Disclaimer: Sabaku no Gaara, Hyuuga Hinata, Hyuuga Neji, and all things Naruto belongs to Masashi Kishimoto-sensei.

This was a Secret Santa gift for Lallipop, in Sunny Day Love – a Hinata-themed community in Livejournal. A tad dark, and lots of angst.. as usual.

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Lilies and Memories

His first memory of her was of the fragile scent of lilies, floating over the fresh scent of blood.

He had been standing over the dead bodies of his kill – nins of the Hidden Rain – when the scent, so unlike the rich scent of blood, filled his being. It was then he knew he wasn't alone, that someone had seen – but it was a knowledge that was welcome, a knowledge that he embraced, for now he has more to kill.

More to satiate Shukaku's thrill for blood, his lust for death.

And when his hunt was interrupted, he felt like howling to the moon, and barely restrained himself from killing a comrade. But he consoled himself, knowing that as his prey lives, the hunt continues. And so he let her leave – for he knew, from the scent, that his prey was a she – but promised, to her retreating scent, that he would find her.

Then he too, left.

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His second memory was of her blood, dripping sweetly unto the floor.

It was all that he could do to rein Shukaku in – Kill her, kill her now, satiate me! – as she fought her cousin. Catching hold of her white eyes, he was mildly surprised to see neither bloodlust nor fury – only the burning desire to win, her determination displayed for everyone to see.

He watched and saw her trembling legs, studied and saw her will. And thought his prey pretty, with her blood dripping from her quivering chin, like crimson trails on her porcelain skin.

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His third memory was of her sadness, as she walked with lilies cradled in her arms.

He had heard of her cousin's fall – the very same cousin who had tried to kill her during the Chuunin exam. Her cousin deserved anger, even hatred, and yet here she was walking towards his room with flowers in hand and love written plainly on her face.

Is it love, he had asked himself, as he watched her slip into her cousin's room, Is it love, that makes her forgive? Is it love, which makes her believe, love, which makes her strong?

No, Shukaku roared, quivering inside him. Love is the crimson blood that flows through her veins! Love is death- and death is forever!

He could only walk away as he clenched his fists – could only walk away from his prey he had thought weak.

She has earned my respect, the jinchuuriki hissed venomously at the raging Shukaku, And she has earned Uzumaki's trust! You will not have her blood! Nor her life!

Kill her! Let her blood spill! Slake my thirst – satisfy my lust!

No. Gaara closed his eyes. The hunt is over.

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His last memory of her was her broken body, cold and lifeless on the earthen ground.

Shaken, all he could do was close her dead, staring eyes, and arrange her beaten body as much as he could. The once proud Village of Konoha lay in ruins around him, broken and lost. They have arrived too late – and now the knowledge that they have been unable to save their allies will haunt them, even until death.

Once, he had thought that the memories of the people he killed, in a haze of bloodlust, would be the burden he would shoulder for the rest of his life. But he was wrong.

This image of her, this vision of her broken – it was his burden. The memory of her living, the memory of her determination, it was his burden.

His burden, until death.