Hers, a naruto fanfic

Hers.

Summary: "I'll break you," he hissed. "Can't break what's already broken." AU DeiSaku with some of the dreaded SasuSaku in there.

---

When you have to shoot me, shoot, don't talk.

When you tell me that you hate me (The scum, lover of traitor- filth, that I am), say it with some conviction.

It's less cruel that way.

---

The cool metal barrel of the gun pressed against her temple just as she slid her eyes shut. He said he couldn't bear to watch the light leave her eyes when he blew her brains out across the basement floor. Sakura had laughed at him when he said that, called him 'her soppy little poet boy'. Seconds later Deidara had pounced on her and they had rolled around throwing kicks and punches at every bit of the other they could reach.

Later, she was glad that he said it, because it meant that he cared about her more than she ever thought he would, or could. Later, she pressed a kiss against every little bruise she had inflicted on him and smiled as she told him that he probably wouldn't miss her anyway. A few metres away Hidan snorted with barely concealed irritation and let out a string of increasingly offense curses all aimed at her. Deidara's hand was shaking and that worried her the most; he never showed any sign of weakness.

"Just kill the little bitch," Hidan hissed, "Or I'll do it myself."

He spat on the floor and added, "I've never had the honour of sacrificing a Pinkie to Jashin."

It struck her as funny that she actually enjoyed the sound of his harsh, mocking voice. Stockholm syndrome, or the same feeling a criminal on death row gets when the hangman touches them to slide the noose over their neck? - the last piece of human contact they would ever receive before they slipped into the void. Was this the last human voice she would ever hear?

And she had failed. Failed Sasuke, failed Naruto, and failed Konoha.

So, she deserved this.

So she deserved his gun held to her head and the bullet that would end her life.

---

It was so like her to get captured on her first outside mission in months.

So like her to get the object she was sent to retrieve, escape the building and then, immediately, get snapped up by the other largest, and most dangerous, organisation in the city. The black car had slid out from one of the side streets so smoothly that it seemed to simply appear from nowhere. Sakura had been too occupied with escaping at the time to even notice that he was trailing her. An amatuer mistake that made her cringe every time she thought back to it.

Her eyes only looked for Orochimaru's men, who were sure to be on her heels. They were loud, and exhuberant and completely unable to track silently. Though still deadly fast and with some great shooters. They were easy enough to out-manoeuvre because she knew that particular area of the city like the back of her hand. It was still a good idea to keep watch for the distinctive sound symbol they displayed on their chests.

Soon her black Suzuki was in view; parked at the corner of the street that fed straight into the largest street in the city. As soon as she drove into the melee of traffic they would have no chance of catching her. The faint thrill of victory reached her then and her hand slid up to clasp the pendant dangling at her neck, just to check it was still there. It felt cold against her shaking fingers and she unthinkingly tried to pick open the clasp.

Pride always comes before a fall and, damn, she should have known that getting happy about anything nowadays was a sure sign something bad was about to happen.

Her other hand stayed close to the gun strapped tightly to her barely covered thigh. If a light was to shine on her dress it became pretty much see-through, but that didn't really matter to her anymore. Why would she care if they saw the metallic shimmer of her handgun now that she had gotten what she wanted? Throwing her leg up Sakura took her seat on the motorcycle, almost losing her balance. It was lower than it should be.

The back tyre had been punctured.

Hissing the worst curses she knew Sakura bent down to look at the tyre - a metal spike had been driven straight into it. Definitely deliberate. She had to get out of there - now. Couldn't risk being caught. Though this deliberate act of sabotage meant that Orochimaru would already know where she was. They would be swooping in right now, she would be caught and taken back to their base.

They would be waiting somewhere nearby to take her by surprise. Plug her full of lead and drag her back half-alive; that was their style.

Some traitorous part of her mind whispered that she really should consider that as an option. After all, that meant she would most definitely see Sasuke... Throwing her leg back over the bike she cast it one last covetous look before setting off as quickly as she could in four inch stilettos. Her mind pushed down her rebellious thoughts; he would be her captive, not the other way around.

It was almost strange how she couldn't bring herself to think of it as saving him, or bringing him back home anymore. There was no home, and what was the point of saving someone who didn't want to be saved? There was none. Sakura couldn't even justify her love for him to herself anymore and Konoha provide the reason - excuse - for still, desperately, trying to bring him back. He was a traitor, filth, scum and was giving out classified information. He was also a highly skilled sharp-shooter and well-trained in many arts prized by Konoha and its leaders.

Sasuke would be brought back for punishment and rehabilitation. If he refused to become one of Konoha's own again they would kill him... Or, rather, she would kill him. The moment the higher ups had declared that they would "dismiss" him, Sakura volunteered to be the one to do it. No one left Konoha Underground: they retired when they grew too old or became physically unable to continue working. That was it. Those who were dismissed were killed - those who ran were hunted down.

She remembered vividly the look of shock that appeared on Naruto's face when she was given the job of "dismissing" him should it come to that.

("But, Sakura-chan... Sakura-chan, you love him.")

How could she tell him that pulling the trigger would be the only way to end her infatuation? How could she tell him that the only way she would ever stop loving him would be if he was six feet under?! There were no words to describe how much she wanted to hate him, and adored him, in equal measures. There was no way she could make anyone understand how deep those feeling were.

Embedded in her fucking soul.

When she pulled the trigger it would all be over and she could move on. There was no way she would kill herself just to rid herself of him. Sakura was no Juliet. From as long as she could remember the fact that all life was precious was drummed into her.

What a hypocritical thing for a trained assassin to believe in.

What a typical thing for a healer to believe in.

If he came back and decided to work for Konoha again, then she would remain by his side no matter what. She would love him unconditionally and be there should he ever want her. This was what she wanted to do with her life if she was given the option. One day he would need someone, and she would be there. A healer drawn to fix that which was broken. She had once been told that was what made her weak and... perhaps it was.

She would never trade that compulsion for the persona of a lifeless killer. It had brought her to Naruto, and Sasuke.

From the moment she set eyes on him - a scrawny, messy haired youth with almost aristocratic features that didn't quite suit the childish plumpness all boys that age held, and silvery scars scrawled across his arms in spider-web like lines - she knew she could spend a lifetime fixing him.

Sakura was always drawn by a challenge and that was no exception.

The rhythmic clicking of her heels on the grimy pavement seemed far too loud. Her trigger finger twitched slightly when a tiny tin-can of a car rattled past down one of the side streets. They could be on the roofs, waiting around the corner, behind her right now. Sakura was panicking - it had been too long since she had been out, unsupervised, on a solo. Bolting would most likely cost her dearly.

They had not seen her when she entered the base; only Kabuto had any contact with her at all. That was why she was, supposedly, in there anyway. An entertainer - his for the night. She swallowed slightly and dearly wished for a scalding hot shower to wash the imaginary scum and the sticky, half dry fluids from her skin. The point was she looked just like every other Lady that worked these streets.

A dry, warm night; perfect for this kind of work. How could she look out of place with her too short dress, four inch heels and inviting smile? If she ran she would look guilty and they would kill her just to make sure.

A sleek black car pulled up beside her and the black windows slid down soundlessly. It only took a moment for her to decide - fate (too much time sparring with Neji, it was starting to get to her) had just handed her a getaway vehicle. This wasn't her first time pretending to be what she wasn't. Leaning over she lightly placed her arm on the top of the car - a Mercedes, some part of her noted clinically - and tried to look as though her stomach wasn't churning.

"What can I do for you?" she purred, index finger itching to pull the trigger.

Instinctive. She wouldn't kill an innocent - even if they were a sleaze ball that picked up girls on the streets. Sakura had to bend down a little to see right in when he didn't reply immediately. The top of her dress dipped low enough to show everything - she was sure of that - but she made a show of pushing her shoulders back and looking completely unashamed. The gaudy, gem studded pendant at her neck swung forward and caught the light.

He was not what she expected; blond hair, blue eyes and extremely handsome instead of some greasy, balding old man. With his fine features - high cheekbones, thin mouth and long, slim nose - and long hair he had probably been mistaken for a woman once or twice. There was something in his features that was extremely masculine though and his outward demeanour and cocky smile left her in no doubt that he was a man.

"I'm just looking for some," his piercing eyes slid over her exposed flesh, "company."

Sakura looked at him for a moment - mind blank. His eyes moved up to her face, swept across her features and seemed to focus on her larger-than-average forehead. The uncomfortable feeling of being examined, x-rayed, only increased her heightened awareness of him and the desire to run. She didn't have any toxins, or knock-out gas, or even the make-shift acupuncture needles that could force someone out of consciousness if they hit the right place. Kabuto would have recognised them; he was a medic too.

All she had was the fricken calibre 22. NINJA 1, which hardly did any damage at all. Of course, it wasn't as though she could walk around with a normal sized gun strapped to her leg.

Her shaking hand found the gleaming silver handle of the door which she hastily pulled open a little, just enough to slip inside. The cushy black leather seats sank down as she took a seat. He leaned across (his arm was tanned, and a little too muscular for an ordinary civilian) and pulled the door shut. It took every bit of her will-power not to flinch or tense up when his hand brushed her stomach and exposed thighs - the dress had rode up a little too much for her taste when she sat down.

At first it could have been accidental, but he paused and slid the side of the dress up a little further. If she had punched him then she would have broken his nose in at least two places and blown her cover sky high. Would have been a real shame to spoil his pretty face, her mind pointed out. She quashed that thought as soon as it reared its ugly head. The sounds of men shouting reached her and she fought not to cringe.

The words 'fight', 'surrounded', 'Konoha' and 'whore' reached her. Pretty Boy made no sign that he had heard any of this and simply stared intently at her exposed thigh... And the gun strapped to it.

"Expecting trouble, love?" there was a note of amusement in his voice.

"Never know."

It seemed as though he was expecting something other than her disinterested answer and aloof tone. Too late to become more welcoming now. Sakura silently cursed herself and tried to remember everything Ino had told her about keeping a man's interest and making it seem like you were into him. Darling Ino, if only she could see the situation she was in now. Probably be rolling around with laughter at the thought of prim and prudish Haruno Sakura pretending to be a whore.

"I'll find us somewhere more secluded," he muttered as he turned back to the steering wheel.

It seemed to take him a moment to drag his eyes off her.

"Whatever you want, honey," Sakura said, in what she hoped was a more seductive tone.

This was not what she was used to at all. Too long since her last solo. The only up point was that the Sound would not look for her here - she had gotten away, or as good as. A tiny surge of happiness welled up as the car pulled out into the sea of traffic. Now, it only left knocking out Pretty Boy and high tailing it back to Konoha where a shower and a good night's sleep would be in order.

It would probably be easiest if she just knocked him out when he next pulled over. A quick jab at the pressure point at the back of his head and he would be out like a light with only a little bruise to show she had been anywhere near him. Perfect. The silence was suffocating and after a while she became bored of examining him. There was only so long she could stare at his pitch black shirt, which matched his black jacket, tie, sunglasses and car; there was definitely a theme going on.

He reminded her of one of those wannabe gangster types. The sort that thought they were real hard with their big guns and big mouths. Most of them had grown up in a privileged background, then went bad just for the hell of it. Just to prove something. Cocky bastards the lot of them. She had met enough to know.

After a while her slightly hazy mind began to realise that the large number of pearly scars shining on his olive skin were not normal. No ordinary man would have so many. No usual posh boy thug (the oxymoron almost made her laugh) would have them. Their appearance always mattered too much for them to risk getting such scars. No one challenged them anyway; not with Daddy and his money backing them up. Alarm bells were finally starting to ring.

"I'm not into stuck up girls," his voice was very deep, she noted, deeper than any other man's voice she had ever heard.

The sound of his voice almost made her flinch, almost. The initial stab of self-loathing was too much to bear; she couldn't even pretend to be a slut, a whore. When all she had to do was flash some flesh and pretend that she wanted to jump him more than anything else in the world. Fate had even tossed her a good-looking man to pretend with. One that didn't make her shudder in revulsion.

She almost felt sick with herself; for not being able to let her inhibitions fly out the window, for wanting to be able to do so.

"What if I'm afraid," Sakura said calmly, turning to stare at him.

He laughed - deep and rich and wholly masculine. A hand wound around her waist and dragged her across until the hand break was digging uncomfortably into her rear. To struggle would be to blow what was left of her precious cover. The car slid to a stop behind a clump of trees that marked the end of the city and the beginning of the wilderness that surrounded it and threatened to sweep in and choke the manmade supposed sanctuary.

Bandits and thieves on the outside, much, much worse on the inside. Sometimes she wished her mother had stayed in the seaside town of her birth instead of journeying into the city in search of "a better life" for herself and her daughter. She was too soft, too well-educated and too delicate for this life, this place.

His hands moved from the steering wheel to the indent of her waist. The dress had never felt so thin. No protection.

Then she had died. They had come in droves and droves in the dark of night and plugged her full of lead when she tried to stop them. You could always tell when someone had been shot dead. An injured person would try to soften their fall, but a dead one would just crumble forward with their knees and neck tilting forward at the same time. Even then Sakura knew that and had watched as her mother crumpled forward in a way no live woman would have.

That was during the street wars. Too long ago to be clear and vivid and real.

No one had touched her like this for years; his rough hands - battered and calloused - sliding up to stroke her bare skin and leave trails of burning heat. If she just unfocused her eyes a little... A little more. His clear, cold, hateful blue eyes could almost be Naruto's. His slow, wet kisses were calming her down a little. It was almost nice to be with someone who didn't know who she was, or what she had done.

Harsh breath on the delicate skin beneath her ear. Sakura had never felt as breakable as she had then when he picked her entire body up as though she weighed nothing and engulfed her with his harder sleeker form. He leaned down to pay attention to the smooth skin of her neck and presented her with a perfect opportunity; one hit to that part of his neck and she would be free.

"Pathetic, love."

Blackness.

The sound of her mother screaming, Ino crying, Temari's last breath; broken, inconsolable.

Hinata's perfect black hair strewn across the marble tiles with her head lying there too - blind eyes even more unseeing in death. Never found the body.

Acrid smell of burnt flesh and burning plastic as she pealed back the sheet and looked down at the last one of them left. Bullet through her swollen belly, brown hair shorn off as a calling card. Neji would be crushed.

Cold metal scalpel in her hand as she sliced through each one of them to find the cause of death, though she already knew.

Cause of Death: Gunshot wounds.

---

He regarded her silently as she slumped forward like a puppet that had just had its strings cut. Not really his style, far too clean and painless, but what the hell. It seemed she would be useful and if it turned out she wasn't... All the more fun. She was pretty enough, not a stunner in any sense of the word but pleasing to look at. No masterpiece would be made with her, but she would make decent art. Too boring, too generic for his taste.

She was one of Konoha's, definitely. He could see the little leaf tattoo bang in the middle of her spine as he slid the silver zip down a little to expose that part of her back. Just had to check; he told himself as his eyes lingered a little longer than they should have.

Dumping her in the front seat he carelessly clipped her in and revved up the engine. This one was obviously a new girl; she didn't even realise that most whores usually demanded cash, or at least, stated the amount they would be paid before engaging in anything. She only had a little pissy girly gun as protection as well. It was almost surprising she had survived as long as she had.

The dress - if you could call it that, it was more like a long shirt - did not cling to her sides, but when the orange street light shone through he could see the outline of her body very clearly along with the tell-tale tattoo. Any smart person would slap a plaster over it or wrap some bandages around their torso just in case. The tattoo was what made him pause and take a second look at her. Konoha's own were always so hard to bring in alive.

They were always such damn martyrs. So willing, so ready, to take their life when it seemed capture was inevitable. It almost made him sick - that show of loyalty. Deidara never remembered feeling such devotion towards the Iwa League and he had spent most of his young life within their grasp.

She had not noticed that he was following her; that was yet another sign of an amateur. The large gates parted for his car and he started the long descent underground. Something within him always jerked a little when the wave of darkness swept over the car and the sky was hidden from view. The faint memory of flying illegally acquired aircraft as a young boy came back to him then, before he could shake it off. The only time in his life he was ever free.

"What the hell did Pein tell us at the last meeting, Deidara?!" hissed Hidan as the blond Akatsuki slid the unconscious scantily clad woman out of the front seat. "No fucking whores when you're on duty."

A slight twitch, he shook his head at his so called comrade.

"One of Konoha's. Prisoner." Fucking ingrate.

The sleek, silver haired man ran a scarred hand over his hair in an unconscious movement - probably what made his hair so damn greasy - and spat on the filthy floor.

"Why would I care if Pein mauls your girly ass anyway."

"Been lookin' have you?" he grinned in an unfriendly manner that showed his teeth, more of a snarl than anything else.

"You fucking wish."

---

They had shackled her to one of the heavy, reinforced steel chairs that were bolted to the chilled, metallic floor. A drain was beneath the chair, she couldn't see it, but she knew. Too many nights spent in underground rooms with supposedly dead criminals testing poisons, toxins and other such substances. Drains were a necessary feature in a room used for torture and experimentation on human beings; blood was a bitch to mop up after all.

A few years ago Sakura might have winced at that thought.

She seemed to have been bleeding for some time and, yet, the wound hadn't even begun to close; her blood was not congealing as it should have been. There was also the fact that she couldn't feel any pain. How cruel. She wouldn't even know if she was dying, or on the brink of death. The fact that she was still relatively lucid cast away the thought that she might soon leave the land of the living.

She wouldn't have put it past that red haired man -- boy; he looked so young, too young to be doing such unspeakable things-- to have injected her with some kind of anti-platelet drug, or an anti-coagulation. That would be something she would do in this situation... Come to think of it she had done that to one of his sub-ordinates once.

"They're coming to see you, Petal. I suggest you pray for your soul," the lout visible through the bars on the door said, eyeing the cross that hung at her pale throat above the pendant.

Fear constricted her thoughts and she couldn't even muster the strength to hiss some insult at him for calling her 'Petal'. It was instinctive, almost, and borne of so many years of being taunted for her hair colour, which was covered with thick layers of sludge coloured dye. Her hair colour was far too distinctive not to be covered on a mission; leaving it as was naturally (so pink it was almost radioactive) would be like wearing a sign saying; Haruno Sakura, Elite of Konoha Underground.

Just a harmless comment, they didn't know who she was. She repeated that like a mantra in an attempt to calm herself. Since she had been brought here she had not even referred to herself using her own name. It was rumoured the head of this organisation could read minds. Pein was his name. Though she only knew that because she had managed to gain access to a few of the restricted files through her mentor.

(He called himself a God, a deity. Her strict religious upbringing had rebelled against that thought - that there was someone out there making a false idol of themselves. Though her righteous anger felt insincere. After all, how long had it been since she had really believed there was a God?)

That was ridiculous. Science had proved it to be so. The human, frightened, part of her that Konoha hadn't yet managed to wheedle out whispered that it was better to be safe than sorry. If they knew who she was she would most definitely die and they would know what was hanging around her neck at this moment - heavy with her own guilt - and the entire city would be further in their control.

The rasping, screeching sound of metal being scraped against metal echoed through the thin, winding halls as the door for the surface was thrown open. Forgetting her scorn and disbelief she pressed her eyes closed and began to furiously pray. She was human after all - more human than she thought she would ever be again. Mankind laughed at the idea of Gods and Goddesses in their strength, but prayed to them fervently in their weakness. The fluorescent lights flickered to life above her and her pupils contracted with a stinging sensation.

She didn't want to see what they would do to her. Bile rose up like the fear inside of her. Soldiers have no fear. Lesson Number One; soldiers have no fear.

Them; Pretty Boy and Red. Behind them was a man who looked too much like her Sasuke for it to be a coincidence. Years ago she would have screamed at him and demanded to know what had made him cause his younger brother such agony and then what had made him want to drag out that agony. Sadist, she would have yelled. Traitor, she would have yelled. Backstabber, filth, inhuman, monster...

Poor little soul.

She knew what his family, what Konoha, had driven him to do and couldn't bring up that familiar, anger anymore. The Uchiha Clan were always going to be domineering prats; it was in their blood -

Red picked a syringe from inside his trench coat - which had threads dangling at the hem from being cut in order to fit him better. Lifting his arm a little caused his sleeve to fall back and show the black scorpion tattoo coiled around his wrist.

Lesson Number Two; soldiers feel no pain.

"Relax," he muttered, his voice was soft and smooth, "it's an antidote."

- They had attempted to take the city by force and it had failed. Holed up in a single compound just outside of the city they had resisted every attempt to capture it and many, many men were killed in the process of trying to get them out. Eventually the Elders had enough and used their influence to force the city council into doing something they had never even considered.

Bombs. Bombs. Bombs. Twelve days and nights.

The compound was fortified and most of the Uchiha stayed alive in the deep dug-outs beneath it, though many suffered from shell-shock; losing their minds because of the constant racket of the exploding bombs. It soon seemed as though nothing would take them out, but... Itachi came into it then. A double agent. He had been ordered before to take out his whole Clan should the need ever arise - should they try to destroy Konoha or the City.

It took him twelve days, it would seem, to build up enough nerve to destroy his brethren. He was thirteen years old, and maybe the bombs drove him mad too.

The needle slid beneath her skin; cool and familiar. The numbness faded when he injected her with a clear liquid. Maybe it was an antidote for something he had put in her earlier, maybe she would die now. She remembered faltering into semi-consciousness earlier and seeing his bright red hair in front of her, his ice cold fingers probing her ribs as the scalpel dug into her. He was a master, it would seem, because she barely felt a thing when he pulled the pulsing, black tube from beneath her skin.

"Thanks," he looked slightly surprised and the corner of his mouth tilted up ever so slightly though nothing else in his expression changed.

"Shame I can't have you." Sakura flinched slightly at that partially because in her mind he was the safest option - he was a Healer, a Toxins expert like her.

And partially because he was well known for tearing people apart and making them into strange, zombie-like soldiers.

"Flirting are you, Sasori-danna?" Pretty boy was grinning from ear to ear behind his back. A dangerous look crossed the features of the boy in front of her.

"Never thought alive girls were your type," he continued, eyes flashing.

Her eyebrows rose slightly at that, but a second later her chin landed on her chest and her eyes dropped shut. Unable to see the pale, red head practically decapitating the tanned blond with a massive blade and hissing all kinds of insults and promises of the sorts of things he could do to make the other suffer.

---

A bucket of lukewarm water over her head and hands scrubbing at her filthy, dye stained hair. Brown dye ran down her skin in rivulets and stained his hands deep mahogany, as though he had stuck his fingers in a bucket of varnish. Pink coloured strands hung limply in front of her face before long, and he let out a low whistle.

"Thought you were dead, love."

She told him to go and play with the traffic.

---

"I'll break you," he hissed.

And she laughed.

"Can't break what's already broken."

---

There was something in the way he looked at her when he came into her cell every morning. Sakura always glared and proceeded to attempt to kick him, or head butt him, or even bite him when he came too close and started to try and coax the location of the 'secret' her. Every morning he smelled of whisky, cigarettes and a different strong perfume. Every morning she would tell him the same thing.

"It's in a place close to my heart."

He never realised she meant that in a literal sense.

---

"Let's do it this way then," he took a long drag from his cigarette, "I ask you a question, you answer and you get to ask me a question."

She turned her head away from him disdainfully, "What's your name?"

He looked surprised by the stupid, inconsequential question, but she had only said it to rile him, "Deidara, love."

---

When Deidara had said he would break her she had expected torture in the physical sense. That would have been bearable. Instead she had to suffer becoming institutionalised: depending on him for her meals, bathroom breaks, showers, and even to know when it was night and day. Instead she had to suffer through an emotional kind of torture and waking up to the same four walls every day.

The worst thing was... Was.... The fact that he wouldn't touch her.

She hadn't felt the touch of another human being for weeks and the cracks were beginning to show.

---

"Favourite colour, love?"

"Pink, same as yours."

Deidara bared his teeth, but she saw a twinkle of mirth in his eyes.

---

Two and a half months into it - Sasori came for a visit. He stated that he needed to see if she was in good health. When he leaned over to take her pulse Sakura, unable to resist the lure of touch, leaned her head on his shoulder and breathed in his scent. The corners of his mouth tilted up slightly as he regarded her after that; quiet appreciation showed in his eyes.

"So skinny little runts is what you like then?" Deidara grinned at her in that feral way. She refused to think he might be jealous. Jealousy was a dangerous emotion.

"Definitely."

---

He was leaning over her; that crazy, crazy light in his eyes with the cigarette in his hand bending as he crushed it in his fist. It was late, he never normally came at this time of night. Sakura refused to acknowledge the way heat pooled in her stomach when her eyes met his.

"Bloody Uchiha." Blood dripped from his chin even as he spoke. His inscrutinable expression puzzled her slightly.

She wiped the blood from his face with the edge of her sleeve, secretly pleased that she was feeling the heat of someone else's skin beneath her own.

---

"Nicotine stains your teeth you know." She hated to watch him smoke and appealing to his vanity seemed like the only thing that would make him stop.

He flicked it at Sasori as he swept into the room for another 'check up'. She knew she was in perfect health, he knew she was in perfect health.

There was something strangely appealing about watching them fight. Something.... Sakura shook her head and averted curious eyes from the spectacle before her.

---

"You like him don't you?" Always the same question. He was nothing if not insistent.

She sighed. "Shouldn't you be trying to get the location of the locket from me?"

His head snapped round so quick it almost seemed inhuman. That wild, unchained look in his eyes. "Locket?" It almost felt as though her heart had stopped.

---

Deidara took it from her with greedy, grasping fingers. She couldn't deny that the feeling of his rough finger tips scraping across the smooth skin of her neck felt good. She was over-sensitised. He could see the way her pupils contracted, how her breathing became shallower... The moment the warm metal was pulled from her skin Sakura felt as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

"He said I can have you, you know. He said..." he swept his bangs from his face," he doesn't care what happens to you as long as he gets what's in this."

The code to the massive safe beneath the city was inside that locket. It was supposedly unbreakable and filled with scrolls, old money... Her heart sank. Hidden during the Great War the code had been kept safe for two decades and she had been the one to fail.

---

"I'm not your pet," she hissed, attempting to wrench her thin wrist from his strong grip and failing miserably.

"Yeah, but I've becoming a little too attached to you to let them gut you in front of me, love." There was something raw and possessive in his eyes that she didn't want to address and something told her this was the closest he would ever come to saying he cared about someone.

"I'm not sleeping on the floor." Deidara grinned at that and she was sure she had just played right into his hands.

---

When he was recounting the details of his fight with Sasuke (hers, still hers) she had struggled with the thought of this - their half-baked relationship.

"I love... Loved him you know." His fingers stopped tracing patterns on her bare sweat slick stomach.

"I know," he flashed her that demented look that turned her legs to jelly," he wouldn't shut up about you."

---

"He's dead. Sasuke's dead."

It was Deidara who shot the final bullet - one of his special explosive ones. It was Deidara who had Sasuke's lifeblood on his clothes and in his hair. It was Deidara who was looking at her as though he thought she might shatter into a million pieces.

Sakura knew he was disappointed when she cried over Sasuke (never hers).

---

There were worse things than watching him come in night after night with someone else's blood splattered across his clothes - their flesh always seemed to stick to his skin and clog his long, golden hair with knots that took her hours to remove. It was worse when he himself came in drenched in blood from some new wound that she would carefully stitch back together while he watched with his cold, hard eyes.

Eyes that had seen far too much and carried that with them. For a long time Sakura refused to meet his gaze at all. Those piercing blue orbs reminded her so much of Naruto and Ino that it was almost a physical pain. His weren't exactly the same (Naruto's were nothing but bright cerulean and Ino's were paler), but it was still too much to wake up and then realise it was him - not them.

His eyes tore up old wounds. Ino - pretty, perfect Ino who's voice still rang through her head from time to time - had eyes the same shape as that and smooth golden hair the same as his. If he could just not speak then she could pretend.

("Sorry I couldn't fix it, Ino-chan. Some prodigy, some healer, I am. And Chouji went off the wall too when they cut your face up with shards of mirror after they shot you. You didn't see that though. Kind of ironic isn't it, Ino-chan? That's what they said. Shika, Shika took care of them; so you don't have to worry no more Ino-chan. You don't have to worry.")

When she had finished sewing him back together she would pause and run her fingers gently - boldly - across the tiny stitches before allowing her hands to wander of their own accord - tracing his old scars and the bold, black lines of his tattoos that contrasted so sharply with his tanned, olive skin. He would watch her silently - it was so strange for him to be silent - and sometimes the corner of his mouth would tilt up while he languidly closed his eyes.

This kind of intimacy was not one he was accustomed to. Not the sort of bare skin against bare skin, heat and two bodies becoming one. Instead they were the sort of light, fleeting touches she gave him, or the feel of her fingers sliding through his long hair and rubbing his scalp even though there wasn't a single tug left to be used as an excuse.

It took such a long time for Deidara to allow her to touch him at all, never mind help him. Sometimes she wondered why she allowed him to sprawl across her thighs and talk about stupid, inconsequential things like; guns, his colleagues and art. Though if she was to say the latter was inconsequential he would be on her faster than she could say 'eternal'. Sometimes she thought that wasn't too bad an idea.

Sometimes she wanted all his was far too willing to give; his skilful hands, his deep, drugging kisses... His body.

Sometimes she took all he was far too willing to give.

His anger was a familiar, safe, emotion compared to the smouldering lust she sometimes saw in his eyes and it was also better than the chilling, calculating gaze she often caught him giving her when he thought she wasn't looking. Deidara would give her that wide, crazed grin - that did funny, funny things to her insides - when he caught her watching him and she knew he was thinking about reducing her to nothing more than a pile of singed flesh and charred pink hair.

He said she would be so beautiful if he did. A masterpiece.

Crazy bastard. Just like Sasuke.

It was probably a good thing that she had taken all those first aid courses. On more than one occasion Sakura was all too sure he would bleed to death because of his stubborn refusal to go to a hospital. And he would sit, unflinching, with his body half sprawled across her own, in a way that was far too intimate to be allowed, as she told him this and patched up the latest injury. Her response was always a sort of grunt; from pain or irritation she was never quite sure.

Sasuke wore his scars like medals of honour. Deidara did not play up his, but if she asked he could tell her how he had gotten every one of them. Being stuck in the same three rooms for days on end gave her a lot of time to think about things, which was a luxury she had never had when in the service of Konoha.

She didn't like to sleep because she saw too many things in her dreams. Friends in their final moments, the faces of every one of the people she had ever killed and the death that had started it all - her mother's. Would she think ill of her only daughter and her actions? How she had fought tooth and nail to stay alive; abandoning every principal she had ever had, or had ever been told to have, on the way. Morals were all well and good, but in the end it was survival that mattered.

When she stood in front of the cracked, damp spotted mirror she saw the vain girl she used to be. Her hair had grown long and wild again after so long without a trim. The unique shade always gave her away and the stupid, long hair just got in the way. It didn't take her too long to dismantle one of his razors and begin hacking away at the thick strands.

There was something strangely satisfying...

About watching her pink curls fall to the floor - imagining clean, flowery tiles instead of peeling yellow linoleum. Remnants of an old life. She hadn't cut her hair for eight long years - she had liked it long, he was supposed to like girls with long hair.

Any moment now she would -

"Sakura. The hell?!" If she closed her eyes she could pretend she wasn't hearing a man's voice.

Deidara was shaking her so that the blade fell from her numb fingers which had tiny cuts on them already from when she held the remorseless metal too tight. Her hands gripped his strong, bare shoulders as if they were her only support in the world. Blue eyes watched her with some hint of worry, which just made her cry all the more.

(I'm sorry, Mummy. Don't be sad, don't be sad. It'll grow back... They said that it... My... I love you, Mummy.)

Sometimes she wondered who he was thinking of when he pressed himself so close to her it seemed he wanted just engulf her and carry her with him always. The thought that he might actually be thinking of her was too much to bear. Sakura knew he heard her whisper names of people in the dead of night when she snuggled closer to him. He got angry about it sometimes and said that they were dead and asked her why she couldn't move the hell on.

First she had laughed at him, and told him that she was too soft to be what she was; a trained assassin. That was what her instructor had told her straight after they scraped her off of the streets, cut her already short hair into a severe pixie-like shape, clothed her in khaki and called her a soldier.

("Pathetic, Haruno. Fifty push-ups. Surely you're not crying...? Weakling. One hundred push-ups.")

"Soldier..." he hissed with his teeth clenched.

Sakura nodded, still smiling faintly. He understood, at least. For a while she had been happy because Konoha gave her purpose and direction and exhausting, body numbing, training that left no room for thought. It wasn't as though she could dwell on the loss of the only precious person she had ever had. Then she gained friends; the girls that made up her squadron.

Temari, Ten-Ten, Hinata, Ino and Sakura - all street kids with nothing left in the world. Sakura was small, soft, vain and not even willing to crush a fly when she entered that compound... She left as a harder version of herself and watched as each one of her squad members were shot down in duty. They gained a reputation for being a cursed cell when three of the girls lost their lives in the space of a few short months.

For a little while she had been a part of something.

---

Deidara held her hand while he walked her down to the basement - his large thumb rubbed circles on her smooth flesh. His other hand darted over any part of her he could reach. They had no choice; he had no choice. Pein had finally decided that she was a danger to the organisation as she refused to join. It was just something in her morals. Lesson Number Three: soldiers never surrender to the enemy.

What morals?! Her mind cried then. There was no rule left that she hadn't broken.

Sasuke was dead, Naruto was missing, and Kakashi was gone. Everyone she had ever loved but the man holding her hand was gone. Would it be so bad? To give in just this once?

Her stomach churned as she looked at his beautiful, chiselled features; frozen with anger. Anger at her and their situation. He couldn't understand her loyalty.

---

(Threading his fingers with her he pushed her entire body back into the mattress with his own. For the first time ever the brunt of his rage was directed at her. He was terrifying and she could do little other than shake beneath him with wide, green eyes boring into his own. His other hand was clenched tightly around the blade he always kept on his bedside table and his knuckles turned white as he held it in front of her face.

"I love you." Her voice shook as she spoke those three words.

His face twisted in... Contempt, disgust, hatred...

"I could have loved you."

His mouth pummelled hers in a ferocious kiss, as though he intended to consume her. His hands moved frantically across her skin as though to memorise the feel of her. Sakura twisted her fingers in his golden hair and held on for dear life. )

---

She couldn't leave him after all he had been through. She would allow herself this small piece of happiness, this small slice of Eden.

"I'll join."

He let out a shuddering breath and immediately shoved a cigarette in his mouth. The cold, metal of the gun barrel was pulled away from her head as she was pulled out of the chair and roughly slapped on the back by many people. They wanted her here... She wanted to be here.

---

The tattoo (ink brand) they put on her skin felt smooth and cold and wrong.

---

Sakura glanced at him from across the room in the dingy, smoke filled bar her initiation party was taking place in. Lifting her glass she smiled and made her way over to where he waited - slouched at one of the tables, but sprawled out as though he owned the place. Curling her hand around his she leaned up against him and sighed.

(Hers.)

For the loverly Lily; who wouldn't let me get eaten by rabid backpacker eating serial killers.

This is so late it's almost funny. No, wait, it's not. Dx Bit more morbid than I intended and I think it drags a bit, but overall I like it. Bit more adult topics in this than I normally deal with, but it is written for a more adult person than myself.

Edited: 09 Oct 2009