Disclaimer: Naruto is the property of Masashi Kishimoto.
Rated M: Due to coarse language, violence, and some adult themes.
Skin now sticky from sugar-laden mixed drinks and sweat not secreted from her own pores, Sakura attempts to edge her way to the side where the flow of people is a bit more manageable and she can hopefully find a place to rest for a moment and collect her thoughts. The second room she was plunged into by the mindless crowd has its own separate atmosphere and theme. With walls painted in silver and coated with a reflective rainbow shine, everything is aglow with bright, white light. Waitresses in short, bouncy-hemmed dresses and dripping with necklaces and clunky bracelets made of candy jewelry expertly maneuver through the tide of people, balancing platters of bubbly-filled, flute-like glasses. Smog machines are in heavy use in this room and Sakura can't see much of anything below about mid-calf.
Attempting to breathe in as little of the air choked with the cloying scent of too many hormonally raging bodies, Sakura begins to make use of her hands and elbows to force her way to the thinning crowd around what turns out to be a staircase curving up to a second floor.
Deciding quickly to make that her destination, if only to put more distance between herself and the Uchiha, Sakura zeroes in on her target and charges like a bull that can't be deterred. It takes considerable effort as the bodies around her almost act as a vacuum to suck her further away from her intended destination, but she at last manages to make a grab for the handrail and refuses to let go. She strains her wrist to heave her weight up onto the first step, slipping by a couple too lip-locked to bother sparing an irritated glance at being harshly bumped by a tiny, pink blob.
It's as though she's stepped onto a mountain top in the blossom of spring, the air remarkably fresher just a few feet above the heads of the crowd. Eagerly, she ascends the black carpeted stairs, wondering what the upper level has in store for her.
If there's another staircase, I should descend that one as quickly as possible and get the hell outta Dodge.
Absentmindedly raking her fingers through the bangs swept across her sweaty forehead, Sakura reaches the top landing, noting its cool dimness and more deserted state.
Down below in what she has dubbed the Rainbow Room, the DJ sits like a king enthroned at his booth, remixing some of the most popular pop songs on the radio while a group of young women vie for his attention, jumping like bunnies, most likely seeking to make a song request. From her vantage point, she still can't spot Itachi, but with such difficult lighting, it most likely means he can't see her either. Turning away from the balcony overlooking the party down below, Sakura carries this optimistic thought with her as she strides quickly down the plushly carpeted hall, purple diamonds threaded in intricate geometric patterns leading to different doors along her way. Each one of them bares a golden number, lavishly painted with the stylistic strokes of an artist's hand against the black grain of the wood. Despite Sakura's curiosity, she knows it's unwise to waste time poking her head in any of those rooms.
I can't afford to get caught now.
But though Sakura's rationality and good sense win out over her troublesome curiosity, fate decides to play a hand in mucking up her already overcomplicated life. And it decides to do so in the form of a barely clothed woman who just manages to reach Sakura's eyebrows while wearing an impressively lethal set of pumps.
Out of nowhere a door to Sakura's left flies open, a brunette with bobbed hair and thick, doll-like bangs popping her head out to look impatiently left and right down the hallway, her eyes snapping to Sakura's startled form caught like a deer in the headlights.
"It's about time! I thought I was going to have to ring management to send someone up here. They're getting impatient," the woman snips, crossing her arms underneath a chest grossly out of proportion with the rest of her slight frame, "And you forgot the ice?!"
Awkwardly, Sakura gawks back at the woman, mouth agape at her choice of crystalline blue sequins and macaw-like feathers fashioned into what could only pass as lingerie. With heat creeping to her cheeks, Sakura scratches the back of her head, averting her eyes as she fumbles for something to say.
"Sorry, um, I – "
"C'mon!" the woman snaps, moving with unexpected fluidity in such cumbersome shoes and snatching Sakura's arm, "Get your ass in here already. Go make nice with them and apologize for being late. I'll be back in just a sec, I need to snag another bottle of champagne."
Despite Sakura's advantage of several inches, the smaller woman has surprising strength and, apparently, poor hearing as she continues to ignore Sakura's confused protests.
"And just what are you wearing? Plain Jane chic?" the woman scrunches her nose in revulsion at Sakura's damp, button-down blouse and camisole.
"No, look, I'm not – !"
But Sakura's complaints go unheard as she's dragged into the room behind door number nine, her voice being shushed under the melody of the saxophone player off in the corner of the rather large, single room. Modern, white couches are placed in an open, three-sided configuration, a long, glass table serving as the focal point or, more pointedly, the vast array of glass bottles and assorted fruits and snacks atop its surface.
Side carts with cigars and mints and glass containers of other items Sakura can't identify are just inside the doorway. But what really causes Sakura's mouth to drop is the floor to ceiling obstruction on her side of the buffet of drinks and delectables: a chrome pole with a coating of gold paint, polished to shine with a mirror-like finish. A stereo rests on a small side table next to one of the unoccupied couches.
Oh no.
She now knows exactly what she's stumbled upon though she hasn't a clue as to how she got here.
Seems I've found myself lost in Wonderland.
Now Kabuto's remark from earlier pushes to the forefront of her thoughts and she uncomfortably shifts her weight from one foot to the other upon realizing she would have preferred to remain ignorant to its meaning.
Worse still, two sets of eyes are staring her down like wolves would a dangling hunk of meat before their noses, sniffing and tasting the air to judge its quality.
"Gentlemen," the woman beside her coos, "You're in good hands. Cherry-chan here will take good care of you while I go fetch that champagne you requested. Please, relax and enjoy."
With a sweet smile in complete contrast to the haughty demeanor she had treated Sakura with, the woman glides out of the room, feathers bouncing.
Nervously, Sakura swallows, forcing her head to swivel back around after following the departure of the woman who had led her to her demise. What is she to do now? With two men anticipating something from her, she surely can't rely on some newfound ability to just sink into the floor and out of sight. But before she can open up her mouth to speak, one of the men breaks the silence, the musician having taken his leave upon the main event's arrival.
"Cherry, yeah? I mean, I get it, yeah, but couldn't you have been a tad more original?"
If possible, Sakura's eyes widen even further, incredulous and flustered with the man's criticism. His tone borders almost on indifference, but the sharp blue eye roving over her form is anything but lethargic. He's sizing her up, but measuring her to what standard of criteria, she can't be certain.
He thinks I'm some sort of – !
"Deidara," the other man cuts in boredly, his voice the epitome of smooth though even it has little on the masterfully sculpted face it comes from, "What do you expect from someone of her profession? She may be paying her college tuition on our dime, but that doesn't mean she's received a proper education on creativity," he turns his face away from his partner, appraising Sakura with a small smirk, "Isn't that right, honey?"
Sakura feels her jaw go slack for the second time in a matter of three minutes, her jealousy over some man's looks immediately evaporating into a forgotten memory. Her anger is worn prominently in the scowl bunching her eyebrows and in the clench of her hands. Who did these bastards think they were anyway, putting a woman down like that?
Not to mention they were so off the mark when it came to her.
"That's Doctor to you, asshole," she spits, being the first thing she can think to rebuke these ignoramuses with. The redhead's sleepy, mahogany eyes narrow at the insult, his back raising up from his relaxed position among the voluminous cushions of the couch.
But the blond gives little notice to his friend's sparked ire, waving his hand flippantly in the air at her remark as he crosses one leg over the other and stretches leisurely, sinking further into his seat, "We're not really into that role playing crap. What else do you have?"
Sakura is certain she can feel a vein bulging out near her temple, her irritation reaching critical levels.
"I'm not a stripper, you asshats!" Sakura shrieks, her frustration peaking in this moment until she can no longer bottle up her utter disbelief and irritation over how she somehow just walked right into this tangled mess.
Itachi is almost beginning to look like a better option than this asinine situation.
The blond, Deidara, draws his chin in slightly to his chest, taken aback by the small woman's outburst. She may look sweet as a cupcake with sprinkles on top, but she surely has a molten core within her.
"Then just who, exactly," the redhead responds in a dangerously low, controlled tone as he rises to his feet, "Are you?"
Sakura can feel the temperature in the room drop a few degrees, all playful aura from the room vanishing in a breath. Even the other man, a single, blue eye visible from the shroud of cornsilk hair obscuring half his face, appears alert and ready to pounce as he leans forward with his hands resting on his knees.
Sakura's eyes dart back and forth between the two and then dance hurriedly around the room, but to her dismay, she has but one exit. And to turn and make a run for it would leave her back completely open and unprotected. She doesn't miss the subtle way Sasori's hand reaches for something near his waistline. If he has a gun concealed under that fitted sports jacket of his, she won't have taken more than a step before he shoots her. No questions asked.
It can't end here, not like this. She has way too much left to accomplish and she isn't about to be taken out by some thugs who have just mistaken her as tonight's racy entertainment.
"My name is Sakura," she begins, only to be stopped by Deidara's snort of incredulity.
"That really isn't much better than 'Cherry,' yeah."
Sakura's face goes red with barely contained anger. She forces herself to breathe in and exhale loudly through her nose, hoping to find the dredges of her patience.
"Anyway, I think there's been a huge misunderstanding. You see, I don't work here and I was just walking by when I got pulled into the room. All I'm trying to do is leave."
Though his partner eyes her skeptically, poised fingers lingering over his hip, Deidara voices his thoughts without concern, "And how is it that you can't seem to find the exit?"
Sakura sighs tiredly, inwardly praising herself for her acting skills, "It's been a rather dramatic night and I'm just ready to get out of here. I was with someone and we got into a huge fight and now I'm trying to avoid him."
She easily lies, knowing it won't matter as she will hopefully never encounter these two again for the rest of her life.
The redhead lowers his hand to his side, though he doesn't take his seat and Sakura still makes note of the worrisome frown pulling at his lips. He's still suspicious, but probably reasoning that there's little to no harm she can possibly cause them.
Good.
Meanwhile, the blond seems to be enjoying the little spectacle Sakura has made of herself, grinning, he asks, "Ah, did you jilt a boyfriend, yeah?"
"We're together, though I wouldn't call us an item," a calm, nearly bemused voice answers from behind Sakura and she is loath to turn around and confirm her fears. With heart beating erratically, she begrudgingly twists her neck back to the image of Itachi blocking the doorway, his hands resting on either side of the doorframe.
Caged in.
Well, shit.
Groaning in defeat, she drops her head, staring at the ground as she wonders how long he's been standing there.
"Sasori, Deidara," he nods at the two men, "I owe you my thanks for detaining my little runaway."
"Yeah, yeah," Deidara waves him off, taking a sip from his tumbler before fixing the Uchiha with a pointed glare, "You owe us another stripper."
Meanwhile, Sasori, having determined Sakura to be of zero consequence, resumes his seat, foot propped up upon his opposite knee as he studies Sakura in a new light, inwardly questioning why Itachi would hinder himself by traveling with such a girl.
"I take it you've already put business before pleasure if you're indulging in such…activities," Itachi states more than asks.
"What the hell do you think?" Deidara asks with premature hostility, raising the suspicion in Sakura that the two have some bad history between them, "Besides, it's not like this stick in the mud," he jabs his thumb in the direction of Sasori who shoots him a lethal glare from the corner of his eyes, "Would allow me to do different."
But though Sakura can tell Sasori is about to retort something particularly nasty to put his partner in his place, everyone's attention is broken by the series of gunshots ringing out from somewhere within the club, followed by a second's worth of silence before all sorts of pandemonium ensue, hysterical screaming reaching Sakura's ears from the floor down below.
Immediately, Itachi's two associates leap past her, joining Itachi at the door, Sasori having already drawn his pistol. Not knowing what else to do or where to be, Sakura scurries to the door as well, remaining silent as she watches the other doors along the hallway burst open, their occupants pouring out in various stages of dress and sobriety to blunder their way to the balcony overlooking the Rainbow Room though none choose to descend the staircase.
"How did you find us here?" Sasori asks, and it takes Sakura a moment to realize he's addressing the stoic Uchiha and not her.
Itachi answers without truly answering, "I think you need to consider replacing your Konoha informant."
"Kabuto is a dead man," Sasori growls between gritted teeth, making Sakura miss his more docile, emotionless face. Angry Sasori is scary Sasori.
"I think it's time to call Kisame, yeah," Deidara supplies, hinting for action, already pulling a cellphone from out of his pocket.
"What's the best exit to take from here?" Itachi asks, already envisioning the crush of people bombarding the front doors. There's no way that bottleneck will be an option.
Sasori deliberates for a moment, biting his lip as he considers the possibilities available to them, "The employee lounge. There's a back exit that leads to the parking lot and Kisame will be able to pick us up close from there."
Itachi nods in understanding and Sakura glimpses briefly at the blue glow of Deidara's phone screen as his thumbs punch the keys with extraordinary speed.
"Don't you think a phone call would be more appropriate for such a pressing issue? I hate that texting crap," Sasori snaps, glowering at his partner in disbelief.
"Like he'd be able to hear me over all this," Deidara shoots back, referring to the screaming stampede down below. Another volley of gunshots goes off and Sakura trembles at the uncertainty of whether the shooter is closer or farther away than before.
She nearly jumps out of her skin as something lightly touches down on her shoulder and opens her mouth in silent surprise to find Itachi's hand resting there.
"How do we get to the lounge?" Itachi asks Sasori pointedly, trying to keep the always bickering duo on task.
Enough of the redhead's irritation abates for him to reply with an almost detached calmness, "The only way down from this floor is back down that staircase," he points toward the crowd of VIP guests and their lady friends for the night, all eyes stuck to the panicked, confused crowd down below, "Or we take our chances with the elevator down that way," he points to the opposite end of the hall, "Which will take us into a room we can't see from this level."
Well, that doesn't sound safe.
But at the same time, Deidara voices his own opinion, "Life isn't without its risks," he grins, clearly enjoying the adrenaline coursing through his system, imploring him to keep up the thrill chasing, "And there's no way we're getting out any time soon going that way, yeah," he gestures back toward the staircase.
Sasori nods in agreement and the group follows his lead down the hallway, Sakura sticking close to Itachi's side with Deidara following close on their feet as he reveals his own gun.
The elevator makes its ascent from the floor below and Sakura can only pray that whoever's hands are on the gun isn't tracking its movement. They'll be all boxed in nice and close when the doors open on the floor below, little more than sitting ducks.
As the metal doors slide open, Itachi takes her hand again, stepping in with her as Sasori jabs the button for the ground floor impatiently though Sakura is too unfamiliar with him to tell if it's from nerves or if he too, like his partner, has a taste for the dangerous.
The moment of truth is upon them as both Deidara and Sasori raise their guns as the chirpy ding! of the elevator signals their arrival and the doors begin to part. As soon as they step out into the room with its forest green color scheme and overturned tables with shattered glasses, a terrified shriek brings all of their attention onto a woman, apparently one of the waitresses judging by her outfit, hunkered down behind a cluster of tipped over bar stools, shaking like a leaf.
Sasori and Deidara quickly pass over the area, eyes scanning feverishly for any more hidden occupants of the threatening kind, but the room is otherwise, fortunately, deserted. Sakura nearly loses her footing as the heel of her boot comes down on a partially melted ice cube, but Itachi's attentiveness and quick reflexes has him pulling her back up to his side as they hurry after the redhead leading the way.
As they pass through a swinging door marked for employees only, Sakura finds herself in a room at odds with the rest of the club in its absolute plainness. With drab, off-white walls, tan-tiled floors, and a bank of gray lockers for employees to stow their personal items, she could almost believe they had completely left behind the danger pursuing them. Passing through a second entrance opening into a larger room, she is met with a small kitchenette area with tables and chairs, and one very startled employee, a cordless phone held up to his ear. He freezes, words dying on his lips as the strange assembly of two armed men, another dangerous, dark-haired man, and, the oddest of them all, a small, pink-haired woman, comes barging into the back room.
Sasori barely flicks his eyes in the man's direction, baiting him to make a move as he continues for the back door just a few strides away. Sakura spares the man a helpless look, knowing he can do nothing to separate her from the three unstoppable forces pulling her with them.
As he passes by the dumbstruck younger man, Deidara turns to pat him harshly on the back, a mocking congratulation on his good choice of action. Or, rather, non-action.
And at last, the four breathe in the success and freedom of the night air, the door shutting quietly behind them and cutting off the light from inside the club. As she bathes in the shadows of night and huddles amongst the darkness provided by too many criminals within her personal bubble, Sakura is about at her wit's end, wanting nothing more than to wake up finding this has been nothing more than an awful, bizarre dream.
But just as she thinks she can trick herself into believing she really is just asleep, a dark SUV with hubcaps gleaming to perfection pulls up alongside the building, its headlights dimming though the engine doesn't shut off.
"Impeccable timing, yeah," Deidara observes, striding up to the back door to pull it open, indicating Sakura should get in ahead of him. It's about one of the last things Sakura wants to do, but Itachi nudges her in the back and she complies, knowing she's been caught for good now. Sasori moves along the back of the vehicle to the other side and it is as Itachi opens the front passenger door that it dawns on her that she's been left to be sandwiched between her two most recent and least favorite acquaintances.
Swell.
As Sasori hoists himself up into the seat beside her, the cab light inside the SUV affords her a quick look at the occupant of the driver's seat and she nearly balks at his immense size and then truly does throw herself back into the seat as he glances back at her from the corner of his eye. A lazy smile splits his lips, revealing a row of devilishly pointed teeth.
"Itachi, how good of you to join us," his gravelly voice greets as the Uchiha slams the door shut behind him, "But Deidara neglected to tell me there'd be a new face tonight."
Sakura nearly chokes on her spit as she catches the reflection of two eyes staring back at her from the rearview mirror.
"This is Cherry-chan. Cherry-chan, meet Kisame," Deidara introduces, clearly delighting in the situation and Sakura's discomfort.
She doesn't resist the urge to hit him for that, digging an elbow in his ribcage for which he promptly yelps, shoving the offending appendage away.
"It's actually Sakura Haruno," she clarifies.
She might be forced to associate with these annoying low-lifes for a currently indeterminable amount of time, but that doesn't mean she has to put up with their bullcrap.
"Ah, I thought it was Doctor?" Sasori asks all but innocently, propping his arm up along the ledge of the window as Kisame pulls away from the building, driving Sakura to someplace she surely doesn't want to go.
She ignores his quip, deciding to settle for pouty silence as she buckles her seatbelt. She doesn't catch whose hand messes with dials for the radio, but a song just a little too fitting for her liking begins to play as she is left to her thoughts.
'Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right, here I am, stuck in the middle with you.'
Sakura silently sings along in her head, eying from her periphery first the redhead to her left and then the blond on her right.
Truly, this night couldn't get any worse. Propping her elbows on her knees, Sakura leans forward in her seat to rest her face in her hands, exhausted and frazzled beyond belief.
Author's Note: Now, how's that for a quick update? I was just too excited to put off writing this chapter so I went ahead with it anyway.
Just in case it wasn't obvious, the reason Sakura made it up to the VIP section and got herself into that sticky situation with Deidara and Sasori was that she coincidentally happened to resemble one of the girls who worked at the club, nick-named Cherry. And that girl just so happened to be running late to her appointment with some very important guests.
Also, the song that is playing on the radio at the end of the chapter is "Stuck in the Middle with You" by Stealers Wheel. I actually find it to be an appropriate song for the entire chapter.
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