Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.

Rated M for coarse language, morbidness, character deaths, and some sexual content.

Until We Fall

Part I

"Take it back... what you said. You didn't mean it."

She quietly insists, as she hovers over him. Over the glow of green that engulfs his numb left arm, he can see her twisted face. He is taken aback by the trace of innocence that still remains in her tone and her pout. Disgusted yet oddly amused, he is almost tempted to reach out and pinch her cheek with his other presently less useless arm.

Despite her best efforts, the excruciating pain that currently consumes his body paralyzes him all the same; the invisible wounds afflict him even more. On his back he adjusts his head to face the ashy gray sky, gazing at it without purpose. He remembers the sky from three months ago, different from now; he remembers the golden sun that rose over the edge of the sandy dunes. Suddenly, he misses home.

The blood-curdling screams and cries all around them, his senses adapt to them. They are no more than a buzzing white noise in his background; he can fall asleep to it, he thinks. But she does not allow his consciousness slip away.

Naruto is a fucking coward, again he tells her without any reservation.

They say war changes people. Whoever came up with that, a fucking genius. Of all things he stands to lose to the war, he hasn't expected that his civility is the first to go.

He means it. Every single cruel word out of his bloodied mouth.

At this point in time, he is not at all bothered by the expletives he carelessly throws at her, the one who keeps his life hanging on by a thread.

It is what he believes. He tries to convince her that their friend's death is neither noble nor sacrificial. A martyr, he thinks not. Irresponsible, yes, to accept death so readily before the very eyes of his loved ones. It is the easy way out for him, to leave the sorrow and anguish to his friends to carry in addition as they meet their own demise. He shouldn't have gone before them…

Not only Naruto. All their precious ones, mutilated and slaughtered on the battlefield. The grotesque images sear his mind, the worst kind of torture there is; he wonders if it's the same for her.

Temari, Kankuro, Kakashi, Sasuke, Tsunade… the names of the departed go on like the endless darkness that befalls the earth. He loses track how many they've lost to the mad man. At this rate, it may be easier to count who is still not dead. He laughs darkly to himself. Yet, his body shakes in rage at the thought.

By some ill-humored miracle, he and she are the only ones left alive. For now.

"Hold still," she instructs.

He notices that she decidedly ignores him the second time around, as she concentrates on her work to repair his severely damaged nerves. Her disheveled pink hair lightly flap against her face while she shakes her head, and she attributes his comments to his delirious state from the blood loss.

His eyes refocus on her form, raking her entire body. Beads of sweat roll down the sides of her dirt and blood smeared face. What catches his interest is the black markings that wrap around her exposed skin like serpents. She is drained, with pathetically little amount of chakra left in her reserve. But it doesn't stop her from giving her all to him. Pointless, they both know.

With her abilities, she can only heal so much of him. And he is certain his sanity isn't on the list.

Nonetheless, the thought of her collapsing before he does weighs down on him heavily. He cannot tell if his anxiety stems from his genuine care for her or his selfish desire to avoid a lonesome death.

"Gaara-kun, don't worry. I'm a medic-nin," she speaks as if she reads him like an open book.

He hates the meaningless familiarity that she attaches to his name at this point, as well as the reassurance that she tries to offer. Still, he quirks his brow, unsure what she's getting at with her mumbling statement, and an obvious one at that. He is irked, yet curiosity arises within him.

"...which means, I won't die before you."

How smug of her.

Where has he heard that before? Right, the rules of a medical ninja, so brazenly declared by that slug woman to the world in her last stand against Madara... His pounding head struggles to recall them. Something about the medics being the last members to perish, so to carry out their duties until their comrades draw their final breaths. Hn. A lot of good it did to the Godaime, as she now lies with their allies in pieces before their executioner. Stupid rules, he snorts. As a disciple of the late Hokage, the young kunoichi religiously adheres to her mentor's teachings, it seems. She is still holding on to hope, every last drop of it.

"So…" she trails off. The few seconds of silence that follow fuel his impatience. Spit it out, woman. He urges her with his angry eyes.

Eventually she manages to smile at him, but her tired hollow eyes do not crinkle.

"...when you go, I'll make sure it won't hurt."

She says to him something he does not expect. No, she isn't hopeful; she has gone delusional. It seems she too is fading in and out of her own madness. It sickens him. Something threatens to regurgitate up his throat. Bile or blood, he doesn't know. She is naive to think that she can guarantee a painless end for him. Humanity is lost. And it won't be long before they are torn limbs from limbs, their guts spill, and their bodies become mangled like worthless broken rag dolls.

Her ghostly words have a chilling effect on him. All of a sudden, the realization of their impending destruction is too real. His stomach churns, adrenaline about to rush through his system as a fight or flight instinct. And he suppresses the impulse to take her hand and run, far away from this wasteland ravaged by senseless fighting, far away from the graves they dug for themselves when they entered the war. He dismisses the futile idea.

She needs to stop talking, he decides. Right now.

"Sakura." He strains. With a cracked voice, he directs another crude remark at her:

"You fucking talk too much."

He stuns her once more with his crassness. He does so intentionally to take advantage of the moment that she falls victim to her own uncertainty. She stops short in her task and stares at him with her mouth slightly agape.

Riding on the last bit of his strength, he grabs her by her battered uniform with one hand. Gracelessly, he pulls her in and crushes his cut and bruised lips onto hers. His forcefulness, a reflection of his inner despair.

"Die, die! All of you! There's no place to run, no place to hide!" The maniacal laughter of the deranged killer continues to roar in the distance, growing closer and louder by the seconds.

His heart clenches, but it doesn't make him break their connection. She gives up on her ministration as her hand comes to rest on his chest. When she does not push him away, he smirks against her mouth. Finally. About time they both come to an understanding.

The taste of iron laces their desperate but passionless kiss, soon mixed with warm saltiness. As he closes his eyes and feels moisture on his cheeks, he isn't sure whom the tears belong to anymore.

And so they relish their last breathing moment together.

Because tomorrow is a luxury they can no longer afford.