warmth in Sai, even if Sai can't understand it, even if a lot of people don’t see it.
Maybe one day, Sai will say Lee is a friend.