A/N: I was reading Fight Club. And reading Weiss Kruz fanfiction. Hence, writing and subject change. I'll get to the point eventually.

Warning: Plot devices. Ghastly plot devices. Ergh. It happens. Oh, and shonen ai

When the sun is gone I see you
Beautiful and haunting but cold
Like the blade of a knife, so sharp and so sweet
Nobody knows your heart
--Lyrics from Princess Mononoke

You would kill me for gold, then, Dragon-Slayer?
--Draco (Sean Connery), Dragon Heart

Never trust anyone who calls themselves Demon.
--Vlad, Jhereg, Steven Burst

***

Picture a pin, a normal metallic sewing pin with perhaps a red plastic knob on one end and the sharp tip on the other. Then picture a very tall rock, the size of a house and four times taller, with lots of nooks and crannies in it. Picture the pin falling over and down the rock, and hear in your ears the sound it makes.

Click...click clink...clickety...

What are they doing here?

They don't belong here.

You're not a normal child.

They are.

They shouldn't be here.

Clap click...ting click...clickety click...

Stay away from them.

They're not to be hurt.

They're under my protection.

I care about them, and you'll never know how.

...Ming...click clack...click...

***

Sasuke stepped into his assigned room, shut and locked the door with a 'click'. Then he walked absently, slowly, to the middle of the room, and simply stood there for several minutes. It was obvious, by simply looking at him, that he had a lot on his mind. He sat down on the foot of the bed blankly, careful upbringing habits keeping him from throwing himself on it and screaming.

He took his shirt off absently, peeling it off his back to simply hold and clench it in his lap.

It had been a rough day. His morning talks with Sakura were getting shorter. They both had a good idea of what was going on from their own research. They also didn't need words so much; so much experience had given them superb insights.

Sasuke was also learning why he had been chosen for this mission, and not someone else better suited, or with more experience.

A mission like this didn't need a killer shinobi, though it certainly helped. It needed a patient one, and while Sasuke wasn't patient, he was determined. It needed a suspicious mind, a cynical sharp mind, but also and most importantly an open mind. Sasuke could deal with anyone, even if he did it badly; bounce back from anything even if he did stumble.

Life cut him a rough bitter piece of pie--murdered his family for him to find and bound him to the life and death of his guilty and beloved brother. In return, Sasuke was very flexible and single minded. He did the mission. He might not do it well or to the letter, but he didn't cop out on anything, not even if it disgusted or scared him. It might not have been a fair exchange for what he lost, but it was an exchange all the same.

Plus--Hokage had to be...at least thinking Naruto had something to do with it. Nine Tails was a still a secret, but after Naruto's deliberate exile and second arson on his apartment--things came out. Bits of clues put together to form an impossible puzzle. Naruto was suspected of having at least something to do with the new 'demonic' movement, and it was unlikely he would hurt his former teammates, even if he had to.

Sasuke stopped twisting his shirt in his hands, and folded it and laid it aside.

Carefully, he took off his Konoha hitae-headband, his hair falling in his face and into his eyes, tilting the insignia up so he could see the leaf symbol inscribed in the metal. He rubbed his thumb against it.

It was just a symbol. But symbols sometimes meant more than the genuine article.

He glanced idly about the room, eyes finally resting on the two pictures on the walls. He had already looked at them. One was a faint watercolor of a pink cherry blossom tree in bloom, the other next to his bedside a more abstract one of yellow and brown swirly lines. It possibly represented a storm or sand on the beach. It possibly represented ramen or blond hair.

In any case, it pissed Sasuke off.

Lightly, he placed it on top of his shirt, and then stood to take off his pants. He glanced casually to the side, hidden by his bangs. Just as casually, he slipped a kunai into his palm as he fiddled with the string tie and threw it at the top of the mirror, causing it to spin up slightly so the reflective side faced the corner.

Sasuke took off his pants and folded them, dropping the pile on the floor before getting into bed in his boxers, touching his weapons hidden under the pillows with his fingers.

Far away, Naruto swore darkly.

***

Sasuke had been acting even colder, if possible, to him. Ever since that night on the couch in his mind and in his mouth--Sasuke had been watching him hard. Too hard. And making a point of never mentioning this. Talk about ungrateful...

It was irritating. It was Sasuke; all things irritating were Sasuke. Acting cold, professional, arrogantly expectant were Sasuke. It was like he was expecting Naruto at any moment to take him into his confidence and try to reminisce, try to confess and prove himself. Like he had to prove anything to Sasuke. Huh. Sasuke was actually expecting him to try and rebuild the old alliances.

It was logical, it was predictable, would give Sasuke an edge, and it also wasn't gonna happen. Naruto had no intention of rebuilding old alliances. He wasn't going to be building alliances period; he was going to be making enemies. Enemies who would hate Naruto Uzumaki, not the memory of the Nine Tailed demon fox.

It was getting tricky, to have Sasuke staring at him all the time, watching him, and not doing anything about it. It had been weird enough eating with him, talking to him, giving him the guided tour and acting absolutely normal and professional while at the back of both their minds, just below the surface, was the taste of the other's mouth and skin. The taste of guilty frightening pleasure. The taste of his surrender. The taste of childhood.

Sasuke was disappointed with him, Naruto could feel, and was expecting Naruto to spring back to moronic cheerful and above all moral harmless Naruto at any second. It was failing Iruka-sensei's tests all over again.

Naruto had expected his time with Sasuke to be awkward, but not--hard. Not tempting. And it was tempting; having both of them near, Sakura and Sasuke, where he could see them, wanting him back--at least Sasuke wanted him back.

Sasuke had also made a point--of his own free will!--of Sakura never learning Naruto's identity. He wanted to protect Sakura, he wanted to try and bring Naruto back. It was so sweet!

He actually thought he could win his old rival back from the demon all by himself. So optimistically, heroically conceited. It was just like him chasing after Itachi: Swearing to accomplish the impossible alone because of pride and fear. So melodramatic. So charming. So hopelessly doomed.

It was a typical Sasuke thing: He saved you, and made you hate him for it by being a jerk.

Sasuke.

Sasuke all over his mind.

Sasuke so sour and suspicious and cold, so very far out of reach. Naruto hadn't been able to pull the same trick twice, hadn't been able to lay his hands on that sexy silky milky hard skin again. Not even in a handshake or an accident. It was kinda funny; it had mostly been what he had been aiming for. While Sasuke was nice to touch, having his fear was a million times better. It was something about his eyes.

Sasuke was avoiding him. Sasuke was afraid of him. And that fear was quickly turning into hate.

Stretching, Naruto smiled as he closed his eyes and reached out mentally for the familiar mind pattern and color. He frowned slightly and lowered his arms.

//No.//

Naruto looked harder, thoroughly at the strings waving loose, and then fading.

//...//

//Fuck!//

Naruto's eyes snapped open as he sat bolt upright. His head whipped to the side and his nostrils flared. Then he was on his feet and running.

***

~Naruto POV~

Give it time they say. What you're asking for can't be done in an instant. Give us time; give them time, give you time. All I need is time.

The hunter and the hunted. The big question. What's the difference?

They talk to me; he talks to me, with his ebony eyes and cobalt-spiked hair, like a sea urchin. A merman, my eternal nemesis. My rival my goal my tragedy. With his ebony eyes and cobalt spiked hair.

Jet.

He always looked this way; he was always better looking than me. Always looked too good. Always was too good.

Here's looking at you kid. Here's looking at him. Here's looking at him.

Moving slick as a shark, desert shark, cruising through the waves of sand. Watching him oh so hard. Watching him rough. Huh. They never did like each other.

Blood?

No. No not yet baby, not yet.

Hit bottom. Lose it all. Lose it all, win it all. Hit bottom and you fly. Give everything up for the greater cause (what the fuck?) and win immortality. Zen, Eastern philosophy shit, does anybody really believe this? Shit.

Nothing is real.

All is real.

It's real if it stands up in the real world, the communal world, under duress you only know it's made well by smashing it open. There is no victory without sacrifice. Death is another form of life. Murder another form of birth.

Give me a solid space to stand on. Give me a solid space to stand on and I can move the world. An infinite lever. I can do it.

The herd is nervous.

Dissention.

Can you feel it? I can.

His hands around my wrists, like manacles, like chains. Want to chain me up? Want to tie me down? Afraid I'll bite? Oh yeah...oh yeah I bite.

His fingers warm and sweaty and dry. Breath always evened out, slow, steady. Just easy sleazy from our little murderer. Our little psychopath. He's trying to steal me away. He comes every night now.

Ebony eyes marking my face, my hands. There's blood on my hands, Pretty-Boy. Think what you like.

There is no perception beyond our reality; the two are synonymous, equal unmistakable.

But it's always your fault, isn't it? My fault and your fault and their fault. It's my fault, but I don't mind. So it's your fault. It's always your fault, Pretty-Boy...You're the reason I left. You're the reason I ran. I dreamed of you Gorgeous. Bastard. Ass hole. I dreamed of you.

...

The things I did to you--If you could see them, they'd make you reel. They'd make you sick. The things I did to you, Pretty-Boy. If only you knew.

The oily smell of candle smoke hits my nose, as sensitive as it is. Clear blue burning smoke, but I can still smell, because I'm awake and he's not. He sleeps dead, next to me. Cold and still...sleeps like the dead, our murderer.

I needed an angle, an advantage, an insignia of my existence. There's too much sand here, too much blood on him, too much darkness. Falling. So I brought a candle.

The herd is restless.

You think I don't know? Little things, big things--space is a lie. Doesn't matter. Idiots.

The herd is restless.

One problem. One problem though. The smell of smoke hits my nose, the smell of burning flesh. Space is a lie. One problem.

The last place you look. The failure of our species: Everyone knows it's coming, but not this soon. Not yet. Tomorrow. Tomorrow never dies. Last place you look. Doppelgangers.

Fuck.

You were wrong Foxy.

It isn't Sasuke Gaara kills.

The herd is restless.

It's Sakura.

...

Run Foxy. Run before you lose another one.

***

Long story short!

Gaara could understand what if felt like to be obsessed with Sasuke. There was something about him, something not dark but deadly, not evil but threatening, arrogant. Anyone could see it, feel it; Girls loved it, were intimidated by it and adults admired it.

Gaara had hunted Sasuke for it, just as Naruto hunted him now.

It wasn't sexual, it wasn't emotional; it was something basic, something primal. Not in his looks, but in his eyes, the way he looked at you, the way he saw through you and into you. In the way he hurt you and made you love it, made you taste and swallow it.

He could make you suffer. He could make you feel pain. He had become a master of pain, a master of cold, perfected it into hurtful pleasure, something like metal so sharp and sweet, biting down so bad that he could make you forget the loneliness, the hatred, the eternal choking grief that burst your lungs. He made you forget all fucking hurt in a beautiful fragile instance of pain.

Sasuke could do that. Something about the chill. Something about the cold. Something about the bite.

He was every cutter's dream.

Fight something like that, win against something like that, and you've got it made. Sasuke was a hunter of lore, of the dark ice-age time of feudal lords and samurai and castles and superstition. Sasuke was a Demon Hunter of lore, and Nine Tails and Shukaku recognized this, hated him.

He was the dark tragic hero of the story, the hero that slays the dragon in his own lair, the evil wizard in his own tower, the dark lord in his own castle, the demon king in his own fortress. Sasuke was the tragic hero, it was written into his blood, burned into his eyes.

Destroy evil. Avenge your name.

Sasuke was the other side of the spectrum.

Cultivated aristocracy, the jewel of society, brought down so low by its own blood brother. Fallen. Angels could still fall. And if angels could still fall, maybe demons could still fly.

Sasuke was an angel. Dark avenging angel.

Opposite side of the spectrum.

Both fallen angels, but one still kept his wings, his halo, and the grace of Heaven though he turned dark and cold. He did the dirty work of Heaven, so he was spared; his reasons for falling were heroic; unpardonable, but beautiful. Demons were different. Demons weren't beautiful. Ever.

Stalking prey through the shadows, along the walls and ceilings, watching the blond bimbo flirt and scheme, setting the trap but never springing it.

//It's going on too long. He doesn't belong here.//

Society. A collection of humans of similar class and needs and culture working collectively for his or her own benefit. Demons didn't fit into the scheme, were recognized on sight with scanners long forgotten after the consumerism religion and the scientific technological renaissance, but never ignored.

Something just wasn't right about him, you know? Did you see the way he talked to himself? Probably some crack-head--he's gone now. Forget about him.

Kill it, kill it, kill it.

It isn't like us, it isn't natural. It shouldn't be here, it doesn't belong here, it can't be real, it can't really be here. Kill it. It was never here, it never existed, it was never really true. It was never really real.

Kill it, kill it, kill it.

Naruto had felt it, been singled out and pushed around automatically, even in foreign villages. There was something about him that didn't feel right, something people could sense. Not exactly threatening, but definitely unwelcome. Kakashi noticed it and wondered on it, and tried to protect him from it. It was just a basic response, automatic reflex. It didn't have anything to do with Naruto. It didn't have anything to do with Gaara.

Demons didn't fit in that world. Demon hunters didn't fit inside this one. This is ours, our land, the only home we can ever have in the forgotten cold outreaches of Nowhere at all, get rid of him, can't you feel it, in the way he moves, the way he looks at you.

"He's hunting you. He's tracking you. If you won't get rid of him I will."

"Don't touch him. I told you to leave him alone. No one's to touch him, you understand?"

"He's getting too close. He's getting too close while you try to get inside his pants."

"It's none of your business. I have it under control."

"You're losing his interest, the lie isn't working anymore. They know. It failed; it's already screwed. We should move now."

"Are you insane? Move now, when everything is still too fresh, when they're finally biting the bait? I have them on the string--I'm not going to screw it up now...What the hell is your problem anyway?"

"You're a moron, that's my problem. They've got you right were they want you, and you're so busy drooling over him that you can't see it."

"How long have you been following us? How long have you been watching us, don't you have anything else better to do? Don't you have a life or something?"

That was the wrong choice of words.

"If I want one I'll take his."

"You touch him over my dead body."

"He means that much to you?"

"That isn't your business. Not your problem. But you don't touch him."

"Must be an impressive bitch then. Maybe he'll last longer than the last one, if you don't tear his throat out again."

"Don't let the door smack your ass...Bastard."

No one really took Sakura into account.

***

Long story short!

He felt her heart flutter like a sparrow, watched her eyes go painfully wide, the veins a slender and red scratch makes on white. She had pretty eyes, he decided.

Sakura struggled furiously at the last instant to at least get an arm free, to at least scream because she wouldn't get a chance to do more than that. If Gaara had been the kind to laugh, he would have. She was so weak it was funny.

The sand squeezed.

She didn't scream, but there was a slight muffled sound. Could have been the bones breaking.

There had been a faint struggle, slight pressure as her lungs struggled to inhale air and she tried to shift the energy around her, tried to take slight control or manipulation of it. It had been an interesting idea, but there hadn't been enough time to see if it would have worked or not.

They were green. Green like baby grass. Innocent and alive. Gaara clearly hated her, felt calmly and absurdly justified in doing so, because most of the time he didn't bother to justify himself at all.

He didn't like killing women. Bad memories. But it got easier each time, even a little enjoyable.

He could see why Naruto liked her, with eyes like that. Which just showed what an idiot Naruto was. Is. He brought in bait, perfectly detestable perfect helpless normal human bait into a den of killers, turned his back, and expected everything to go on all right. It was like a badly run test.

Gaara hated tests. He didn't like the idea of having to prove himself; to anybody. He knew what he was, that was all that mattered. He was all that mattered. Everyone else could--and would--go to hell and he would send them there himself, given time.

He had found her by accident roaming along the ceiling nearly concealed, had followed her out of bored and agitated curiosity, and being the bright girl she was she knew someone was following her, and had tried to hide. Unfortunately, she had picked his room to hide in.

Everything had just sort of fallen together after that. She had been afraid, but not too much, and hadn't showed any real strength or skill. It hadn't been very entertaining, but it had been something.

His skin was itchy, his fingers were itchy, he was itchy. There wasn't too much worth hunting out there now, population had gone down in the last few days thanks to his pent-up frustration. He couldn't quite explain it, but they irritated him, made the energy sizzle. Nearly a week. Nearly a whole week they had been here, and no matter how often he tried to get away from them they always found a way to come slithering back into his consciousness. Gaara was irritated. And he was bored. And he had run out of neutral and useless things to kill.

And now that she was dead...Naruto would probably be upset that nature had taken its course again. The idiot got upset over things like that. Plus, there was no telling how much information she had already leaked. Build everything up, just to throw in some loose screws and fuck yourself and everyone else who helped. That was typical Naruto.

Still...Gaara felt a little strange, now that the fun was over, even a bit uneasy. He hadn't really thought things out, had just been acting on instinct: an intruder in his territory. It didn't belong there, get rid of it, kill it. Because it belonged to him now; all things that walked into his den belonged to him.

It had been basic instinct, and now that he was considering it...Naruto would probably be angry. He didn't often see Naruto angry, not really....It'd certainly be an experience. Gaara grinned softly to himself, teeth feeling the soft flesh of his bottom lip, the sand recollecting itself to him.

But this one really wasn't the one he wanted.

Naruto would already be pissed. And the blood smell was in his nose, touching and fondling his senses.

Gaara started walking.

***

Long story short!

The smell of blood trickled into his nose like water from a leaky faucet. There was still some warmth in the air, on her skin. He had run fast, he was breathing hard.

//Sakura. Sakura.//

He knew that hair, treasured it like nothing else. He watched it as a child, worshipped it, a goddess in his classroom for so many years.

//Sakura.//

//no...//

He knew it all. He knew that attack, had seen it a million times. Desert Coffin. Hah. Never worked on him, no matter how many times Gaara had tried to kill or catch him, he always just got away. In the eternal contests between demons, Foxy was in the lead over the badger. Or had been.

//...no not her...//

//not the girl...not the girl...//

Hah. He hadn't seen this trick coming. Should have. Should have. Perhaps he had, and never bothered to do anything about it. If he ignored it, maybe it'd go away. Maybe. Maybe not. That's the problem with chance. That's the problem with walking into a badger's den.

Look at his room; no one actually lives here at all.

//you didn't...//

Naruto quietly touched her hair. He got blood on his fingers.

And she never knew it was him, had she? Never knew that it was that idiot who was being such a pain on a much higher level. He wanted to tell her, suddenly. He was glad she never knew.

The little girl had grown up, in his mind. She had grown up and left him feeling very alone. She never saw how he grew up. Sakura, his sweetheart, his puppy love, never knew the monster he had become. And now she never would.

//No. Not this. I won't take this.//

He felt his skin start to ripple, a pain throbbing and gushing out of his stomach, branching and trickling down his neck and back.

"It was me," he whispered softly, to her, to nothing, touching something that wasn't really there, looking into eyes that weren't, because eyes saw and these didn't.

Cease existence. Cease.

Shutdown.

Run Gaara. Run like the wind, because the hounds of hell really are after you this time, and I'm not holding back.

***

Sasuke never saw.

Sasuke never saw with reason, because Gaara barely saw it also, and it had hit him.

Naruto had just gone after Gaara, following Sasuke's mind, and when he had found the both of them so close to each other, smelled the air so lightly tinted with sweat.

The walls of the fortress were stone, solid granite often a couple of feet thick, with the mountain's own flesh backing the masoned stone. It was lucky Gaara had his sand shield on, because Naruto had forced him straight through several feet of rock to the outside. He didn't want to fight inside. He didn't want to fight where Sasuke could see, were Sasuke could be hurt.

He had hit Gaara hard again, and threw him farther.

Gaara was bleeding now. Gaara was bleeding now and Naruto had one or two broken ribs, and claw marks across his face, puncture wounds through his body, and was several miles away from the castle-fortress in the mountain ranges, struggling to keep his jaw locked and lips sealed, struggling to keep the sand from breaking his teeth and filling his mouth, getting into his nose and inside his body.

Water was raining on the ground, water and mud all turning and twisting into shapes and tentacles, bursting and switching as the demons vied for leverage, for control. There was a hint of fire, hint of propulsion and explosions.

The air miraged, rippled the scene, and Gaara found himself thrown back hard, his hair and skin on fire, sand already lightly coating him to extinguish the flames, while the sand was still trying to drown Naruto, still holding on hard to his struggling and kicking form. If he got loose, Naruto would be hell to deal with. He was hard to see, especially in the woods, near impossible and blindingly fast.

Muscles locked and linked together like the smoothest machinery, a jungle animal on human frame. A monster in human skin. Gaara's transformation was less biological, more elemental. Great defense, greater attack power, less sensitive to where Naruto was and what he was doing.

Gaara clenched, crushed, and the sand--already a huge mobile creature--mirrored his thoughts. He smelled fresh blood, felt the sudden onrush of heat through the sand, and tasted it in his mouth. There was that muffled sound again.

Gaara was gasping for breath, still a little surprised, angry, and a little...amused. That... moron was actually upset...over her?

Claws dug into his back, tearing into the muscle and bone.

The big difference was that Naruto was angrier than Gaara was.

***

A cleared space the size of a football field, trenches pocketing the ground where the earth was dug out. Dead brown trees, empty of leaves like a winter portrait, edged the clearing, and were spattered with bits of melted glass like tinsel on Christmas trees and burn marks, large chunks torn out of some of them, the inner fibers hanging out like lost appendages.

There was the dull constant sound of meaty thudding, sometimes sharp, sometimes throbbing, each one a wince-worthy sound.

Both combatants were in open view. Gaara didn't see reason to hide, since he could be sensed out. Naruto was too angry to bother.

As endless as their chakra supply was, there was only so much their bodies could withstand being used as a medium before the burn-out really took its toll. Their regenerative powers were nearly wiped, and took second place to offensive needs. Defense was optional.

Naruto circled with a faint limp in his left leg, slightly hunched, eyes narrowed and dark, fiercely bleeding and bruised all over, a dark energy still dancing around his skin, flitting his hair and tugging on the remains of his clothing. Dark blood was painted over his face, across his eyes and muscles tied up in tanned skin and coating his tangled hair. The careless adolescent was gone, completely wiped from the predator stalking him.

The problem with healing quickly was that there was more blood to go around.

Gaara was less obviously injured; he was bruised and slightly burned across his arms and along one pale cheek, but otherwise relatively fine, and could stand up straight. His back ached and burned horribly, and there was freshly healed skin lined over his vertebrae. He had a twitch in his left eye though, and was suffering rapid blinking.

Unlike Naruto, most of his energy was gone, used up in allowing Shukaku to take over and then retaking control and consciousness in the same move. It had been harder than he had expected, and Naruto's toying with his mind wasn't making it easier. The skin had been ripped from the front of his throat, and it was bleeding.

Neither one, despite being bipedal, looked very human.

Naruto continued to circle, continued to watch him without getting closer.

Gaara's problem--one of his main problems--was that he was too impatient. He had a tendency to get carried away. Too passionate. Too territorial. Going into his room, going near him had indeed been stupid, crazy, and even Naruto wouldn't go into Gaara's room. It was something that was not done. All he required was his privacy. If that was provoked, he responded the way he liked best: violently.

Naruto's problem was that he was sentimental. Naruto's problem was that he treasured.

His steps were smooth, nearly hypnotic, and his eyes were burning darkly, intensely predatory as he studied Gaara, dripping fluid slightly on the ground as he paced. Despite himself, despite the anger coursing through him, giving him a rush, Gaara felt a tiny thrill. So this is what it took to get Naruto's attention; not arguments or anger, but straight blood and violence. The death of pink girls.

That was cool. Gaara could do violence.

Naruto's movements seemed to stumble, and he flickered out of sight. Gaara drove his elbow back above his head and felt it connect and glance off, and his feet were swept out from under him, and he drove his foot up into Naruto's bleeding guts as he fell, claws driving down across his chest and face and throwing him to the ground.

This wasn't a shinobi fight, or a tournament fight. This was a fight between demons; anything could be used as a weapon, and the main target was always the neck. It didn't make sense, but the main target was always the neck. Heroes went for the monster's heart, but monsters went for the neck. Anything was a legal weapon, and biting off you opponents ear was perfectly okay.

If not for the shadowy impressions and blood spattering on the ground, slamming into it, whole strips of dirt skidding away and a hint of fire and rapid animalistic cries and grunts, the fight could nearly be described as a scuffle.

Nearly.

"Give me one good reason," nails dug into the fleshy sensitive part of his skin along the side of his neck, palm pressed down on the bleeding front part, stinging and scalding it. "Give me one good reason why."

Gaara's throat trembled as he tried to laugh. Naruto's foot was increasing pressure on the bottom tip of his breastbone, intending to break it slowly, intending to break it and use it to puncture his lungs, collapse his ribs. One of Gaara's arms was dislocated and broken where Naruto had suddenly gripped it below the elbow and yanked and swung him hard so he smashed against the ground. His other arm was being gripped by Naruto, being pressed to the ground. He could probably kick Naruto if he tried--he still had enough chakra left for one or two lethal attacks--but he didn't feel like it.

And Naruto was gripping his throat rather tightly.

Aquamarine eyes sparkled brightly, delicately, made all the brighter and richer by the insomnia psuedo-mascara marks around Gaara's eyes. His red hair was pasted to his skin, not darker or lighter with the recent addition of blood and sweat to it. His skin was grotesquely pale. Weakly, smugly, he grinned into crimson maroon eyes.

//A reason. A good reason...She pissed me off? She was taking you away?//

"She was in my room," he got out simply.

Naruto may understand that, how that was reason enough, but then again he might not. Gaara didn't have much, but he was viciously territorial over what he did have. Sharing was for other people, people who needed people. Gaara didn't need anybody but himself. Everybody else could die for all he cared.

The nails pierced his skin, dug in a little. Naruto opened his mouth, and then let it slide close.

The hand on his neck relaxed a little, enough so Gaara could try and breathe. Operative word being try; geez, he couldn't even think of swallowing. Most of his spit would probably slide out onto his shirt. Or chest, really. He had lost most of shirt and pants already. Gaara was glad there wasn't a mirror around; it might make him a little sick if he could see himself.

Physical pain wasn't something Gaara was used to, but when it did happen, he still greeted it as hungrily as he had when he was a child. He still craved attention madly, and with the burning dark way Naruto was looking down on him, furious at him, revolving around him because of what he had done to the pink girl--Naruto was so bloody angry...Gaara was finally getting some of that attention.

That was partly why he smiling. The other part was that he was sure Naruto was going to kill him.

"Why Sasuke."

It was a question, but there wasn't the mandatory high lilt at the end of it; it wasn't worded like a question, didn't sound like one, but it was. Naruto's voice had lost all emotion, a definite welcome change. Being around a cheerful person was very depressing.

Gaara's eyes dimmed, the smile eased from his lips. He stopped meeting Naruto's gaze, let his eyes slide shut, let himself run. He didn't want to answer that question.

He couldn't lie. He had gone to kill Sasuke, and they both knew it. He couldn't lie--he wouldn't lie! He had nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to feel guilty about. He had wanted Sasuke dead, and had gone to do it. Simple. Naruto had gotten in the way. That was all. That was all.

Naruto had seen him withdraw. Pressure slammed down quick and hard on his throat, and then abruptly released. Gaara's eyes snapped open as he tried to choke and found he couldn't; he could only fight to breathe and did that badly.

Naruto stared him down.

"I told you once...That I wouldn't let you hurt those precious to me."

Gaara closed his eyes. Shut him out.

"Even if it means killing you, Gaara. But I won't let you hurt them."

Gaara choked, "Then--do it."

It was dark behind Gaara's eyelids, and his ears were ringing, throbbing with his own heartbeat and ringing with the beating he had taken, the beating he had given. He could barely hear anything, and he didn't want to feel what his body was telling him. It didn't feel good anymore. He didn't want to die.

Strangely, he heard Naruto sigh.

"Why?" he asked softly, an emotion--confusion--finally coloring his voice.

Gaara felt vaguely like shrugging, but with pain a solid gold cast on one arm, and Naruto gripping the other one so tightly, he felt that it wouldn't be a good idea. He also didn't feel like talking, or even breathing. Dimly, he registered that Naruto's hand was gone from his throat. Blearily, he opened his eyes.

Naruto was looking down at him still, but not staring...not angry. Gaara had his complete attention still, but he wasn't angry with him. He wasn't trying to choke him anymore, and his hands were folded in his lap, foot off his chest, off his lungs. That meant that Gaara's good arm was free, didn't it?

Gaara looked away, the rings around his eyes creating that familiar image of a druggie Goth. Dangerous and vulnerable at the same time, and achingly sad. It gave his face emotion, a living mask, without ever hinting that perhaps there was no emotion behind those eyes. Perhaps there was no soul behind those bright eyes.

Naruto could kill him here. Naruto should kill him here. He would go after Sasuke again, if he took him back to the fortress. Beyond that, he had attacked him. Beyond that...

...he had killed Sakura.

Over something as trivial as going into his room. Naruto knew he was touchy about things like that, but also knew Gaara could have shown a little more tolerance than that. Sakura never should have been anywhere near Gaara...his little surveillance team hadn't done so well after all, it seemed.

Gaara blinked quickly, looking down to the side, trying to shut Naruto out again while at the same time keeping his attention. Naruto was watching him silently.

"Why?"

Third time is always the charm. Things come in threes, and it was always the last one that really hit. Gaara couldn't ignore this one anymore, even if Naruto did or didn't kill him afterwards. There were some things worst than death, some things that had to be played out right to the end. It wasn't a matter of life or death, it was a matter of following the rules.

There was a choice. There was always a choice.

Gaara looked up under hooded lids, as distant and helpless as possible. It wasn't an intentional move--Gaara hated it when people thought he was weak, never showed the least sign--and at any rate it wasn't very effective. It was however true. He was helpless, and he wanted to put a lot of distance between them. Naruto felt he was being studied.

Painfully, blood began to flow back through Gaara's arm, along the correct veins and--very, very slowly--healing it. By degrees, he was able to make it move.

Lightly, Gaara's fingers brushed up along his cheek, gripped his hair, and pulled down. Naruto went down some of the distance, hands out and one close to Gaara's face, eyes always on his teeth. It would be something Gaara would do, try to bite his eyes out or his nose off. That was the sort of thing Gaara did.

Bright aquamarine looked up at him sullenly, maroon eyes staring sullenly back. Bloodied, stubbed and ripped fingers grazed lightly over Naruto's cheek again as Gaara's arm lost its temporary strength and fell back to lie on his chest.

Gaara blinked once, and a small, scornful smirk brushed the edge of his lips.

"Guess."

Naruto narrowed his eyes again, didn't move back, didn't move away, didn't respond.

Gaara relaxed when fingers touched the side of his neck again, wrapped around his neck, his own question answered. So. Naruto had finally learned something, even if he had learned it too late. Typical.

But good. This was good to him.

Gaara's neck pressed up into Naruto's hand, pressed his face up and closer to the demon boy's above him, using his weak unbroken arm to push him up the faint distance of a few inches up.

Naruto's eyes widened.

...Hard and a little hot, sticky with blood and spit and sweat...tracing along his cheek, never touching his mouth and Naruto wouldn't let him get near his throat, Gaara would still tear it out with his teeth if he got the least chance...Not very mobile, not very efficient or strong, it wasn't anything really--outstanding.

It was the thought, as they say, that counted.

Gaara...

Roughly, quickly, minds blazed to life along the edges of the clearing out of the shadows. Human minds. Closer look...shinobi minds. //Shit.// With shinobi weapons and tricks, a group attack. Naruto was out in the open, out in the daylight, and hurt bad, weakened from the power drain with the fight and all. From where? How?

Naruto froze, and pressed Gaara down a little with his hand on his throat, eyes wide but silent. Gaara's eyes were closed, and there was a bitter look on his face. Naruto let his body relax slightly, put his cheek next to his, and spoke quietly into his ear.

Sasuke.

Cell phones: They're not just in New York anymore.

***

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