Author/Artist: Hiko Mokushi / plural_entity.
Pairing: Sabaku no Gaara x Haruno Sakura.
Community/Fandom: 30_kisses/Naruto.
Theme: #1 — look over here.
Rating: PG.
Disclaimer: Kishimoto-sensei owns, of course.

Author Notes: I'm supposed to be writing for dmhgficexchange on livejournal. But I couldn't get these two out of my head. So, in order for me to actually be able to finish that Dramione fiction, I had to get something out. Try to suck GaaSaku from my head. I recently fell in love with this pairing. It's not as big as KakaSaku, but I do believe I've found my OT3: KakaSakuGaa. It would be hot.

Un-beta-ed. I may have found a beta, though if anybody else wishes to volunteer, I'd be much obliged.

Sakura touched his cheek and marveled at how smooth a corpse could feel. It was everything and nothing underneath her fingertips. Like touching a blown-glass bowl or the ivory keys of a proper piano. Except the bowl was empty, or maybe filled with poison, and the ivory keys had long since been tarnished, forgotten and out of tune.

Everything and nothing.

Everything her childhood was made of, her future planned for. And nothing of any real importance—not to her, not anymore.

Gingerly, she passed the palm of her hand over the ghostly pale face of Uchiha Sasuke and wondered if he had died with his eyes closed—unwilling to see the end, to acknowledge... What? His wrongful choices? The friends he'd left behind? The battlefields of blood, the destruction in his wake? The countless faceless ninja who did not deserve to die this way? She wondered if somebody had cared enough to close his sightless black eyes or if they had merely been too unnerved by the cold stare a mass murderer could summon even in death. Her entire future was laid on the ground in front of her, forever gone, and she could do nothing but peer blankly down at his limp, lifeless body. A part of her wanted to know if this hollow feeling in her chest was wrong. She should care. She should... but she didn't even know if she could. She could only hope the hollow feeling would go away, would fade with time, would fill with something, anything, just so long as it was better.

"It was Naruto," whispered Lee, his hand on her shoulder. Almost as an afterthought, her fingertips covered his in some gesture of mutual comfort. "Gaara may have helped, but in the end, it was Naruto."

Sakura released him and braced her hands against her knees as she rose to her feet. Lee glanced down at her from underneath bushy eyebrows. "Are you alright?"

"Where is Naruto?" She could not answer his question. Not at this moment. She wasn't sure what she felt. There was anger, yes; at the situation, at the number of bodies she'd put back together only to be rent apart again, at the stubbornness of boys, at the ambition she'd never understand. There was confusion, there was guilt, there was acceptance and maybe even a little sadness. But the emotions warred within her to a boiling point, then simply evaporated and escaped. She could spend no time lingering on emotions when there was so much to do and so many people to be there for.

It wasn't about her. It was never about her.

It was about them.

It had always been about them.

Lee pointed to a rocky outcropping a short walk away.

Four silhouettes caught her eye in the slowly fading light. Sakura nodded to Lee, who looked only slightly crestfallen back, and then went to join them.

The men were all taller than she, towering over her, some more than others. Shikamaru took a drag on his cigarette and waved with the two clenched fingers of his right hand. He sported a crisscross pattern of stitches across the top of his forehead and into the right brow. Kankurou stopped talking to look at her. His hood was back, brown hair matted against his scalp, and what was left of his smeared purple war paint was faded and dirt-streaked. Gaara was closest to her height, though she knew he'd developed a perpetual Shikamaru-like slouch that made his eyes almost level with hers. A small amount of blood still dripped from an untreated cut across his cheekbone, bright red against the ugly bruise that bloomed across the left side of his face. Naruto looked practically untouched, except for the blood on the sleeve of his right hand. Without words, she cut between the now-silent group and slid her arms about the blond's midsection. His left hand wrapped around loosely and patted her back. Inhaling deeply, she assured herself by touch and sight and smell of his presence, his vitality, his statue-like strength.

Kankurou cleared his throat and scratched his head. "I'll go talk to the men about gathering some wood for the fire," he said eventually, after an almost awkward, pregnant pause.

"I'll join you." Shikamaru dropped his cigarette and ground it out with the heel of his foot. "I'll report to the Hokage that everything's all set."

Sakura paid them little attention and rubbed her nose against Naruto's shirt. He smelled of sweat and dirt and blood, but underneath it, he was still Naruto. Gaara lingered, eyes politely focused on a point somewhere off towards the west—towards Suna, she figured. Other than his face, he was unharmed, and even with the bruise, he merely looked calm, almost serene in a pondering sort of manner. When Naruto shifted against her, she unwound her arms and stepped back to give him space.

There were no visible tears, but she could feel them within her if only blocked, partitioned off for secret and safe keeping; a private affair only permissible behind closed doors. Words burned in the back of her throat but they took no meaning, and died before they reached her tongue.

Eventually, it was Naruto who broke the intense, yet comfortable silence. "Kakashi-sensei said he would permit a funeral pyre. Even if he was a traitor, he was still a shinobi." The boy-turned-man faced the same direction as the Kazekage. "We'll hold it at sunset."

"It's over." Sakura took a deep breath, feeling as though, for the first time years, she could actually take a deep breath. The looming threat of Sasuke had not been a cross upon her back but a boulder upon her chest. She could breathe properly now, thanks to these men. Thanks to Naruto.

"Not quite," murmured Gaara in his quiet, rumbling voice, interrupting the moment. She almost wanted to frown at him, but she knew he was right and checked her irrational temper. "There are still pockets of rebellion. This was only the first of the last battles we'll face."

Naruto nodded grimly and something in Sakura's belly clenched. "Don't worry," he assured her, smiling weakly. Fatigue clouded his face, but his determination was not misplaced. "They will be nothing compared to this. More annoyances than threats." He sighed though and scratched the back of his head. "Kakashi is lighting the fire. You'll be there to watch, right, Sakura?"

She nodded, throat tight. "Of course, Naruto. " She returned his watery smile. "I'll stand at your side."

The young man touched her cheek with rough fingers before nodding to Gaara, and then walking in direction of their makeshift camp.

Gaara turned his eyes, thoughtful and intense to her, and she almost squirmed beneath his scrutiny. Instead, she smiled and stepped closer, fighting against the still-lingering urge to bolt. The demon may have been removed from his body but Sabaku no Gaara was still unlike the rest of them. "Thank you for keeping him safe," sighed Sakura.

"He did not need my help." Gaara blinked at the apology and focused his gaze over her shoulder. "He would have done fine without me."

"Moral support then," she acquiesced, a smile tugging the corner of her lips. "Besides... that one time... I've never seen you get hurt." She lifted a hand and prodded a finger against the purplish swell of his cheek.

If it hurt, he did not flinch. "Without Shukaku, my protection is slightly more limited."

"Boys," Sakura muttered. "Always getting into trouble." Her fingers stretched upward, palm kissing his cheek. Gaara's left eye twitched at the increased touch but did not move to snatch her hand away; his eyes merely darkened as he narrowed them slightly. Of course, he would be suspicious of her actions even now, after nearly eight years. Her hand glowed faintly with green chakra. After a moment, she dropped her hand and retreated just a step. "A show of my gratitude." The cheek was slightly flushed, but the bruised tint was gone, leaving only a small amount of dried blood as evidence to the wound in the first place.

"Without him I would have been lost." She wondered when Gaara had grown up. Just over a head taller, he had grown into his hands and voice.

She smiled, almost co-conspiratorially as she turned to walk back to camp. "So would the rest of us."

Sakura did not wait to see if the Kazekage would follow.

Back at camp, the uninjured Yamato had erected a small platform of wood. Sasuke's body had been placed upon it, his arms neatly folded across his chest. Some ninja gathered around, whispering between themselves. As she neared Naruto's side, at the head of the pyre next to Kakashi, she could hear some of the exchange—some congratulated Naruto or mused over both Konoha's and Suna's losses. Not all the ninja at camp were present, but that was just as well. Not everyone believed the traitor deserved a decent, war-like shinobi funeral. However, Kakashi was Hokage—his word was law, so no one protested their opinions aloud.

Stopping at Naruto's side, she clasped hands with her teammate and attempted to smile encouragingly. Lee sat at her feet, casually reclining against her shin.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Kakashi performed a mild version of the Uchiha Fireball jutsu to set the boy's corpse ablaze. Dark hair danced in the flames, almost lifelike, and something caught in the back of her throat. The tears that had before welled only behind the wall of her well-placed shinobi beliefs seemed to instantaneously intensify, and she blinked rapidly, dry-swallowing a few times to quell the rush of emotions. Lee lifted a hand to shadow his face, and Kakashi closed his eyes against the waves of light and heat. Naruto stared into the flames without pause or hesitation. In spite of all her strength and knowledge, Sakura wished she were blessed with his brand of fortitude. She glanced away, focusing her eyes to the east, to Konoha, to hope, and prayed for strength.

In the distance, Gaara's silhouette still stood against the darkening sky, and she wondered if he wished for hope as well.

to be continued...