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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.

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Over the last few miles of run, she couldn't help but wonder if this was just a spectacular way of encouraging her to cut ties with him.

Another set of sentries sprang out at them, and Gaara splattered two with an almost negligent wave of his hand. Two others evaded the grasping sand with a combination of speed and blind luck, and she lunged to face one as Gaara turned his attention to the other.

Her opponent didn't have time for her, didn't even focus on her as she attacked. Sakura saw his face whiten and his eyes widen as a wet ripping noise came from behind her, and knew what'd happened to the other ninja as surely as if she'd watched it herself. She pressed her advantage rather than look—and ran directly into a sand shield. A fraction of a second later she heard a startled exclamation—which cut off just as quickly, to be replaced by a soft pattering of sand and blood against the shield in front of her.

If not for the shield, she would've been covered—

"Come on," Gaara said, and caught her wrist as the wall began to fall. "I know you don't want to see what's left of them."

But she'd already seen—and worse, she'd smelled, blood mixed with shredded organs and intestines and—

This time she did throw up, bile from her empty stomach searing the back of her throat. He half-carried, half-guided her away from the aftermath, his arm over her shoulder, and he pushed a water bottle on her so she could rinse her mouth. She focused on the ground in front of her and immediately regretted it: Red speckled the leaves and grass for almost thirty feet past their battle's epicenter. No, not their battle—his massacre.

Yes, he could be kind—but he was also horrifying. Yes, he was practical—but he used his practicality to justify mass murder.

"I know they're awful," she said, as they made it past the outer ring of his destruction. "I know they'd kill us both if given a chance . . . but Gaara, when will it stop?"

"When this group is gone and we're safe."

"We're ninjas," she said. "We're always fighting—we'll never be safe."

"I know."

She went silent. It didn't match up again: Epic battles? Yes, she could understand that. Good versus evil? She got that, too. But in her world, full-on slaughter wasn't something the good guys did.

If the sentries hadn't interrupted things, she would probably be rolling around on the forest floor with Gaara right now. Fifteen minutes ago he'd been inside her, even—

Sakura wanted to curl up on the ground and cry. Instead she forced herself to keep up with him, matching him stride for stride and bound for bound. She told herself she had no right to be upset: She'd known what he was and what he could do even before that first kiss. But still, she couldn't help but feel like he'd somehow let her down.

"If you're coming as well," he finally said, "I can't have you trying to stop me."

"I won't," she replied. I probably couldn't, she thought, bitterly. "I just—I just wish there was a better way."

He stopped at his next landing point, crouching on a sizable tree limb, and she almost jumped past him. "What am I supposed to do?" he snapped. "Catch them each, one by one, and attempt to rehabilitate them? And in the meantime they keep training and getting better, and my shinobi keep disappearing and dying, and things keep getting worse because they keep getting bolder because no one's stepped in to stop them yet."

"I'm not saying you should make friends with them—"

"But you want my method to be different." He glowered at the path ahead of them, then at her. "They're not good people, Sakura. They've killed any number of my shinobi; they've killed any number of yours. If I hadn't come for you, they would have raped you and tortured you and killed you once you'd stopped being amusing, and if I let them live then they'll only go on to hurt and kill any number of others."

"I know. It's just you—" You've been so sane for so long, she didn't say. You haven't acted like this for years, she didn't say. "The last time you fought against the Akatsuki . . ."

"I know." The set of his jaw softened, and he reached up to touch her cheek. "Which is why it's imperative for me to dig up the roots for their choking vine—and for me to not run away."

"Gaara," she whispered, and covered his hand with her own. Her ally, her lover, her nightmare.

He smiled faintly, resignedly. "I had to choose my priority: the lives of my villagers or being . . . 'humane,' or 'morally just.' Their lives came first. I can be a monster as long as I continue to shield them. I'd like to think they'd forgive me."

"But you don't know that they would."

"No. I don't." He shook his head. "Would you?"

"I . . . don't know yet."

Gaara straightened. "I'll find out later, then. But we've got to get going, before the sentries are reported missing."

Sakura caught his fingers again and exhaled sharply, determinedly. "Gaara . . . I'll still cover your back. I can't let you go in and fight them on your own."

He brought her hand up to his mouth and brushed a kiss against her knuckles. "That's more than I could ask for."

He'd break her heart, she realized—but at least he wouldn't mean to.

ooo

The encampment was smaller than she'd expected: a cluster of short, camouflaged buildings with campfires hidden under smoke-diffusing leafy canopies. Sakura crouched behind some bushes at the far edge of the clearing, a homicidal redhead at her side, and watched the missing-nins meandering between buildings, talking and joking with each other, sharpening weapons or stretching. It was a harsh juxtaposition. They walked and talked like normal people, yes . . . but she knew what they were capable of, what they would've done to her, what their group had done to any number of other ninjas. And when she factored in what they'd tried to do to Naruto, what they'd succeeded in doing to Gaara—even what their influence had done to Sasuke . . .

She pulled her gloves from her hip pouch and tugged them on, flexing her hands and rolling little waves of chakra up and down her arms.

Gaara knelt beside her, sitting on his feet, his hands clasped loosely in his lap. He watched the missing-nins in front of them quietly—and when she shifted closer to ask him about his plan, she paused at his expression. Gone was the gleeful bloodlust from earlier; gone was anything resembling rage or vengeance or wrath. Instead he seemed almost . . . mournful.

"Gaara . . ." she started, worried about this sudden change of heart.

He looked over at her, the corners of his mouth turned down with uncertainty. "Do you think Naruto would try to save any of them?"

She set her hand against his arm—then, when that didn't seem like enough, leaned closer to butt her forehead gently against his. He closed his eyes, and she sighed. "I don't know."

At this distance he blurred to her vision, but she felt him nod. The gourd on his back abruptly disintegrated and fell to the ground around them, then disappeared below the uppermost layer of grass and leaves. Sakura lifted her head and looked around them, confused, as he leaned forward enough to bury his fingers in the loam. She knew the gourd was his primary weapon and defense—dropping and burying it made no sense if he—

If he actually intended to fight every shinobi there. Of course. He hadn't intended to actually fight anyone. Not when the technique he'd been testing against the previous missing-nins would do just as well.

The forest floor under them heaved once, his only warning. Then the earth split in the middle of the encampment, the sand-laden ground around it lurching upwards, and a few people found the time to yell or scream or swear before they were engulfed. Two managed to bolt, but purple-streaked sand claws caught them and dragged them down. Then the gap closed again, grains of sand sinking below the topsoil. There was the slightest pause—then a series of small earthquakes indicated he'd pulverized everything he'd taken under.

It was over in less than thirty seconds.

Sakura gaped at the now-empty clearing, feeling like she'd just witnessed some terrible trick, like it'd been some illusion he'd snuffed out rather than an entire encampment. But she knew differently; she knew him.

Gaara remained still, his eyes shut, concentrating. "If there is a trace of movement, even a heartbeat," he said, "I can feel it. I will not have any of them returning."

She had to ask. "Is there?"

He shook his head. "Nothing remains alive." His eyes opened, and she blinked, startled by their paleness. "Do you think less of me?"

Sand began leaking upwards from the ground around them, reforming itself into the gourd. Little tendrils adjusted its wrap, and she watched, fascinated.

The way he watched her finally warranted an answer, and she sighed. "I think . . . you're trying to do what's best. And . . . that you're a very complicated person."

He waited.

"And . . . that you just saved any number of lives. And that I'm glad I didn't have to make that decision. And . . ." She held the thought a second longer, then blurted it out. "That I hope there were no prisoners in there with them."

"None were bound," he replied quickly. "None had immobilizing drugs or sedatives in their bloodstreams; none had damage from torture."

"You checked?"

"I touched them through the sand. I counted and I checked; I knew you wouldn't want me to make guesses."

"Oh, Gaara," she said, and lunged to wrap her arms around him.

"That makes things better?" he asked against the side of her head.

It was like he'd pulled a crushing weight off of her. Still a killer, yes . . . but a more careful one than she'd previously imagined. Sakura wondered if there was something wrong with her, when one option became so much more palatable than the other. There seemed to be no easy answer—so she nodded anyway. After a few more seconds he returned her embrace.

Without her there, would he have looked twice before killing everyone? Was it her words or his attachment to her that'd given him pause? She didn't know.

Had he held her for this long when he'd rescued her the day before? Did he mind?

Not with the way he relaxed against her; not with the way his hands moved against her sides. His part of their strange relationship still seemed to be holding steady. And hers . . .

Well, that might get complicated—though she wasn't sure it needed to be.

"Which way to Naruto?" she finally asked.

"North-northwest. Where the river crosses the border."

At least she had the entire way there to figure out what to say to her teammate about what'd happened. "We'll follow the river for a good bit of the way there, right?"

"Yeah."

"Good," she said. Because she still needed to take stock of some things, especially concerning him . . . but she still needed that bath as well.

She linked her fingers with those of the killer at her side; she stood and guided him to his feet. Finally she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and turned her back on what he'd done.
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A Question of Priorities