Naruto One-Shot (Yaoi)

Cicatrise

By flamiekitten

There's a saying amongst the veteran shinobi: "after the battle ends, the real fight begins."

He's starting to see the truth in those words.

In the midst of war, there's not enough time to dwell on the little details. Stripped of your humanity, you're reduced into a living weapon -- a blade that must strike without hesitation. High tension makes for quick decisions. All trains of thought narrow down to just two basic concepts:

Defeat the enemy. Stay alive.

Though your allies, your comrades -- your friends -- may be cut down before your eyes, you must not falter. No choice but to carry on, less you wish their sacrifice to be in vain. It's only later, when it's all over, that you are finally given the chance to mourn.

The dead, the wounded, and the missing; their names fill neat columns on a new scroll delivered to his tent every morning. A list that grows longer by the day. Gaara refuses to allow the letters to blur into one. Each name is given individual attention, matched to faces and voices and families and ambitions as best his memory permits. As Kage of perhaps the smallest Hidden Village, he'd had the unique privilege of being able to interact with many of the residents of Sunagakure on a daily basis. More than that -- he'd wanted to. The shift in atmosphere around Gaara and the villagers -- from tension and fear and hate, to respect and trust and admiration -- had only come to fruition after months of patience and dedication.

Such dedication is now cruelly fashioned into a double-edged sword; every recognised name brings with it a fresh stab of grief.

He can picture the day of their arrival. Eager eyes searching for familiar faces within the vastly diminished crowd, refusing to accept the truth behind their absence. Parents, grandparents, children, siblings, spouses, friends, lovers. Entire family lines scrubbed from existence. If the current reports are accurate, close to ninety percent of the Allied Shinobi Forces were wiped out. There isn't a single person waiting at home who won't be affected in some way by this sheer loss of life.

Gaara rolls up the list and leans over the table, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. He's both tired -- an understatement, really -- and restless. His sleeping habits once again verge on non-existent; not since sharing headspace with Shukaku has he suffered from such a cacophony of thoughts. Records and preparations, treaties and negotiations, commendations and condolences. How best to restructure the village with such a reduced population, how to accommodate the approaching influx of war orphans and sufferers of PTSD, how to maintain good relationships with the other nations without the uniting factor of a common enemy, how to--

'Oh, it's Naruto!'

'Hey, Naruto! What're you doing up and about?'

'Yeah, aren't you supposed to be in the med tent?'

'I can't just sit around and do nothing while you guys are working so hard, 'ttbayo!'

'Does Sakura-san know?'

'Shhh! She'll kick my ass if she finds out I'm here!'

Warm, rough, familiar laughter. The sound pierces through the murk of his thoughts like sunlight breaking through clouds. Gaara releases the breath he didn't realise he'd been holding -- and along with it some of the tension that had been tying knots in the pit of his stomach. Cut loose from the anchor of his obligations, he drifts to his feet and across the floor. From the tent flap, Gaara is able to survey the campsite: all able-bodied shinobi are hard at work, busily constructing the foundations of their future.

It doesn't take long for Gaara to spot him: a flash of trademark orange amid green, grey, and beige. He's standing nearby, all beaming smiles and big gestures, amongst a handful of ninja from various villages. From this epicentre of light and life, a wave of energy ripples throughout the camp. Despite lacking his chakra cloak, Naruto's mere presence seems to brighten the atmosphere -- even those not in direct contact with him gain a spring in their step.