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A Question of Priorities	By : randomsome1 Category: Naruto > Het - Male/Female Views: 5541 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Starting with the OTP, going from there. I missed working with psycho!Gaara (with Sakura as the corruptible sounding board for normalcy), and so I've set them loose in the forest and let him revert to his base instincts.

For Gaara, of course, this involves lots of killing.
____

The echoes of her own panicked shrieks had barely died amidst the indifferent trees before both her attackers were torn away from her, the one who'd been fighting for a grip on her clothing ripping off a button with a shriek of his own—a shriek that immediately cut off. Sakura scrambled to a kneel and grabbed the kunai she hadn't been able to reach, sure that Naruto had recovered and caught up to rescue her . . .

Then she saw what'd grabbed the men, what held them, what'd caused them to panic as blindly and overwhelmingly as she'd done when they'd finally taken her to the ground. She only knew of one person whose favored technique still manifested as huge, sandy claws . . .

"Sakura." Her savior knelt beside her, cupping a hand over her shaking fist where she clutched the kunai so hard her knuckles were white. She watched as Gaara looked her over, knowing what he saw: her pale and trembling, with ripped clothing and blood on her face from where one of the missing-nin had laughingly bounced her head off a tree trunk. They'd thought her pain was funny; they'd thought her attempts to defend herself were funny. And she—

Before she knew it she'd dropped the kunai and grabbed him, hating herself for her own weakness but desperately thankful, deeply desperate for something solid and safe to cling to.

His arms closed around her, and her stomach twisted as she struggled not to cry. "Are you all right?"

Mentally? She was beside herself. Years of training, years of perfecting her abilities, years of building her self-esteem against foes that misjudged her, and she got kidnapped and nearly raped by two shinobi who'd only had to disable her chakra control to render her helpless. Physically, though? She nodded—she'd be all right.

"They should be thankful, then," he said, projecting his voice to his captives. "This could have been worse for them." And without another word, Gaara turned his attention to her attackers.

He'd had years to learn to be cruel, and at least one hard lesson in not playing too long with his enemies. At first she didn't recognize the popping sounds—but as the missing-nin who'd pinned her arms began to writhe and shriek in earnest, she realized what Gaara was doing: breaking every bone from the man's fingertips to his shoulder. And as if that wasn't enough, he tore the arm completely off—then started on the other.

She turned her head away sharply, her meager breakfast pushing its way up her throat and her hands trembling. She didn't know what'd pushed him to this sort of display; she didn't want to know.

She couldn't believe it was her.

. . . Could she?

"Sakura."

She looked up into his face again, expecting the complete lack of empathy that would allow him to shred two living people—even these people. She was almost right . . . but something close to caring watched her from behind the emotionally flat mask. "Did you want anything from this one first?"

For a second she was almost tempted; free rein on the guy who'd tried to . . .

Then she thought of what'd just happened to the man's companion and shook her head. "No."

She closed her eyes, tucked her face against his shoulder, and let Gaara do what he did best.

ooo

Eventually the sounds stopped, the ground under her moved enough to let her know he'd discretely buried the bodies, and the shifting breeze brought the scent of the forest instead of blood. Gaara held her without question for long moments afterwards, occasionally running his hand over her hair. Something in the back of Sakura's mind wondered if this sort of thing was standard procedure for him: rescue the kunoichi, hug the kunoichi until she felt stable again, rip the arms and legs off the bad guys in the meantime . . .

Her stomach lurched, and her grip on his arms abruptly loosened.

"Tell me if you're going to be sick," he said quietly.

Yeah—it looked like he did do this all the time.

Sakura concentrated on recovering her equilibrium, grounding herself through her contact with him, letting his presence be her proof that she was safe. Recover, she told herself. It could have been worse and it wasn't. Pull yourself together and move on.

More time passed, as she did the best she could.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" he eventually asked.

The tone of his voice gave her pause: a comforting Gaara was much, much more disconcerting than a bloodthirsty, ravening, rip-people-to-pieces Gaara.

"It shouldn't have happened," she hissed. "It was just two of them—"

"Two high-level missing-nin who stood a good chance of becoming new members of the Akatsuki," he said. "They would've learned your weaknesses and how to split your group before even approaching. I found Naruto; he's hurt but all right. Both of them outranked both of you; you shouldn't feel bad."

But she'd still needed rescue . . .

Well, she decided, better to be rescued than to be tortured or killed—or both. She sighed and spoke. "They attacked with darts first, then one grabbed me. Poison I can handle—you know that. But the darts were chakra inhibitors. I couldn't purge them on my own." And then she'd been dizzied by a blow to the head and hadn't been able to defend herself with any force, and . . . "They got me here, took me down, and . . ." The admission was bitter, but she couldn't lie to either of them about it. "I panicked."

She felt him nod against her hair. "That's what they were counting on."

His voice had gone colder, even more hard, and she looked up, expecting his disdain to somehow be directed at her. Instead he sneered in the direction of her attackers' remains. "A wounded ninja moves slower, is more cautious. A frightened ninja is even more so. A terrified, broken ninja isn't a ninja at all." He pointedly looked down at the tear in her clothing. "It's one of the fastest ways to break a kunoichi's spirit. And with two of them, working as a team . . ."

She shuddered, biting her lip.

"I've seen the aftermath before." His head tilted, and he watched her from under his brow ridges. "I've never seen a kunoichi panic that easily, though—at least, never a Sand one. Weren't you trained for those circumstances?"

On second thought, a grouchy Gaara was far less pleasant company than a comforting one. Her mouth dropped open, then snapped shut. "You're kidding me. Train for—"

The withering look came back, telling her without words that her idealism and panic and lack of preparation were outright stupidity. "Sand's kunoichi understand that rape is one more thing that'd be inflicted on them should they ever be caught. It's just another form of torture, another way for them to be hurt. As with all wounds, it should be avoided. And if it can't be avoided, Sand's kunoichi take measures to lessen its impact."

"That's . . ." She sputtered. "That's terrible."

"Letting a kunoichi who's afraid of sex go into the field where it's likely to be used as a weapon against her is terrible. Our way is practical." His expression relaxed, his tone becoming patiently instructing. "Priorities, Sakura. Be prepared at the cost of a soldier's innocence, or constantly have to fear that you'd lose your mind or your life."

She hated to admit when he made sense, but the idea . . . Sakura stared, open-mouthed. Words finally came: "But . . . How?"

And . . . Oh dear. Gaara looked uncomfortable.

"They have to get used to the idea of sex, that it may come up as part of a mission or that it may be used against them, so instead of reacting like you did they'd be able to keep thinking and find a moment to counterattack or escape. But for the act itself . . . Most take a lover. It's a way for them to lose any fear of sex—and a way for some, if they have to, to help not be terrified of sex or men again." He shrugged. "Supposedly it helps if they're the ones taking control of the encounter."

She couldn't believe she was going to ask this one, but she had to know. "Does it work?"

"I'm told it can. I wouldn't know." He looked away, and his mouth tightened with something that was almost a smile. "But it makes for terrible pickup lines."

"So some of Sand's kunoichi have asked you to . . . help?" Her voice barely came out over a whisper, and she couldn't make herself say the rest of the words.

"Yes."

Now she had to ask. "Have you?"

"No," he said flatly, in a tone that demanded no further questions.

But now her curiosity was piqued. She straightened, pulling herself upright with his sleeves. "Why not?"

"Every single one of them wants more than a night. They want someone who'll get attached. I . . ." He looked down, eyes closing, and for a second he seemed terribly, terribly weary.

He didn't need to finish. She'd seen the kind of girl who'd try to proposition him, and gave him a little comforting hug of her own in sympathy. For another moment they held each other, almost comfortably, as if she wasn't bruised and bleeding and he hadn't just carried out the most deliberately brutal slaying she'd ever seen.

"Hey," she finally said, as she noticed just how alone they were. "Don't you have retainers somewhere?"

"Dead. We were ambushed last night. I survived." I always survive, was the unspoken follow-up, and she squeezed him again. His eyes narrowed as he glared at some point off in the distance. "They've killed too many of my shinobi. I have to put an end to this." He said the words with a damning sort of finality, as if announcing an execution, and Sakura shivered, recognizing the promise. So when set loose in the forest, Gaara's priorities were to save his friends and kill people—which made sense, in a Gaara-ish sort of way.

And maybe this was why Sand's kunoichi wouldn't leave him be: because once she got past the murderous past and present she ended up faced with a weary, soul-wounded young man who'd put her back on her feet with a combination of comfort, harassment, and outright alien logic. The overall effect left her unsure of whether she wanted to hug him more or run the hell away from him.

She certainly didn't want to proposition him.

But if Sand's idea worked, if taking charge of things herself—an appealing idea, now that she considered it—would help her be less anxious about getting laid to begin with let alone keep her head together when faced with the enemy . . . she might need to proposition someone.

She took a few more minutes against him to breathe, to mentally build a stone wall between memories of the missing-nins' impersonal hands and thoughts of what it'd mean to pick a lover. The very thought seemed impossibly exotic, like nothing she'd ever choose for herself: Not a guy to date, or marry, or even to cook her dinner—a guy who was there just to please her.

"Lee would do it, if I asked," she mumbled, and Gaara gave a grunt of affirmation. "But . . ." Yes, Lee'd do anything for her. "But then I'd have to look at him afterwards and know that I'd used him, just because he was handy . . ."

"We're taught to be weapons, tools of war," he said. "He'd be honored that you weren't asking him to kill."

"Do you think so?"

"I'd be."

She couldn't look at him. "But the girls from Sand—"

"They want me to stay with them. They're also part of what made me what I was. Could you ever become attached to someone who's openly hated and feared you for almost your entire life? Would you want them in your bed?"

She shook her head.

"Then you understand." Gaara's fingertips brushed against the cooling trail on her forehead, where her blood had begun to dry. When she opened her eyes again, his fingers were in his mouth.

Maybe earlier she would've been capable of feeling horror. Instead the emotion seemed muted, distant, not hers at all.

"You can't help yourself, can you?" she whispered.

Out came the fingers, and he focused on her. "I can help you. I'll do it."

Her mouth dropped open again. "I—What? No." Even if that'd been exactly what she was thinking—he was safe and strong, scary as hell sometimes but . . .

He blinked. "It's practical. It won't mess up your friendships with the people you see every day. We don't see each other for months on end, so it's not likely that things would change between us. And—"

"I know, I know! But . . ." But "randomly having sex with Gaara" wasn't anywhere in any variation of her serious future plans.

He turned his head dismissively. "I shouldn't have to debate with you about it, and I refuse to push you. It's your decision to make, not mine."

He slipped free of her arms and started to stand, and she grabbed his wrist, pulling him firmly back to the ground beside her. "Hold on," she growled through gritted teeth. "I'm not done deciding yet."

He was just a go-to sort of guy, Sakura thought to herself. Need some enemies shredded? Need a virgin deflowered? Need it done in quick succession? Call Gaara.

He waited complacently, his hip warm against hers. She ground her teeth some more and refused to think of the two missing-nin, or what he'd done to them. But try as she might, she found she was nowhere as . . .

"You're practical," she said, and glared at him. "That's the problem. You're so damn practical about it, and . . . it's just so hard to relate—"

"Okay," he said. When he cupped the back of her head with one hand, she knew what was coming. "Relate to this." And he kissed her.

Sakura set her hand on his chest and pushed back. "That— That wasn't what I was talking about."

"If you say so." And his hand had covered hers, and he'd started to pull her back in, and . . . Well, getting an idea of how he kissed before she decided whether or not she'd sleep with him didn't seem like too terrible of an idea.

She stopped mid-lean, trying to think of something to say, a request or a warning. No words came; yet as she mentally searched for them Gaara raised his hand, brushed his knuckles against her cheek, and gently stroked his thumb against the corner of her mouth until she smiled. Later, she'd point to that as the moment she made her decision. She closed the distance between them and his lips met hers, gentle, pleasant, then parting for the careful, delicate touch of his tongue. He kissed her as if he didn't want to frighten her, as if he knew that seduction couldn't be properly accomplished in a hurry—and in the face of his conscientiousness, she let herself be fully, wonderfully seduced. Sakura wrapped an arm around his neck and pressed a little closer to him—she could definitely get used to this sort of treatment.

The kiss became a little harder, his tongue moving a little faster, his hand at her jaw tilting her face to his a little more—and by the time she recognized the change he'd molded her body to the curve of his, bending her backwards, his mouth insistent against hers. She felt like she'd turn to liquid, like the only thing holding her together was his hands and the pressure of his lips. He'd devour her like this; he'd engulf her and possess her and she'd love every second of it.

"Tell me if you will," he said suddenly, roughly.

The rasp of his voice sending an alarming, all-too-exciting tingle through her body, and she gasped. The hardest part of her reply was forming the words: "Yes. I'll—I'll do it."

"Say it, Sakura," he growled, and set his teeth against her throat. "This isn't for me."

He punctuated his kisses with little bites, and as she tilted her head back to better experience this new sensation she found herself doubting that last bit very much. "I . . . I want you to make love to me."

"So delicate about it," he murmured amusedly, and his mouth covered hers again.

One hand slid up her front, caressed her briefly, and then tugged at the neck of her top. She grabbed his wrist—this wasn't what she'd been agreeing to—and that easily, he stopped. "But not now," she gasped. "Not here."

"Mhm," Gaara replied, and helped her back upright. And then his hands were against her face carefully, delicately, his eyes intrigued and his mouth curving in a wicked little smile that took her breath away, and this was so far from what the missing-nin had tried to do to her that thoughts of them didn't even cross her mind. "Let's go, then," he said, and brought her to her feet as he stood. "I'll find somewhere better for you."

Her legs threatened to betray her as she took a wobbly step after him. A part of her hadn't wanted to stop, had felt sharp and clean and desirable with his kisses—and she wasn't sure how to deal with that part of her just yet. "Is that where we're going?"

The look he cast back over his shoulder was part considering, part inscruitable. "That, too."
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A Question of Priorities