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.


She's mad, but she's magic. There's no lie in her fire. ~ Charles Bukowski


The first time Sasuke regained some semblance of consciousness, it felt like his entire body had been dipped in battery acid. There was a constant, ragged beat of pain pumping up his left arm, and his breath was coming so short that his vision never even became coherent. It felt like his entire life flashed before his eyes before he passed out again.


The second time he came around, a lot of his body felt like it had been numbed – although he could still feel the steely undercurrent of pain. There was lumpy support along his back and something pink in his peripheral vision. He felt sick and unimaginably tired. His mind was a blur and he couldn't understand the urgency that his subconscious was reeling through his mind. After a few moments of struggling, consciousness left him once again.


The third time he came around, his stomach was lurching so bad he couldn't even feel the rest of the pain. There was a hard moment of struggle where he scrambled to get up, couldn't, and was about to retch in his own mouth when several hands grasped him upright and someone shoved a bucket underneath his face just in time for him to vomit. It felt like his body was purging toxic waste. he could feel the sweat dribbling down his head, but his mind refused to focus on anything but retching. When it was finished, he felt so dizzy, he almost passed out again.

He would have, had it not been for a gentle support on his back and someone urging him to drink some water. His breath came in short, painful bursts. His body felt numb.

He drank, swayed painfully.

Then he passed out anyway.


Even the fourth time wasn't the charm.

His head felt like someone was playing a hardcore death metal straight in his cerebrum. The sheer pulsing made him sick again. His stomach convulsed and sent sharp pains down his abdomen, side, back, and arms.

The battery acid was slowly coming back and his breath was becoming short again.

He tried to focus past the pain, couldn't, and passed out again.


It took eighteen days for Sasuke to regain full consciousness, and during that time, Sakura lived through the suffocating presence of his family and Sarada's absolutely crushed countenance. During the first few hours, she recruited Itachi to get her an IV bag full of blood because Sasuke was looking too pale. Mikoto rarely ever left her side, but the gentle camaraderie in her presence was distinctly subdued now.

Sakura took that in stride and kept a medical journal by her side at all times to pass the hours. Sometimes, she helped Sarada with her homework. There was very little to do except occasionally change the bandages and wait for Sasuke to come around.

Every time he woke up or slid back into unconsciousness, she felt a tiny part of her soul chip away. She had a lot of time to reflect while she took care of him, and every single idle moment, she kept remembering their last moments together. There had been something different in their interactions – a finality that made her heart constrict in her chest. It made her realize that he was willing to die for her and Sarada. She didn't know what to make of it or how to deal with it.

While first, she felt a bit grateful with a huge dose of guilty, every passing day turned that into a simmering fury, because how dare he be so delusionally self-sacrificing! Just what exactly gave him the right to simply give up his own self for her! This was taking noble idiocy to a whole new level, and she'd decided to give him a big piece of her mind when he finally woke up.

Please wake up.

But mostly she understood that she was using the fury to overcome the fear of what might happen if he never woke up – because it was pretty touch a go for a while and his constantly pained face made her want to do anything – absolutely anything to help him!

But, she never let herself think past it. She just prayed and prayed and changed his bandages, checked for sepsis, kept him propped on his side, and sometimes just – lay down beside him and simply stare at his face.

It was quite a beautiful face. The high arch of his cheekbones was a good distraction. She noticed that he always looked sullen because his eyebrows were shaped that way – that, and his mouth, which was unconsciously pressed into a pained line, was incredibly beautiful. She especially noticed that he had a very plump lower-lip. Then she noticed that his lips were chapped because of dehydration, so she decided she'd later tell Itachi that she needed an IV bag and relevant equipment.

Somehow, looking at him made her want to weep, so she decided to take a break and went outside. She sat down at the edge of the engawa and stared into the distance. That's where Sarada found her.

Sakura noticed the dejected wilt of her shoulders. It had been constant ever since she'd found her Papa like that. Following her routine for the last few days, Sarada asked, "When will he wake up?"

Sakura put her arm around Sarada's shoulder. "Soon," she said, and prayed for it to be true.

"I miss him," said Sarada, putting her arm around Sakura's middle.

"I know," Sakura replied, and hugged her tighter to her side.


When Sasuke finally gained consciousness, he first got acquainted with the constant, pulsing throb of pain in his entire body.

He gritted his teeth against it and breathed through the fact that his entire being felt as if every molecule of his body was imploding.

It took his eyes a lot of time to adjust, and the only way he could anchor his mind through the pain was to grit his teeth and focus on the ceiling.

Every single second of wakefulness was causing his mind to acknowledge more and more of the pain. It was overwhelming. It was impossibly big. He didn't understand how he'd survived – was still surviving – through it.

He breathed in. Out. In. Out. In, then out. Again and again until it felt slightly normal.

He didn't know how much time passed, but after an eternity, it felt like he was slightly better oriented. So he took stock of his surroundings and realized that he was propped on his right side on the futon mattress in his bedroom. There was an IV bag full of fluids connected to his hand. He was all alone and every single breath hurt like his soul was being shredded on a cheese grater.

He didn't think he'd be able to, but he still tried to get up. Because that's all he'd always known. You fell down; you got up again, and again until your mind flashed past the pain and eventually just forgot about it.

He grunted and summoned all of his will power, managed to move a few inches, and was so blinded by the pain that he fell down again. The impact wasn't hard, but it still made his vision spark, and the pain that radiated through his body felt like an acid bath.

That's when the door slid open and Sakura came rushing in.

The only way he could recognize her past the pain blurring his vision was because of her pink hair. He'd fallen on his back and the softness of the pillows digging in was so fiercely painful that every muscle in his body had bunched up.

"Sasuke!" Sakura said in an admonishing tone while propping him on his good side again. He panted through the pain and scrunched his eyes shut until it became slightly manageable again. When he opened them again, she was preparing an injection full of something that he couldn't recognize.

She looked grim, and after a quick perusal, he could tell that other than a nasty looking bruise on her neck, she looked otherwise unharmed. He felt an intense wave of relief wash inside of him. "You – " he gasped, then stopped, gritting his teeth in anguish again.

"Stop talking!" she admonished, flashing him a furious glance and injecting the needle into his ivy bag.

He wanted to ask if she was alright, if Sarada was alright, but couldn't speak past the pain.

After discarding the needle, she sat beside him. Her expression was worried, and her lips were pressed together in a frown. She was staring at him and when he opened his mouth to say something again, all he could do was pant.

It was a split second, but that's all it took for her face to crumple and suddenly, tears were silently trickling down her cheeks. "How dare you?!" she gasped, looking inexplicably sad, furious, and gentle as she reached for his good hand. "How dare you?" she whispered now, sniffling and holding his hand tighter.

He knew exactly what she was asking about. And yet he had nothing to say. Like every single thing with her, it was just…instinct. So he said nothing and tried to stay awake past the numbness that was slowly starting to settle over his body. It muted the pain just enough for him to slowly fall unconscious again.


Sakura held on to his hand for a long time, shaking through her silent tears, unbearably grateful, infinitely furious, and extremely worried about him at the same time.

But her heart felt slightly less burdened now because he'd managed to retain consciousness even through the pain this time. She felt so incredibly thankful.

That's how Mikoto found her. Sniffling away tears of gratitude while holding his hand.

At her raised brows, Sakura nodded, not quite being able to smile. "He was awake. In a lot of pain, but he managed to stay awake."

Mikoto's entire postured slumped with her sigh of relief. Silently, she padded to Sakura's side and both of them vigilantly sat by Sasuke for a long time.


Day twenty was when Sakura was summoned to the Oyabun's ima again. She'd just sent a very morose Sarada to school with Itachi when the blue haired woman materialized at the door. She fixed a cold, expressionless stare at Sakura and said only, "Come."

Fugaku, whose cold, hard form had spared Sakura no attention for the past few days shot her a disparaging and blighting glance.

Mikoto simply sipped her tea.

Sakura silently followed the woman to the center of the compound.

The Oyabun, as always, was holding court from behind his kotatsu. The smell of tobacco was heavier than ever. It was a room full of nightmares that Sakura had a hard time holding at bay. She sat down at his gesture and bowed her head as deferentially as she could.

He assessed her grimly and carefully with shrewd eyes, rheumed over with age – nonetheless still quite sharp. Then he cocked his head to the side and picked up a register by his side. He flipped through it until he came to a page that was only half filled – with numbers, Sakura noticed. Huge figures. Large sums of money. Her stomach churned with fear, disgust, and unease.

"Onanoko," he said affectionately, sounding strangely buoyant. Sakura considered him warily as he pulled out a decadent gold ink pen out of his silk kimono and began scribbling.

"I'll be generous – out of each organ you resect, you will get a part of your own earning," he informed her, not even sparing her a glance. Sakura knew that meant he was accepting her proposal. It made her stomach turn, but she balled her fists and asked, "How many?"

At that, he paused and gave her a sharp, calculating look. "I shall let you know."

It occurred to her then, how stupid she was being, because Madara could just say that no price was enough – that nothing was ever going to be enough. Then what she'd do?

She didn't know.

But she was here now and she wanted to try anyway. She was depending on his inherently cruel nature and his recent high of proving himself all too powerful. She was hoping he would find her proposal like a victory for himself, and so she dared probe further.

"Let me know now," she said, knowing full well that she was being reckless and may yet suffer more consequences. But she needed to know. She needed to try. She needed that light at the end of the tunnel. Everything felt too hopeless at the moment.

Madara's stare was like a weight that was pressing her heavily into place. "I shall let you know," he said again, with a downward tilt of his wrinkled mouth. He looked so brittle yet so menacing that Sakura felt rooted to the spot with fear. This time, she had the knowledge of exactly what he could do.

A few moments of intense silence later, he went back to scribbling numbers. In an almost breezy tone, he said, "It would be in your interest not to make me repeat myself."

Sakura said nothing, feeling a sinking sensation in her stomach.

"When will you go back to work?" Madara asked.

Sakura pressed her lips together, feeling anger starting to simmer inside her body. "Not until Sasuke recovers enough," she replied monotonously, not wanting to risk her luck anymore.

"Hmm," said Madara, a frown forming between his heavily wrinkled forehead. "The sooner you start, the better it will be." The tone of his voice became pointed as he said, "And if you try anything, know that it is your loved ones who will pay. Dismissed."

Sakura felt an intense balloon of white-hot rage and hatred swell inside of her. The sight of that old yet powerful man made her so irrationally, violently furious that she believed if she had anything in her hands at that moment, she would have hurled it at his head or stabbed it in his chest, complete with the intention of manslaughter. Someday, she promised herself. As it was, she just grit her teeth, took a sharp breath to calm herself, and left the room.


When Sasuke woke up next, it was his mother who sat by his side. She was dabbing a cool, wet cloth on his face, and the sensation of it was what had roused him from the slumber. The pain was still there, but now that his mind had been able to manage it the first time, the second time felt easier. The other thing that he was able to perceive past the pain was how his mouth was parched. He also felt incredibly weak and lethargic – as if he wouldn't be able to move for the next few years now.

Mikoto gasped when she saw his eyes fluttering against the light. "Oh, Sasuke-kun!" she whispered watery and delighted. "You're awake."

"Wa-ter" he managed to grit out.

Mikoto fluttered. "Yes, yes, of course," she said, sounding so breathy with relief and happiness that he felt his chest twist with guilt.

"I'm – sorry," he gasped through the pain, and felt his chest twist even more as she swept tears from under her eyes while pouring water in a glass from the pitcher at his side.

"Please don't ever do that again," she said, sticking a straw into the glass and pushing it to his lips so that he wouldn't have to get up.

He felt sorrier than ever as he drank and felt slightly better as the coolness of the water spread through his throat and lungs.

As he sank back into the futon, his mind started whirring again. He had so many questions; what had happened after he went down? How long was he out for? What was the extent of the damage? He knew that he'd lost two fingers – he could feel the hollowness right to the root of his left hand, where the pain was more intense than the other parts of his body. He wanted to ask about Sakura, but more than anything else, his heart wondered, "Sarada?"

Mikoto softened, her eyes sparkly with tears, her mouth twitching in the smallest of smiles. "She's at school."

Sasuke nodded, feeling his head spin from the gesture, and closed his eyes to curb the dizziness. A moment later, after he felt like he could speak without puking, he asked, "Sakura?"

He could feel rather than hear his mother turn frosty. "She's fine as well."

No sooner had the words been uttered than the door slid open and Sakura herself walked in. Sasuke summoned the last reserves of his energy to tilt his head and peek at her. She looked well enough. She looked healthy. She looked grim and determined. She looked whole. She even looked a little bit like she'd been fuming.

He felt utterly relieved.

Her eyes widened when she saw that he was awake. Immediately, he felt her mood shift and noticed how her steps faltered. When she sat down beside Mikoto, the air became charged with tension.

There was an undercurrent of raw emotion in the very air of the room now, and maybe his mother felt uncomfortable or maybe she understood that they needed to talk, but she said, "I'll be back with some soup, Sasuke-kun. Please don't fall asleep before eating something." Then she tenderly brushed away some hair from his forehead like she used to do when he was a small boy and left. He felt grateful for her emotional savvy.

Then he was alone in the room with just Sakura and the pain in his body was the only distraction. So he focused on that and tried to rein in his laboring breath because he knew that if he looked at her now he'd see in her face things that would splinter his insides.

But Sakura wasn't a woman who played by anyone else's rules, so he wasn't surprised that she was the one who broke the silence. Her voice was thick and full and angry as she asked, "Why? Why would you do that?"

In the rainbow darkness behind his eyes, he heard the heartbreak, guilt, and fury in her voice.

"What were you thinking?" she asked heatedly. "Haven't I already told you? You die, we die as well!"

However, instead of the gentle understanding that he'd been expecting to feel, he found an equal amount of heartbreak and anger spooling inside his chest as well. "What," he gritted out, "was I supposed to do? Let you die?"

"It's what you wanted, wasn't it?" she snapped back, and he could instantly see the regret of those words wash over her face.

He didn't quite flinch, but his jaw was working, teeth grinding, helplessly sweating from the sheer pain that breved his body. "Once," he acknowledged, not denying her claim at all. Then, unbidden, he found himself seething, the anger electrifying him with energy. "Why, is everything always black and white for you? Do you think I like who I am? Who I was born to be?" A little softly, he panted, "Did you – think I'd have let you – suffer?"

Abruptly, she softened, and he could feel all the fight going out of her. When their eyes locked, she swallowed, took a deep breath and nodded. He could tell that she was just as wrung out as himself, tired of all the back-and-forth, struggling to reconcile the worry and the care with the anger. He watched her face falter, the anger washed away and replaced with sheer concern and distress. Very gently, she said once again, "What if you'd died?" This time, Sasuke heard the fear in her words, and he didn't know how to answer.

They sat together silently, and he felt like he'd pass out from the pain. But the words – they just crawled out of his mouth without knowledge, without precedent, and he found himself believing every syllable as he said, "Then – I trust that you would have found another way."

He was expecting her to turn justifiably angry at that – not tearful and disconcerted. Still, with wide eyes and a small voice, she said, "Idiot."

He wanted to smile at that, but the simple task of saying just a few words had left him so breathless and weak with pain that he found himself forgetting to feel anything but the agony. He drew sharp breaths and tried to rein everything in. When he managed to open his eyes again, she was looking at him with glassy eyes and wobbly lips. She looked so helpless that his heart clenched painfully inside his chest.


Sasuke's words echoed like a gong in Sakura's mind. She stared at his agonized expression, speechless, because she hadn't, not even once thought that – just assumed that he was who he was and liked being that person – Uchiha Sasuke of the gokudo; not Sasuke the person. Never, Sasuke the person.

She felt her eyes turn glassy and her nose tingle painfully with the urge to cry. When he finally opened his eyes again, she simply looked at him.

The silence was less charged and heavier now. The moments stretched out like infinity, and from the depth of her heart, unable to keep silent, she said, "Thank you."

She never took her eyes off of him. She kept on watching as his throat worked. As his skin started to shine with sweat again. As the corners of his lips turned even further down in a moue of pain. She watched and watched, feeling something unknown and cool and unfamiliar spool within her chest until he said:

"Your fingers are priceless – they heal people." A pained pause. A swallow. "I couldn't let him take them. That's why."

His words – they were so gently spoken. There was such sincerity in them. They were so precious. They made the glass in her eyes break into tears. Of gratitude and of futility and excruciating sadness, because god, she'd just traded away her fingers that healed for something much, much sinister. Had she rendered his sacrifice moot? For a few seconds, she panicked and doubted her decision, but then remembered how the Oyabun had threatened her family and friends, which strengthened her resolve once again.

Nonetheless, it still broke her heart to hear his reason, his face so tight with the pain that he'd had inflicted upon himself in her stead. She couldn't quite quench away the tears that kept falling down her cheeks. She sniffled and looked at the ceiling, hoping to curb them somehow, but they kept on falling and falling.

So she took a deep breath and after a few minutes of focus, decided to opt for some brevity – an embarrassing change of subject; something that she was genuinely curious about at the same time.

"Why did you sleep with me that night?" she asked Sasuke in a quietly breezy way, knowing full well that it would distract him. "You don't strike me as a one-night-stand kind of a person."

His face, though still pinched with pain, became bewildered, then sharpened again, although slightly less guarded.

As quickly has the heartbreak had bowled her over, she was now flustered. "And don't tell me that was instinct!" she warned.

Through, the silence that followed, she found herself feeling glad to see a small amount of amusement trickle through pain on his face, although he never answered.

Before long, Mikoto came back with a bowl of soup. It was excruciating to help Sasuke up – he grunted and the bandage on his abdomen became tainted with blood. At one point, Sakura thought that he'd fall unconscious again, but he held through. Dizzy with pain and recklessly stubborn, he managed to sit for a few minutes during which Mikoto fed him half a bowl of miso soup.

Then he started feeling sick, so Sakura quickly changed the dressing on his abdomen, checked for sepsis and made sure that the stitches were still holding. Then they helped him lie down again.


Sarada's reunion with Sasuke was just as heart-wrenching as Sakura knew it would be.

When Sakura told her that Papa was awake, Sarada never even let her finish – she took off at a run until she was right in front of the room, where she slid the door open so forcefully that it actually caught Sasuke off-guard.

Sakura was right on her heels and arrived just in time to see Sarada struggle with where to throw herself on Papa for a hug. All the while, Sasuke looked on with wide-eyed surprise and was probably bracing himself for the tears that immediately started falling down Sarada's face when she couldn't find anywhere to embrace.

Sakura's own heartbreak was sold quite short in the face of such pure, childish, love that was exuding out of Sarada. So she guided her daughter to Sasuke's side by the shoulders, and said, "Sarada,you can hug him around the legs."

Sarada didn't even spare a second. Immediately, she snuggled herself around Sasuke's legs and Sakura found a small weight being lifted off of her chest as Sasuke painstakingly put a hand on top of her head.

Both of them stayed like that for quite some time, until Sarada suddenly pulled herself away, and sat down opposite him, face scrunched in anger and worry. "Papa," she scolded, hands balled on her lap, "if you ever get hurt again, I'll – I'll just – never talk to you again!"

The threat was so full of heart that Sakura had no doubt Sarada would at least try to act on it.

Sasuke, on his part, looked adequately contrite, shame-faced, and absolutely tired as he nodded.

That's when Sakura realized something: she liked watching him be haplessly in love with Sarada. The way his face would soften, the way his perpetually sharp expression would relax, the way his lips would automatically twitch a little upwards – it thawed at her heart tiny bit at a time.


Sasuke's recovery was bound to be slow and painful. The perpetual throbbing seemed to be echoing throughout his body constantly. He didn't know if he'd gotten used to it, or if his body was slowly but surely recovering. He'd even started using the bathroom on his own, although it took an inordinate amount of energy and strength that left him reeling with dizziness after. He always had help. He didn't like to look at his hand. He especially didn't like it whenever Sarada fixated on it during her daily visits. But it was a necessary sacrifice and he was slowly starting to learn to live with it.

For a person who'd been ready to lay down his life, he sure was finding an inordinate amount to complain about now that he was still alive.

However, getting back his strength was a whole other can of worms. Every time he'd try to sit, his vision would blur with the agony. The stitches always stretched in a way that he actually felt every single thread holding his back, his arm, and his stomach together. Day by day, he was learning to manage it better.

Itachi always made a habit to visit him in the evenings. There was something pacifying about his presence – the way he was just rock solid, steady, and always there with a cup of tea.

Mikoto always spent the mornings and afternoons with him. Sasuke had always appreciated his mother's doting countenance, and he held her in even more precious regard with every spoon full of soup that she fed him, with every wipe of cool cloth across his face, and with every gentle smile she shared with him.

Fugaku never came, and Sasuke could feel the distinct miasma of his father's dissatisfaction all the way to his room.

Sarada did her homework with him. They mostly stayed silent, but even just her presence was enough to cool the sharp sting of his injuries. This, he always thought. This is why I did it. For where would Sarada be had Sakura been injured in his stead. No one in his family was medically savvy. She would have died. The thought made his chest clench with a strange sort of sensation. He didn't know how to define it.

Lastly, there was Sakura. She was just there. Her presence interloped with everyone else. She was always there; while Mikoto fed him, while Sarada did her work by his side, while Itachi sipped his tea. She was there when he needed to sit, when he needed to use the bathroom, and when he was blanketed by too much pain to think straight.

She was there when he got irrationally angry at the loss of his strength and independence and she was there when he was feeling his weakest.

She was there when he was smarting too much to fall asleep.

And she'd taken on a terrible habit.

She told him stories to distract him from the pain.

Stories about her life before him.

Stories when she lived free.

It started when he'd been struggling to remain in a sitting position. He'd used the knuckles of his right hand to brace himself against the wall to remain upright and sweat was already starting to pool around his temples. He was barely holding himself together, feeling the excruciating stretch of injured skin on his back colliding with the weight of sitting on his abdomen. His face was scrunched in pain and his breath was coming out short, but he absolutely refused to lie down again. He'd been so utterly focused on mastering the pain, that when she'd started speaking he'd been startled.

"I used to be terrified to hold Sarada when she was a baby," Sakura told him, organizing her medical kit and keeping her eyes solely focused on her tools.

He'd been caught so off-guard that he didn't know what to say. She didn't give him time to form a proper response, though. She just kept talking.

"It's because I thought I'd drop her. Or break her. Or just – that I'd somehow hurt her." A small smile. "She was so tiny."

Here, she shot him a brief amused glance. "But I learned very quickly that babies are not fragile. Sarada was small, but she was a healthy baby. The weight of her body used to comfort me a lot." A pause. "Holding her still comforts me a lot."

He didn't understand why, but the story consoled him a lot. So did the fact that just a few months ago, hearing something like that would have infuriated him immeasurably for how audacious and intrepid she'd been to keep Sarada away from him. He felt nothing but grateful for the change.

The same day, when he was having trouble sleeping through the pain, she sat by his side and told him about Sarada's first smile. "She was always a happy baby. She cried in the way that all babies do, but for the most part, she was content. She smiled a lot when she was well fed." A quiet pause. "Do you know, Sasuke? I still think that her smile is the most beautiful smile in the whole world."

Those words – they unhinged something in Sasuke's chest. It was a longing so deep and so inherent that it made him forget the rest of his pain for a moment. It was in this limbo of pure, uninhibited feeling of relentless grief over missing his daughter and being glad that she'd had such a content childhood that he fell asleep.

And so, each day Sakura told him stories about Sarada whenever he struggled. Sometimes, Sakura and Sarada told them together.

"When I was little, Ino baa-chan told me that thunder was just angels clapping," Sarada confided in him one day. He saw Sakura smiling at her back, and couldn't help tousle Sarada's hair affectionately. "You're still little," he told her.

She turned thoughtful at that then pouted slightly. "Maybe," she admitted a little dourly, "but not the littlest."

"Not the littlest," he agreed.

These moments were like small nuggets of effervescence that never failed to uplift him. They made him feel honored. He knew that Sakura would never have willingly shared such precious memories with him had she not trusted him implicitly.

Later, in a small moment of privacy after he was trying to fall asleep, Sakura told him how she'd met Ino. "You know that cliché moment when the girl trips on her feet and braces for the impact, but the hero always catches her by the waist and their eyes meet and they have a soul mate moment?" she asked softly, smiling a little as she looked at the ceiling.

Sasuke wanted to say that no, but remembered how his eyes had met Sakura's from across the dance floor the night they'd first met. What was that moment, he wanted to ask. But he couldn't – he just couldn't. Fortunately, she didn't wait for his reply.

"Well, my soul mate was Ino," she said, smiling wistfully at him now. "She caught me by the waist, looked deep into my eyes, and told me that I had a charmingly huge forehead. We were twelve, by the way."

Sasuke knew the rest was history because he remembered the incandescence fury of Yamanaka Ino on behalf of Sakura when he'd recently met her again.

Then he made himself focus on the sharp pain throughout his body because he didn't want to think about all the things that he'd taken away from her.

I deserve this, he told himself. I deserve more.

"Remember my princess birthday party?" Sarada asked one day, smiling brightly at Sakura, who was carefully rolling up the stale dressing that she'd just replaced on him.

Mikoto was visiting for the evening, and Sasuke had noticed how her frosty demeanor was just a little less cold now. "Oh, a princess birthday party?" she asked Sarada in an excited and encouraging tone that you used to urge children to tell you more.

"You don't even remember that!" said Sakura, and Sasuke heard in her voice energy that he hadn't heard in ages. "You were two!"

"I remember everything!" Sarada insisted stubbornly. "Plus we have so many pictures!"

"You only just remember what's in the pictures, then," Sakura teased with a small grin, and Sarada shot her a dirty look before snuggling into the crook of Mikoto's arm.

It felt like such a surreal moment – these two parts of his life colliding so seamlessly that it left him feeling breathless and reeling. In the end, they all insisted that he lie down again.

One night, when Sakura was helping him slip into a loose yukata, he found himself panting with the effort. They took a break and when he finally managed to control himself, he found Sakura looking at his face, her expression searching.

"What?" he asked, feeling uncharacteristically self-conscious.

"Tell me more about yourself," she asked unexpectedly. "I barely know anything about you, as a person."

He swallowed and looked away. Her unexpected query left him feeling bereft. He didn't know what to tell her because every time he wracked his memory for something good, something positive, or something happy to tell her, he came up short. That small, innocuous question had him careening face-first into the fact that he hadn't had a very happy or satisfying life. There was no space to feel content when you were part of the gokudo. There were just jagged edges, the constant weight of expectations, and the sting of a slap on his face along with the echoing words etched onto his heart: You're impulsive, emotional, and unreliable. You disappoint me.

It's not that he didn't want to answer her – it was just that he couldn't.

Maybe she saw something in his face, because she sighed a cold sigh, and said, "I did try to look for you when I first found out that I was pregnant."

That was another unforeseen confession that left him wanting more. He couldn't help but shift his entire body in her direction. His surprise made her smile, albeit a little grimly. "I'm not a cold-hearted bitch, Sasuke," she said, sitting more comfortably by his side and staring at the distance.

"I was so scared. I went back to the club, hoping that I'd run into you and we'd get to talking, and I'd just – spring the news onto you and we'll see what would happen from there…"

"And?" he asked, already dreading the answer.

Their gazes met. Something hollowed out in his chest. "I saw the Kanban sign first," she told him. "But I still went inside. I saw you with Itachi – you two share an uncanny resemblance and he's kind of notorious. I put two-and-two together, and decided to run away."

Decided to run away. Such simple words for such a life-changing decision. He didn't know what to say or what to feel, so he simply closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"If I were to go back in time," Sakura started, but he cut her off.

"I wouldn't want you to change a thing," he finished for her instead.

Her face crumpled slightly at his admission. She stared long and hard at him, and he met her gaze steadily, assuredly, safe in the fact that Sarada's childhood had been happy while his own had been so utterly bleak.


Sakura now understood the fact that Sasuke was the kind of person who let little things weigh him down. So she thought, the opposite must have been true, too. Maybe he let small things buoy him up as well.

Her decision to share Sarada's childhood with him had not been impulsive, neither had it been predetermined. It had just come out of her mouth when she saw him struggling. She just wanted to take some of the pain away and she'd noticed how his entire demeanor became lighter whenever Sarada was around. So she started telling him stories and she was glad that she had, because maybe he hadn't said it in words, but she had a feeling that his life hadn't been a bed of roses.

So telling him all the happy parts of her and Sarada's just felt like the right thing to do.

She was simply glad that he was recovering. There was nothing she'd be able to do about his fingers, but she'd decided that she'd damn well nurse him back to the best health. She just hadn't known that would include emotional support as well.

When he finally fell asleep, she checked on Sarada, then stepped out for a small break. She wasn't surprised to see Fugaku leaning beside the jamb of the shouji. She'd figured out a while ago that he came every other night to check on Sasuke, but never came inside.

As always, she was going to silently slip past him, but this time, emboldened by Sasuke's uncanny admission, she couldn't help but say, "You could come inside, sometime. You know he'd appreciate the company."

Fugaku's demeanor was chilly as he perused her face. It was a look that made her feel small and insignificant.

He didn't say anything. He didn't have to.

He simply walked away.


As days went by, Sasuke's body healed slowly but surely. The scabbing always tested his willpower. When his nails wanted to itch bloody gashes out of his wounds, he practiced meditation to hold himself in check. It was always better when he had company. He especially appreciated time with Sarada.

She brought him a flower from the gardens every day.

Sometimes, they talked about her school day.

"Chou Chou says that you need to have a packet of barbecue flavored chips every day if you want to get better sooner."

"Chou Chou sounds like an interesting person," he told her.

"She's my best friend in the entire world," he was informed haughtily.

He couldn't help but smile gently. "I'm glad."

A few moments passed in silence, but he could tell that something was on her mind. He gave her time to work the words out. Eventually, she asked, "You're a good person, right Papa?"

Six words. All it took was six words to sucker punch the breath out of him.

Sarada was looking at him so tentatively, so expectantly, and he didn't know what to say. He felt absolutely wretched because he knew that he wasn't. Maybe she'd picked up on the fact that their part of the compound was completely isolated now, or maybe she'd picked up on the fact that there were dangerous men constantly coming in and out of the house, or maybe she'd noticed how unhappy Sakura was – whatever the case, this was a question that he couldn't answer.

But at the same time, he couldn't bring himself to lie to her either. So he said nothing, and perhaps she sensed that he wouldn't be able to answer, or maybe she was too perceptive for her age – she didn't push.

Her words stayed with him for a long time, reminding him of all the things he'd ever done wrong.

The neat cover that he'd pulled over his conscience was already slipping, and Sarada's innocuous question only accelerated the process.


Sakura constantly found herself monitoring Sasuke's recovery. He was far from fully healthy, but the pain was getting more subdued as his body started to heal itself. He still wasn't able to lay down on his back and she often found him deliberately not looking at the hollow where his fingers had been. It always wrenched her heart a little.

One day, while he rested, she started reorganizing the wardrobe. He'd been wearing his yukata lately, because it was breezier and it allowed breathing room for his injuries. He kept them at the bottom of the wardrobe and because she wanted to change his dressing later, she was riffling around for a new one for him to wear after. While shuffling through the lowest compartment of his side of the wardrobe, she stumbled upon something that made her heart stop, stutter, and start racing at a gallop.

In her left and right hand, in the midst of a cluster of soft robes, she sat holding her shoes.

Not just any shoes, but the ones that she'd worn when she'd first met Sasuke. The ones that she'd been wearing the night they slept together. The ones that she'd forgotten to wear when she'd run out the morning after.

She stared at the tall heels, the beautiful design – all crumpled and a little dusty now – and tried to breathe.

Inadvertently, her gaze swiveled towards Sasuke, who was sleeping, propped up against a mountain of pillows.

God, she thought, heart thundering in her chest. What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to feel? How many years has it been?

A little over 8 – very close to 9. Why did he even still have them?

She looked one long, last look at them, then shoved them back inside, and with trembling hands, started to pile up clothes to hide them once again.

However, the damage was already done. She was curious. She wanted to ask Sasuke why he'd kept them. Did they mean anything to him? Or had he just put them there and forgot about them? Why did she even want to know when every single day she dreaded what was to come in the very near future?

She felt so confused and lost. Her emotions were so convoluted and all over the place. A miasma of dread was always floating at the back of her mind, and yet here she was, having these bewildering feelings.

In a daze, she went and sat down by Sasuke's side. She gathered her legs to her chest and put her arms around them. Resting her chin on top of her arms, she looked at Sasuke. Although his face no longer pinched in pain, he'd still lost a lot of muscle mass. His hair was longer, shaggier – especially around the front. He'd always been pale, but now he looked ghastly.

In another time, in another place...

She dreaded the time she'd have to tell him about her deal with Madara. He'd be furious, she knew now, because he cared. And she'd have no excuses to give him. It was surprising to realize that her vehemence against him was already at such a low.

She didn't want to think anymore, so she zoned herself out by just staring at him, and was surprised when his eyes fluttered open. The quietness around the room expanded like one loud heartbeat as their gazes met. Something strange unfurled inside her chest, and she forced herself to look away because she wasn't sure if she was ready to dig into her feelings yet.

Both of them didn't speak and she wondered if he felt it too – the small charge that went on the brink of exploding every time they caught a glance. There was so much left unspoken between them, and yet they kept being attracted to one another like magnets.

Unable to keep quiet, she said, "My shoes. You kept them."

Sasuke's face flashed a gamut of expressions in the blink of an eye before shuttering off. "What shoes?" he asked.

She'd caught just enough of the fleeting surprise and recognition on his face to tell that he was lying. He knew. He knew exactly what she was talking about. Still, she humored him. "You know which ones."

He said nothing, not meeting her gaze.

Maybe, she thought, he was just as confused and struggling as she was.

She sighed, incapable of keeping quiet anymore. "Sasuke, I need to tell you something."

Warily, he looked at her.

Mouth dry, she felt the truth rise up to her lips. "I made a deal with the Oyabun. I will – do as he says, for now. I will take out as many organs as he wants me to if I can get Sarada and myself out."

With each word passing through her lips, his expression seemed to become darker and darker until it was absolutely thunderous. She could tell that he was silently fuming, and rushed to help him as he struggled to sit up. It hurt her feelings when he swatted her away, but she refused to examine that right now because Sasuke was looking at her with such unbridled anger that it robbed her of breath. The way he looked at her reminded her of the first few months of their acquaintance, when he'd felt nothing but stark hatred for her. But she held his gaze because she was confident that she'd made the right choice. The way Madara had threatened the people she held dear had only solidified it.

"Why?" he asked her darkly, furiously.

She felt miserable as she said, "What else was I supposed to do, Sasuke? Look what he did to you!"

She knew that he had no response to that because she saw his eyes narrow and his throat bob with things – probably hateful ones – to spew, but he couldn't. Not now. Because he, too, knew that eventually, she'd have to cave and that was the only way to survive for them.

Sakura didn't want to fight with him. She wanted to lean on him. And maybe the only way she could do that emotionally was if she did it physically first. So she crawled to his right side, and tentatively, with only half of her weight, leaned on him. Head on his shoulder, she reminded him wearily, "You know that's the only way no one else gets hurt. You told me to survive. I can't do that while flouting the rules anymore. What if he tries to do the same thing to the Sarada?"

Sakura could feel the tenseness of his body underneath her lean. For the longest while, he stayed stiffly by her side. He didn't say anything. He didn't even twitch. And after a while, the silence began to crack at her nerves, so she lifted her head to look at him. She was surprised to see how tortured his expression looked, and she knew it was because he knew that the Oyabun was not above that.

But now, she was also wise enough to understand that there was no point being angry at the world for what had already happened. She just had to keep her head high and wade through the pile of shit that was already surrounding her. So she held herself with as much dignity as she could.

"Why are you so calm about this?" he asked eventually, voice sounding rough at the edges.

Evenly, she asked, "What else can I do?"

Once again, his gaze turned from desperate to stormy, as if he was angry that she wasn't being angry. She almost scoffed at the irony of the situation, but didn't. In the end, she just resumed her light lean on his good shoulder and let out a deep, cold sigh.

Silence prevailed again. It was thick with so many unsaid words and so many repressed emotions.

At the end, defeated, he said, "I kept them because I couldn't throw them away."

"Why?" she asked again, and he shrugged, which made her curious enough to lift her head and look at him again.

He looked bewildered and frustrated with himself as he said, "I don't know, Sakura. I don't know."

She nodded, because she didn't know either.


It took Sasuke a long time to soften under the weight of her body. He was almost reluctant to do so, because the anger was still coursing through him. The animal part of him wanted to rage at her, but the saner part of himself that he was only just uncovering was telling him not to dance that dance again. After all, hadn't they already played that game, anger versus anger, for the better part of their relationship?

Where had it gotten them? Nowhere.

But deep inside his chest buried beneath the anger was a distant sort of horror that was echoing through the very marrow of his bones. Sakura, whom he was starting to associate with every good thing in his life, was going to be made to do unspeakable things. Terrible things. Things he was ashamed to even admit that his family was capable of.

Would that change the way he thought about her? Would that change the way he was starting to feel about her?

Almost involuntarily, he pulled away from her, only to stare at the haggard, worried lines on her face. She'd lost so much of herself, so much of her light, and so much of her soul because of him and his idiotic lack of foresight and his inability to think past his emotions. It disgusted him, and he found his face twisting, which she must have misread because she recoiled quickly from him.

A small beat passed in loaded silence where they both simply stared at one another. It gave him just enough time to read the split-second insecurity in her face before she started to pull away from him. But he was ready this time. He didn't want any more misunderstandings – no more miscommunication, no more anger, no more pulling away, no more saying things in the heat of the moment that he'd regret later. He simply reached out and grabbed her hand. It was small and warm. It gave him just enough leverage to pull her towards him again, so that they were close, so close, too close –

"I'm sorry," he told her, anguished and repentant. "I'm sorry that you must – "

"I know," she whispered, leaning her forehead against his, expression softening, understanding, shifting her hand in his so that their fingers twined. "I'll get out," she promised him.

And he didn't know how to say the words yet, but he knew that he'd help her.


Tbc


This story was a lot shorter inside my head.