A/N: THIS IS ALL Fallacy's fault, she made me do it. With bribery. You know how I get. Korina, you now owe me a fic. And if you people don't like this, know that I pulled it completely out of my ass. Half of the time I don't know where I'm going with these fics. CRACK. With appropriate use and abuse of drama. So there.

A/N II: This story is NOT a copy of 'emitti's story. That would be the other way around. You want proof? Look for this story in my livejournal--homepage link will take you there--and you will see that I wrote it a whole 3 months before that writer decided "oh hey! I'll play with copy paste!". The admins here might not support me on the matter, but I assure you all I wrote it first, so don't even start telling me I copied it from her. I'm angry enough as it is. My only reason for posting this here is that some of you might care.

Cruelest Gods

Drops of water were falling on her nose in what some might've considered Chinese Water Torture. For Sakura, however, it just meant the plumbing was down again.

She got out of bed with an angry huff—she was not a morning person, or someone who liked getting out of bed feeling wet (not in the perverted way like Deidara would imply)—and stomped her way to the door. Of course, living with the Akatsuki should make you at least a bit more stealthy, right? Not when you wanted a certain 'good boy's head on a platter for not doing his job and getting the pipes fixed. Honestly! They might be ninjas, they might be a criminal organization, and they might be utterly badass and cool, but they'd be dead if their only medic-nin found death at the hands of a flu. And all because of a stupid pipe that one eager man had forgotten about.

Sakura had to count, on her way to the boiler room, the times she'd wanted to strangle Tobi to death in her entire life. Or, namely, in her entire life as part of the Akatsuki. One had been when they'd kidnapped her, that much she remembered. The second was the morning after, when the man brought her food with a cheerful 'good morniiiing'. After that one, they'd made Itachi bring her food, because they found out it kept her silent. The third one had been when he'd suggested that Itachi become her permanent guard, because they 'got along so well together'. And the fourth one was now, because she'd asked him so nicely to fix the pipe in her room. The one that dripped water smack dab into her nose. All nights. All the time.

If the crime organization had kidnapped her, five years before, when she was still a teenager, still training with Tsunade, and still wishing she'd have a normal team for once; then the least they could've done is assure that she was healthy and alive. Being their only medic-nin, she was in charge of keeping them healthy and alive. It had gotten better after the first four years of struggle. It had gotten better after the first four years of thinking how she was in a criminal organization that hunted her friend, how she lived in the same building as the man who'd killed her friend's family, or how she knew that all her friends had her for dead. The Akatsuki knew how to kidnap a person without leaving any trace. But a fake trace of death. Some days, when she wasn't sober—a habit she'd picked from Tsunade (or maybe it was all Kisame's fault)—she'd miss them, and she'd feel guilty. Guilty for, after five years of capture, opening up to her kidnapers. So it was Stockholm's Syndrome. But outside of this world, outside of the Akatsuki, Sakura knew she had no-one left. Wars and battles had taken away most of her friends, her teammates, and slowly, her village. Her last home. Now this was her home, and really, once you got used to them, they men weren't all that bad. Sure, they were all a bunch of psychotic bastards bent on world domination, but who wasn't, nowadays? It was the new fashion, and everyone was in it. Even if the Akatsuki had started it.

Sakura could remember the day the Leader, Pein, had discovered there was another crime organization out there, called, ironically, Red Dusk. She could remember that day as the first day she'd seen the man wear another expression on his face other than his usual blank one. She'd called it a great improvement. Which of course, didn't count the next day when news of Red Dusk members all being brutally killed by drowning reached her. It was days like those that reminded Sakura that she still lived with criminal masterminds, no matter how normal they were, or how much they could dirty their socks, or how they hugged her when she needed it. Those were the days when Sakura realized that she'd started to give herself excuse to not feel guilty for starting to like living with them. That they were, in fact, evil, and that she was, technically, still a prisoner. Even if Pein had offered her freedom a year before, and she's chosen to stay with them—'I'd be alone otherwise,' she'd put it. It had worked for him. And for her. And for all the rest of the men.

Course, it was on nights like this one when Sakura mostly remembered they were men. Useless, egocentric, introverted men. Tobi notwithstanding. Nor Konan, who was actually a woman. The only other woman around. At least where Sakura was. It was on nights like this one, as she stomped down the hallways trying to make as much noise as possible, to vent out her frustration at everyone else, when Sakura remembered they were but men. And like all men, they had a talent to piss her off.

"Where are you going, so loud in the night?" came a voice from behind her, and a kunai was instantly pressed against the small of her back. It didn't matter that Sakura could've escaped his hold, sometimes you just didn't escape Pein's hold. She'd learned it the hard way. If you were a good girl, you stayed put, and let him play his little control-and-power game on you. Then you could live.

"I needed to fix my pipes," she answered, looking at the ceiling tensely.

"Your pipes? Why would they need fixing?" he asked, grip loosening up a bit, because once he knew she wouldn't escape, he was fine. Sometimes, Sakura thought the man cared too much about her escaping the compound. And it was silly of him—where would she go, anyway?

"They're dripping," she answered, as if it were the most obvious thing on earth. After hearing his small chuckle, Sakura finally realised how it had sounded. "Not in that way! The pipes in my room are dripping! For real!"

"Mmhmm, I see. Have someone else fix them," he ordered.

"I did. I asked Tobi, but—"

"He is busy on a mission."

"That explains his absence, but whatever." She scoffed, hating to lose arguments in front of him. She liked it better when she could hold her ground in a battle of wits against him—which was more than often.

"Ask someone else. Now return to your room and sleep," he ordered again, letting go of her.

"My bed's wet. I can't sleep."

"Hm. Then keep me company," he instructed, and led her down the hallway, to an exit in the stone walls. His lookout spot.

"You know, I've always found it funny that you're sitting on a hand," she observed, moments later. "It's like the statue is offering you to someone."

He looked back at her over his shoulders, and with a curt motion of his head, he invited—ordered—her to join him. For once, she was glad it wasn't raining. "Now," he said, once she'd sat down. "We're both being offered."

"Mm," she agreed silently, pulling her knees to her chest and resting her chin against them. "Whoever will receive us?" she asked, looking out to the city below.

"No-one," he answered. "We are not to be received by anyone, but ourselves. That's how life is. The only acceptance you truly get, is the one you give yourself."

So it was going to be one of those philosophical nights, huh? "I've known people who've been received and accepted by other people, too."

"Perhaps, after some amount of manipulation. Do you know why the Akatsuki are still alive, while other villages are not, Sakura?" he asked, looking at her from the corner of his eyes. "Because we are persistent in making ourselves be accepted by everyone."

"By force."

"If force is needed, we use force. We manipulate, we kill, we steal, and we are corrupt. We are also gods, Sakura. Or do you think there are gods do not kill?"

Sakura took her time to think about an answer for it, but the only thing she could get was "Cupid."

"The God of Love? He's the worse of all. Never have I seen a god who's imposed his will on other people better than him. He manipulates more than anyone to get acknowledged, to be received."

"He does not kill pe—"

"He does. He shoots them with his arrow, and makes them fall in love with whom he chooses. He kills them, because he takes away their liberty of choice. Their free will. Love, you've told me, is a powerful weapon. Cupid deals with love, he juggles with it, and he controls it. He controls love, and he controls everyone with that," he said, his voice getting a certain tone of…reverence, maybe.

"So, what, next you're going to tell me your new goal is to be Cupid?" she asked, looking at him strangely.

"Some Cupids kill with arrows, some kill with traps," he answered, stoically.

"What does that mean?" she asked, perplexed at the direction this talk had taken.

He looked at her, face to face, so close that her breath fell on the ring under his lip, making it cloud over. "You are the most dangerous of us all, and I should kill you," he said.

"What? When did I become the most dangerous one?" she blurted out.

"Because you're the Cupid here," he answered, his thumb against her chin. "You juggle with love here, and you control it all." His digit grazed her bottom lip. "You're dangerous, and I…I should kill you."

A long time ago, Sakura'd asked Pein why he had so many piercings, and the man had answered 'one for each person I killed to get away'. She never found out what he was getting away from, and he never told her. She never asked, either. But now, it was different. "Another ring to your collection?" she asked against his thumb. Maybe her breath was shallow. Just a bit.

"No. You wouldn't be one," he answered.

"Why not?"

"Because the people these piercings represent meant nothing to me. They are reminders for a different thing."

"Then what would I be?" she asked, pulling away when he leaned forward.

"A scar. An open wound," he murmured, and bushed his lips against hers, making her gasp and freeze.

"A-all wounds close…" she stammered, once her heartbeats were back to normal. It took her two minutes.

"You wouldn't," he said, and it was final. He was kissing her again. It was hungry, and slow, and drawn-out. Like the games they'd been playing for years. It wasn't satisfactory at all, so soon the clothes flew, and the shame and the inhibitions with them. So when Sakura gave in to the most dangerous man on Earth, on a hand-statue overlooking the city, she didn't do it with thoughts about 'murderer', or 'evil'. But rather, with a feeling of peace. As if everything was better, even if would never be completely better. But for a while, it would do. Afterwards, they'd figure it out on the way.

"I'd like it better if you didn't kill me," she said into his shoulder a while after.

"Mmm," he answered, purring slightly under her. "Maybe not tonight."