A Cornucopia of Conundrums
Summary: "So what you're saying is; you had a one-night stand with some yakuza lordling and now you're pregnant with his baby?" SasuSaku. AU.
Tear off their wings and make them fight on your ground.
For several precious seconds, all Sakura could do was nothing. It was as if her mind was stuck in molasses. It was a surreal moment and she felt like her soul was on the verge of falling out of her body.
She couldn't blink and her brain was refusing to comprehend what had just happened – all the blood, the heavy tang of tobacco, the burn on her clavicle, the strain on her knees as she sat on the floor, the taste of that woman's hand on her mouth as she tried to scream – and Sasuke; bloody, bruised, and dying Sasuke. She felt on the brink of hysteria, forgetting herself, forgetting all she was capable of, just simply hearing the words "…make sure he doesn't get to a hospital," resounding again and again in her mind with all the clarity of a trumpet tooting at full volume.
But then slowly, almost involuntarily, her gaze dropped to Sasuke's crumpled body beside her.
Sasuke; on whom she had wished death a thousand times in her mind.
Sasuke; who was an idiot who refused to share his most terrible secrets.
Sasuke; who had decided to take on the repercussions of her own self-righteousness.
Sasuke; of the fluttering forehead kisses and instincts.
Sasuke; the father of her daughter – the one who was slowly but surely trying to dig himself out of the gokudo's pit.
She breathed.
It sounded incredibly loud in the silence of the aftermath. It also took a lot of effort to exhale again.
Sasuke; her mind ventured, who was Sarada's Papa.
Her mind creaked into motion again. Knee-jerk medical reaction kicked in – her fingers found the racing pulse on his neck, her hands ripping a part of her own shirt to tie around the bleeding, cut-off stumps of his fingers and the gash on his arm moved to assess the damage under his torn shirt, and slowly, belatedly, she started coming to herself.
But it wasn't until she comprehended the full extent of the damage he'd taken – on her behalf, because of her, because she was stupidly, idiotically self-righteous – that she finally, fully snapped out of it.
She was a rational woman. She believed in her ability to fix things, but at that moment with hopelessness gnawing strongly in the pit of her belly, in the core of her heart, and in every single fiber of her being, fixing Sasuke just seemed irremediable – especially as his breath became shorter and shorter by the moment. She knew that he needed a transfusion. She knew he needed a hospital. And yet, there was nothing that she could do to help.
All she wanted to do was cry and be consoled – but the only person who did that in this place was slowly bleeding to death right in front of her eyes.
No, she told herself, summoning every bit of resolve left in her. Not today. Not on my watch.
She gulped a few breaths, squared her shoulders, and willed herself to stand up. Then she closed her eyes and when she opened them, she forced herself to be as clinical as possible. She assessed the damage once again. There were too many cuts on Sasuke's back, his abdomen was bleeding, the make-shift bandage on his arm was blooming red with blood. His hand needed emergency treatment. She couldn't drag him on either his back or his stomach. She'd have to prop him up and try to maneuver the corridors. It would be hard, maybe even next to impossible to make it all the way – she could barely keep all the corridors straight – but she'd rather try than sit there helpless. Perhaps, if she somehow made it to their part of the compound, she could salvage some of this damage with her emergency medical kit. She always made it a point to keep it fully stocked.
She took one last breath, braced herself, mustered all her energy and gently pried Sasuke into a half-sitting position. His body was limp, heavy, his breathing shallow, and his face was bunched up in pain even in unconsciousness and her heart constricted painfully. She made herself look away, breathe until she could fight off the already blanketing panic and focused on the task. Grunting, she hauled him on the engawa as carefully as she was able, taking great pains to avoid further injuries or impact.
Sasuke's entire body was covered in a thick layer of sweat and tears were pricking her eyes, but she blinked them away, tucked the misery and pity and fury and nausea away for later, and started the painstaking, laborious task of dragging him down the corridor. She ignored the small puddle of blood they'd left on the grass and the trail that she was leaving behind her with every step.
He was heavy and she was barely strong enough, but at this point her body was functioning on pure adrenaline and she was able to cover a few yuan until she could make out the entrance.
She stopped there breathing heavy, gently laid him on his side and checked Sasuke's vitals as best as she could. She had a choice to make – she could take the car still parked on the cul-de-sac and go to the hospital or run to her room and get the medical kit. But she remembered Madara's words and she understood now, just exactly what he did to people who defied him. She couldn't even call anyone for help because no one in this place was an ally. She didn't want to take anymore risks – Sasuke battered form was lesson enough.
She was just urging herself to pick-up the pace and get moving – for she knew the way from here now – when a car pulled over onto the cul-de-sac. She stiffened in panic, fortified herself in front of Sasuke, and looked wildly around for something to defend them should the person be another one of Madara's lackeys.
But fate must finally be aligning with her because that person turned out to be Itachi, and as soon as he saw her there, he came running around. It took him only a moment to assess the situation, then grimly, he nodded at her. "You take his legs. I'll lift his shoulders. There's enough room in the car –"
But Sakura's momentary relief at his presence was already receding. An ugly brew of panic and desperation was staring to take shape at the edges of her conscience in its stead. Stop, she told herself. Get yourself together. She solemnly looked at Itachi and shook her head. "No hospital – the-the Oyabun – "
Itachi immediately understood and backed away. But the urgency in his eyes was still there. "What should we do?" he asked, and for a moment she was so bewildered that he was asking her for what to do, until she understood that he was asking her professional fucking medical opinion, at which the hysteria started bubbling again.
Her lip trembled. She bit it, pulled herself together once more, and said, "Let's get him back to the room. I've got some supplies there. Can you pick up the things I'll need?"
He nodded, then helped her get Sasuke all the way to their part of the compound. Belatedly, she realized that Sarada was supposed to be with him and a fresh wave of panic skittered through her spine. "Sar-ada," she grunted, hauling Sasuke through the corridors.
Itachi simply shook his head. "She's safe – for now."
That'd have to be good enough for the moment, she thought. One problem at a time.
Mikoto was sitting on the engawa with a steaming cup of tea when she saw them. Instantly, she was on red alert, helping them gently maneuver Sasuke to the bedroom, and Sakura faintly wondered how many times had she witnessed such a scene to maintain that façade of grim calm. "Lay him on his right side," she instructed, then got her kit.
When she returned, Mikoto was worriedly hovering over Sasuke, trying to get a feel for how much damage must have been done. My fault. My fault, Sakura kept thinking, swallowing back nausea as she plopped down beside Sasuke. Fortunately, she was anal enough to have a few bottles of sterile water at hand. But she knew that they wouldn't be enough. There was too much damage.
"Get his shirt off and apply pressure on the cuts," she told Mikoto. "Itachi, I need you to get more sterile water or saline. Some wound dressings. A lot of morphine and a few injections. And –" here she hesitated a little because what she was going to ask for was probably a little insane or impossible, but then she shook her head and decided to go for it anyway. "A blood transfusion machine with two units of Sasuke's blood type."
Instantly, he was gone.
Heart in her throat, Sakura looked at the latticework of wounds all over Sasuke's front, back, and sides. For one moment she was so overwhelmed that she didn't know where to start. It was only when Sasuke unconsciously groaned as Mikoto put a bit too much pressure on the cuts that she snapped out of it. "Put pressure on his – his fingers," she instructed haltingly, decided to start small.
She opened a bottle of sterile water and poured it over his arm, carefully checked for tendon damage and sighed a little with relief when she realized that the cut was shallow enough. Then she pried the needle driver, tissue forceps, sterilized needle, thread, and scissors out of her kit and went to work. She willed her hands to be steady, gentle, tried to shimmy a shield of cold professionalism between her and Sasuke so that she could assess the damage more thoroughly. It took her only a few minutes to close the gash on his arm, and then bandage it with dressing.
That was the easy part.
She noticed that Sasuke was too pale now and that his breath was becoming steadily shorter. She dreaded that he might need a blood transfusion, and focused on his abdomen. A quick survey of the wound told her that the muscle had taken most of the damage. The katana strike there had been carried out with surgical precision. All she had to do was clean it with saline and stitch it up. She did the same for his back, but each slice there intersected with the next. There was a gruesome, unnatural look to her stitching that made her want to hurl. She swallowed it down and focused on the work. By the time she came to the hand, she had blood all over her front. There was a thin film of sweat all over her body and nothing existed in the world but she and Sasuke's abused body.
Once again, when she looked at the missing fingers, all of her medical professionalism escaped her. She felt cold dread and a disquieting fear that someone – Sasuke of all people – had sacrificed his fucking fingers. Just to keep her safe. Her. Whom he barely even liked. The tears pricked again and emotion and despair clogged her throat once more, to the point that she found it hard to swallow this time. But Mikoto was grimly looking at her and every second that passed was a precious one, so Sakura scrunched her eyes shut, battled away the tears, swallowed past the lump in her throat and got to work again.
She knew that it would be difficult to salvage the situation here because, in surgery, the proper way to do this would be to leave enough skin so that healthy tissue could cover the wound as not to develop osteomyelitis or other bone infections. But she didn't have that fancy professional equipment and there wasn't enough time for anything else – he was losing too much blood! So she made the snap decision to cauterize.
"I'm going to have to cauterize the wound," she told Mikoto, searching around her medical kit. She took out a thick wad of dressing and instructed Mikoto to pop them in Sasuke's mouth to bite on. To her credit, she didn't even blink an eye as Sakura went on to search for her swiss knife and a lighter. She doused the former in rubbing alcohol and used the latter to heat the metal. It took a long time – precious seconds that Sasuke barely had – to heat it properly, but she knew that patience was key here. When it was done, she told Mikoto to brace both herself and Sasuke. Then she took off the bloodied bandages from his hand and gently held the metal to the wound in short one-two second bursts to preserve as much healthy tissue as she could manage. Sasuke unconsciously bucked in pain as she did her work, but Mikoto was able to hold him down.
Tears were streaming down her face by the time she finished, but she held herself back one last time to finish the dressing.
It was hard to steady herself after causing Sasuke so much pain, and she knew now that he needed an immediate transfusion.
When everything was done, she checked Sasuke's pulse again. Things weren't looking good. He was extremely pale and she didn't know what to do and now that her duty as a medical professional was over, she finally allowed all the terror and horror and absolute awfulness of the situation to sink in. It came in slow bursts and built up in layers – the anger at her gall, the frustration at the situation, her helplessness, Sasuke's fucking selflessness! It was all too much – it was all too, too much.
Her stomach revolted and she scrambled up, barely managed to make it to the bathroom and snapping the lid of the toilet before throwing up. She dropped to her knees and heaved. The first retch brought up spit and snot. The second one felt like she was dragging up her entire stomach. Then, in a choking stream, she retched until all the pale watery bile her stomach could summon ran out. The sharp, cold bathroom tiles dug into her knees.
She felt awful.
It took her a moment – three, ten, twenty – to catch her breath. The tears sliding down her face never stopped. By the time she reached for the towel to wipe her face, she was well on her way to numb. She was sweating, she realized – shaking, sick as a dog. Weakly, she flushed the toilet before dragging herself upright. At the sink, she swished her mouth out with water and then stared at her pale, disheveled reflection. For the longest time, she just stared at her face and wondered why the hell everything had to be so complicated. The answer never came, so she bit her lip to stop its trembling went outside to check on Sasuke.
Itachi was back and somehow, he and his mother had managed to drag Sasuke onto the futon on the floor. She didn't even wonder how he could have gotten the transfusion machine or the blood units in such a short amount of time. She simple hurried to Sasuke's side, fixed the tube into his vein, arranged the equipment, propped the blood bag against the wall and got the machine working. Then she took out the injections and morphine from another bag placed to the side, gave an adequate dose to Sasuke, and sighed out a breath of relief that threatened to turn into uncontrollable sobs. She was surprised to find Mikoto waiting for her when she stood up to discard the needle.
"Let's have a talk outside, Sakura-chan," Mikoto said grimly. "Please stay with your brother, Itachi."
It was the first time she saw Mikoto worthy of the title that she beheld – a gokutsuma. Sakura wondered what she had done to earn that designation as she followed her outside. At the moment, she couldn't summon the energy to care.
"Sit," Mikoto urged her with a tap on the shoulder and she toppled ungracefully at the edge of the engawa. Mikoto sat down beside her, then stared at her face for an intense few seconds. Despite the numbness, Sakura was unsettled because never had Mikoto looked at her with such bitter disappointment and clinical detachment. She swallowed and looked away.
She heard Mikoto sigh impatiently, then was startled as she felt her face being turned around by the chin with a bit more force than was necessary. Her grip was strong, her eyes clear. "Pull yourself together, Sakura. You must have really crossed some line for my Sasuke to end up this way."
Throughout her speech, Mikoto had somehow procured a tube of ointment and was now dabbing some on her index finger. Sakura blinked through the guilt and the fresh tears and the helplessness and was jolted when a sharp line of pain arced through her neck when Mikoto gently dabbed her finger on Sakura's clavicle. She gasped at it and belatedly remembered that she'd been burned.
"I understand your stance on our lifestyle," Mikoto continued, unperturbed, retracting her finger briskly. "I understand that you have a complicated relationship with Sasuke. I understand why you're afraid. But," and here she looked Sakura in the eyes. "If anything happens to my son, do not for a single moment think that your life will be spared. It is a promise that I make myself."
Sakura sucked in a sharp breath, feeling the edges and thorns of that promise bind her even tighter to this life – this prison. Nothing in her body was working; not her lungs, not her legs, and Sakura dropped to the grass with a feeling like knives in her chest. She began to sob so violently she felt as if her body might shatter. The fury that had sustained her in the beginning, the burning self-righteousness that had kept her alive, that had driven her to defy Madara – what did she have now? Her fire had gone, and she felt its loss as keenly as if she were mourning a death.
The emotions raging through her body were so visceral that the force of them made her retch again even though there was nothing in her stomach anymore. When she was done, Mikoto dropped down beside her, patted her back, and helped her stand up. Sakura thought this was it – that Mikoto was done with her, that there was nothing left to say – was there even something to say anymore? – but she surprised her by saying, "Sit," once more. And what else could Sakura do but obey.
"Breathe," she was told, and so she did.
When enough time had passed, she managed to pick a few feelings out of her despair. She wanted to make them known and Mikoto was there, so she told them to her. "I don't hate Sasuke," she started, surprising herself as she continued. "Yes, I have a complicated relationship with him – but," here she took a deep breath, looked directly at Mikoto and said, "he's changing. I don't know if you've noticed, but he's becoming – "
" – softer, yes," Mikoto finished for her, not at all looking pleased.
Sakura felt an unbridled nugget of irritation. "I wasn't finished. I will get out, Uchiha-san. It may take me a while and I might have to sacrifice a few – or many of my morals – but I will get out of here with my daughter. And if Sasuke wants to join us, he'd be welcome."
Mikoto appraised her for a moment, then smiled slowly, sadly, shaking her head a little. "I will give you a bit of advice, my dear," she said. "Fear is the most elegant weapon. Threatening bodily harm is a crude but effective way of imbuing it. Are you afraid?" she asked but didn't stop to hear her answer. "Yes, you are. But, I think you might rise to the challenge yet."
It took Sakura approximately half a year to truly understand Uchiha Sasuke, the man. During that time he'd made it his personal vendetta to make her life hell, had basically bullied her into marriage, called her a slut (although, in many more words than that one), then done a gradual 180 and softened up slowly (imperceptibly), apologized to her, been broken down, and shown an incredible amount of vulnerability hidden behind a vicious façade. He was a man who knew how to hold grudges. He was a man who took. He was man who felt. He was a man who gave. And now, Sakura was coming to realize, he was a man who could lay down his life for the people he loved.
It made her want to cry for him – for what he'd done for her. The morphine had worked, and he slumbered peacefully. Itachi and Mikoto were gone, Fukagu had still not come, and she – she was lying down beside Sasuke staring at his pale unconscious face and trying to decide what happened next.
She could try to run away again – but chances were that she wouldn't be able to get far anyway.
She could give in to Madara – for now – for however long it took to come up with a viable strategy to run away.
There was now a fierce sort of desperation inside of her, she realized. She wanted to get out of the rengo. But what was she willing to sacrifice for it? What had she sacrificed till now? Her life and liberty? Well what were a few morals, she asked herself. If it could keep them safe until she knew how to leave, she was willing to get her hands dirty, which gave her an idea.
It was probably improbable, maybe even impossible – but she had to try. She wanted to try. She wanted to try right now, when the indignity was still fresh and she was feeling high on it. She knew if she started thinking too much about it, she'd chicken out.
So she gathered herself up, took a long moment to stare at Sasuke's face, and involuntarily found her hand brushing away some of the hair from his forehead. Then she took a deep breath and went out.
She was a little surprised to see Itachi sitting outside, and the cigarette in his hand give her a pause. She swallowed when he turned around as she slid the door shut. The stress lines under his eye were more prominent than ever tonight and she was fully braced for his cold shoulder, so when he actually gave her a tired smile, she was genuinely startled. It didn't help that her insides were liquefied from the guilt already.
"Sakura," he greeted, surreptitiously putting the cigarette away."I was just about to leave for Sarada. Do you need something else?"
Now was the moment. But it was also hard. Sakura realized that she was standing in front of a cliff and what she was doing required a huge leap of faith – otherwise, she'd just be careening face-first and willingly into an unknown void. She balled her fists, looking Itachi in the eye, building her resolve, and willing herself to jump.
Itachi looked alert and slightly expectant now – as if he could tell that what she said next would make or break the rest of their time together.
"Could you take me to the Oyabun?" she asked, taking the final step at the edge of that cliff. It was time for the leap.
He simply raised both brows at her, and for the first time, she saw his eye truly harden at her. "No," he told her flatly.
"Please," she found herself saying. It was one note short of begging, and she knew he could probably hear the desperation in her voice.
A beat passed in silence. "Why?" he asked, standing up and tall, probably to intimidate her.
Sakura started him down, feeling slightly unsteady while she did so. "Because," she said. "I have something to say."
It was probably the wrong answer because she could feel Itachi distancing himself from her. She couldn't afford that – not when she stood an actual chance at pulling this off. The gokudo was Madara's life, blood, and money – everything that he loved very much. "Please," she said once again. "I just want to talk. I promise I won't say anything that might cause Sasuke more harm," she told him, feeling sick again.
She could tell he wanted her to run whatever she needed to say by him, and she could also tell that he wouldn't budge as long as she didn't. Today, she'd also become quite quick at calculating her chances of finding out what options she had and how safe they'd actually be if she just stuck to her pride.
And the truth was, she could tell that she'd really made a chink in her already thin thread of trust with this small part of the Uchiha. She'd caused Sasuke to hurt, be maimed, and lose two of his fingers. Even she wouldn't trust herself if she were them.
So, she told Itachi what she wanted to talk to Madara about. He was grim while he listened and she thought that this was it, that he wouldn't take her to the center of the compound. But he surprised her with his unfaltering calm and by asking, "Are you sure?"
"Yes," she said without any hesitation.
He nodded, sighed, and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. Then he started walking, and she silently followed.
The blood that she and Sasuke had left in their wake had been cleaned up.
Clearly, the Oyabun wasn't expecting anybody else, because when Itachi kneeled for permission to enter, there was rustling of a bedcovers from behind the shouji. Sakura wasn't naïve enough to believe there weren't armed members of the rengo hidden all around, but she was grateful that they trusted Itachi enough to remain hidden.
"Enter."
Itachi slid the shouji open. She walked inside. He didn't follow.
The ima still smelled of tobacco, but there was a distinct miasma of blood working its undercurrent in the air now. Madara was sitting cross-legged on the futon. The kotatsu was put aside for the night, and the fusuma screens were placed almost artistically on either side of the mattress.
"Giri no musume," he said, sounding raspy. "I did not expect to see you again tonight."
His smile was subtle but smug. It made Sakura want to brandish his own kiseru and stab it in his throat. She calmed herself down, then swallowed. He was looking very calmly at her, and she forced herself to level a similar gaze at him.
"Oyabun," she said, trying to make her voice as deferential as possible. She knew what she wanted to say, but she hadn't parsed out the exact words in her mind. She opened her mouth and came up short. How should I do this? She felt so incredibly alone and miserable.
"Aa?" said the Oyabun, clearly enjoying her discomfiture.
"I – I want – to make deal with you?" She cursed herself for stumbling over the words.
"Are you in a position to?" the Oyabun asked, looking almost regal as he pinned her with a stare. "Tell me little girl? What do you have to offer?"
Uchiha Madara may have shriveled in stature, but his personality and gruffness still remained intact. He exuded such an inherently poisonous aura that it struck her speechless. Unbidden, she craved Sasuke's presence by her side. She squared her shoulders. "How many?" she found herself saying.
He raised his brows at her. "How many what?"
"How many organs for Sarada's freedom? And mine?" she asked, feeling sick to her stomach.
"Ah," the Oyabun said, looking absolutely delighted.
A great lump was forming in her throat again. "Yes. Let's talk numbers, Oyabun."
Sakura's knees felt weak and her heart felt like a stone when she walked out of that ima. Itachi wasn't waiting for her outside as she had expected. In fact, she had no one to guide her back to Sasuke's part of the compound.
Just as another wave of despair was about to settle on her, the blue-haired woman appeared by her side. She seemed to have materialized out of nowhere and even just looking at her silhouette made Sakura's skin crawl.
She silently cocked her head in the direction of the west corridor and Sakura hesitated only a few moments before following her down the engawa.
She disappeared again once the main entrance came into view, and Sakura picked her way back to the room from there. She'd only just settled heavily by Sasuke's side, setting up the second unit for transfusion, making sure that the bleeding was controlled and that he was still breathing and not collapsing on either his injured back or abdomen when she heard Sarada's bounding footsteps come padding down the engawa. She only had a split-second to blink away the bleakness out of her eyes before he shouji slid open and she came face to face with her daughter.
The sharp gasp pierced her heart. "Papa!" Sarada cried, picking her way over the medical supplies and fumbling slightly.
Sakura caught her by the waist and pulled her to her chest.
"What happened?" Sarada asked, and it broke Sakura's heart to hear the worried wobble in her voice.
"He had an accident," Sakura found herself lying. It made her sick, how the lie came so naturally.
"Then take him to the hospital! There's so much blood!" Sarada said, prying herself away from Sakura and crawling to Sasuke's side. She hesitated for a second before putting her fingers against Papa's cheek. The morphine seemed to have put him down for good, but his breath was still coming out ragged.
There was just a moment of silence where Sakura looked at Sarada and Sarada looked at Sakura, and then she was flinging her small body into Mama's arms and crying. "How did he get so hurt!? Why aren't we taking-taking him to the h-hospitalll!?"
"He's doing better now, sweetheart," Sakura lied. "We can't move him yet because he's critical. We'll take care of him right here. He'll be alright. I promise."
Her words didn't seem to soothe Sarada at all. She only held her tight and cried harder.
They remained like that for a long while, holding each other tight, sniffling, and both maneuvering themselves to observe Sasuke. Around dawn, through the consistent chirping of crickets, Uchiha Fugaku came to the room. He was closely followed by Itachi.
Sarada was limp and asleep in her arms. Sakura had almost dozed off herself, but the sound of the shouji opening was so curt that her eyes snapped open of their own accord.
There were a few beats of complete and utter stone-cold silence where Fugaku observed Sasuke thoroughly. His face was as hard as his eyes when he finally turned to Sakura. He didn't say anything, but he made her feel small and insignificant with that gaze – as if her simple existence had completely ruined his most precious possession.
Sakura felt too guilty to stare back this time, so she looked away and exhaled when he finally went away.
Tomorrow didn't feel like a new day anymore – it felt like a brand new cage; one that wasn't as gilded as the previous one.
tbc
Thank you Gwen and Abby, as always. You guys are amazing and I hope you guys are safe. Thank you to all the medical professionals risking their lives out there right now.
Remember to stay inside. Let's hang in there together.
