Title: Worth
Author: DeadSummerXx
Characters/Pairing: Sakura H.
Type: Un-Continuous (Complete)
Genre: General
Word Count: 1,453
Rating: T
Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the story; Haruno Sakura and all other canon characters from Naruto mentioned belong to Kishimoto Masashi.
Summary: As long as Sasuke is still out there, as long as Naruto is still striving, pushing, just as hard as she is, she will keep going. As long as those moments, those teasers of happiness, taunted the edges of her awareness, as long as there was still something to fight, to strive for, to live for, she would keep on fighting. And she'd be damned if she wouldn't surpass them all. Sakura-centric; drabble-ish.
Chapter Last Revised on: 7-24-09
Just FYI, Sakura is probably about 14-15 in this fic, with later references to more recent manga chapters regarding her skill level.
And I went through hell trying to decide whether I should title this "Will" or "Worth", so yous better enjoyz NAO.
Worth
Sakura takes the long way home from the hospital everyday, to make sure to pass by the long-not-so-forgotten pathway that leads out of the village, where there lay a stone bench and a painful memory; a waking up to the broad, singing daylight, completely alone, devoid, and hollow.
Every time she does this, she lingers there, most likely far too much and far too long to be healthily sane, and lets the memories resurface. Most of them are painful, yes; with Naruto gone training with Jiraiya, she is kept mostly at the hospital, and therefore preoccupied and unable to have anything but a single-track mind: heal heal heal heal heal.
(others, not yourself; you're far too gone and broken and twisted and torn of innocence to even hope for something so foolish, anyway)
But it is when she is relieved from that, when she is bone-tired, exhausted, drained, so much so that she doesn't even have the energy to force a smile or repress her darkest contemplations, when her parents are out on missions and she is home alone, in the darkness of her bedroom where the moonlight doesn't reach the corners where the shadows shift and slither and crawl, that she allows herself to break.
She holds herself well together in front of everyone else, of course. She smiles, she laughs (though it is bitter, like the aftertaste of onigiri, like tomatoes and that one tea you had that one morning, in that one cup that slipped from your hands and shattered to a million porcelain pieces on the cold linoleum floor, like the bitter aftertaste of rejection), but it never reaches her eyes anymore.
Ino, of course, had noticed that something was wrong with her best friend and upon first doing so, took—forced—her out of the house, out of hospital duty, out of all of her other responsibilities as a pre-medic-nin and kunoichi and made her go shopping; a girl's night out, the blonde had said. I hardly ever see you anymore, Forehead Girl. You're always cooped up in the hospital. You need to let loose once in a while, you know?
But Sakura could not let loose, not even once in a while. If she did, for one second, one moment, everything would slip through her fingers (like sand—that one sand in Subaku no Gaara's gourd, the one that had nearly killed Sasuke, had imprisoned her, had broken Lee; like that one sand that was slowly, ever so slowly, blowing in her face, her mouth, leaving a crunchy, dry, salty aftertaste, that was oh, oh so very bitter), and Naruto would go far beyond, up with Sasuke, and she'd be left behind in the dust, watching after their no-longer visible backs as they ascended.
Despite this, despite the fact that Sakura could not let loose the slightest bit, she let Ino take her out at least once a month, whether it be to that one dango stand, a tempura place, or to just go and pick flowers in that one field like they were giddy, bubbly toddlers again. And sometimes, they would bring Tenten or Hinata along. And even though she hated to admit it, it was nice to be happy again, even if those moments were relatively short-lived, even if she felt unbearably selfish for doing so. Was Sasuke happy, wherever he was?
But she knew that, really, she wasn't being selfish; those brief, few-and-far-between moments were just that; brief, and merely a snapshot, a puzzle piece to a bigger picture—one, that, with those snapshots, was teasing her, luring her; one that she could never fully grasp and embrace, so long as her own puzzle piece was missing.
But it was her drive, those long, seemingly year-like extensions of time in between those snapshots of happiness. As long as those remained, it was her fuel; her stimulus to keep on going, to never give up.
Naruto's words still rang clear in her mind to this day: "I'll bring Sasuke back for sure. That's a promise of a lifetime, 'tebayo!" And it is times like these, when she has just been released from Ino's grip, when she is alone and secretly so stressed out and distraught she can barely stand it, that she wants—no, needs—to believe him, just this one time, to just believe that he, Uzumaki Naruto, the number-one hyperactive, unpredictable ninja of Konoha, will just make everything okay again.
But Naruto isn't here, and he won't be for a long time. So Sakura is forced to stand on her own two feet, on her own pedestal—and perhaps it is better this way, because for all of her self-worth and determination, she does not think that she could have stood up on her own. But technically, she really did stand up on her own, with her own two feet, on her own terrain, her own ground, her own pedestal, on her own time, and she likes to think of it has such, because she likes to think that she's changed, become stronger and that they are facing her back, now.
Because she likes to think that, now, she's her own self; that she's worthy of facing against them on her own, that she'll be able to stand up and fight and win.
(and even though a part of her, however small, will forever be that scared little pink-haired child with the too-wide forehead that cried way too much and never, ever, ever had enough self-confidence, that was picked on relentlessly, that would have never even dreamed she'd be the person was today and would just let others do the work for her, while she sat terrified in a small, lonely corner, crying her little apple-green eyes out, Sakura has become strong. She has become more, damnit, and everyone is still a little frightened child deep down on the inside)
On the outside, however, Sakura is Sakura—strong, sturdy, fiery and indomitable. She is more than that small, simpering child that lets others do the work for her. She is Haruno Sakura, the Chuunin, the only female member of Team 7, of Team Kakashi, Hatake Kakashi's student, the Godaime Hokage's apprentice, the second-best medic nin in the world, right next to her shishou. She will help Naruto bring Sasuke back, and they will. They will beat the odds, overcome the hurdles, and fight into the new, bright, shining dawn, Sasuke in tow, bloodied, beaten, bruised or otherwise.
Those moments of sheer despair and desperation are worth it—this, the fuel, the drive. And as long as they exist, within her mind or physically, she will continue to strive, to push towards the sky—and then she will shatter it with her immense strength, with one kickass sucker-punch. She will orbit into outer space and become her own planet, with her own force field, her own crust, mantle—her own core.
And as long as Sasuke is still out there, as long as Naruto is still striving, pushing, just as hard as she is, she will keep going. As long as those moments, those teasers of happiness, taunt the edges of her awareness, as long as there was still something to fight, to strive for, to live for, she would keep on fighting.
And she'd be damned if she wouldn't surpass them all in the end.
…I am in love with the third-to-last paragraph, seriously. IDK where that even came from. :D
Kickass!Determined!Sakura = WIN.
And now, reading it over, I realize that this started out kind of…weak, and then grew steadily stronger as it went on, which makes me kind of go "mlehk---NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO~!" (but Sakura started out weak and then grew steadily stronger as she got older, did she not?—perfection! Walah! Perfect excuse—er, symbolism.... Y/N? :'D
I just suck at writing beginnings, 's all. lol. xP)