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 preggo with his baby?" SasuSaku. AU.

Dum spiro, spero.

Used to be, that having children was next to collecting the world's finest collection of china in Haruno Sakura's list of things to do. Maybe she'd been sniffing rosin, holed up in her ivory tower of medical accomplishments, but this sure was a like a sucker punch to the gut.

So she sat there on the edge of the tub, and ran a shaky hand through her hair. It caught on a lot of tangles, almost chipped the edge of her index fingernail, and yet she barely noticed. In a daze she stared at the two small lines; let her hand tremble and only in a split second, made a decision that should have probably been thought through a little bit more.

She emptied out a shopping bag and stuffed all five of the tests in it, then shoved them in the elastic of her pajama bottoms and hurried out. If it was anything that being a doctor had taught her, it was that when the unexpected happened, one must always have a plan B right behind the original idea. Improvising on the spot usually meant that you were taking one hell of a gamble with fate.

She was never one for gambling.

Those who live by the sword, get shot by those who don't. It was one of the foremost rules of the Uchiha-rengo, and Uchiha Sasuke liked to think that by carrying both a gun and a katana, he was one step ahead of fate.

He should have known. Nothing was foolproof for a sufficiently talented fool.

Long ago, when Konoha had been nothing but a well-trodden forest at the foot of a sufficiently steep hill; there had been the Uchiha and the Senju. And if the Uchiha were yin, then the Senju were yang; oil and water, all the tired clichés of every object possessing its opposite.

The well-trodden forest at the foot of a sufficiently steep hill had gradually morphed into a small commerce town on the edge of a valley; trade had attracted those who lived the sedentary lifestyle, and over time, the edges demarcating the small town had turned into a village.

And like every settlement, the village of Konoha, underneath its sunny façade, and legitimate business, hid a seedy underbelly riddled with the sores of turf wars, prostitution rings and tax frauds.

Almost a hundred years later, it continued still; the patriarchal hierarchy of two families trying to destroy the other; and in the midst of it all, Uchiha Sasuke; twenty-eight, with a questionable moral compass and a drive to be the best.

Two months ago, had been the most jubilant day of Sakura's life. What did it feel like, to finally realize a life long dream; to have the weight of one's own expectations delivered from their shoulders; she had finally known. Five years of med school; six years of residency hell, and she'd done it. She was Dr. Haruno Sakura; aiming high and going higher.

"Let us celebrate this auspicious ending," Ino had deadpanned.

"You mean, beginning, right?" she had corrected drily.

"Potay-to, pota-to," Ino had batted it off with a wave of her perfectly manicured hand. Once upon a time, Ino had delved into medicine with a single-minded ambition to slay the world and rule it; but then, reality had reared its ugly head; never ending shifts, blood, gore, death and competition. Two years later, she'd gotten hired by a modeling agency, and never once looked back.

So, off they'd gone; celebrating the end of a decade, and the start of an age. And thus, had been the beginning of the end.

Ino's idea of celebration was, had and always been consuming an inadequate amount of alcohol and letting it go on the dance floor. Sakura had followed suit, for once, disregarding the embarrassment of a banana-bag she'd have to haul at the hospital the next day.

And on the verge of pushing her way into the tightly packed masses of humanity, she'd felt that distinct feeling of being observed, like someone was boring a small, sacred fire in the back of her neck. She'd whirled around and there he'd been; tall and lithe and regarding her with faint impatience; and Sakura, who had always prided herself on being a rational, sensible human being had been struck dumb—like she'd known him from somewhere before, like the wind, she'd fanned the contours of his flames. For even from such a distance, she could tell that his eyes were the color of midnight sky; dark hair fell over his gaze as he blinked, and lifted his chin upward in her direction. The action had surprised her, though she hadn't known why. With smooth features, a jaw wrought tight, an expression borne of indifference, and a stance that spoke of uncaring confidence, he'd reminded her of stone. Hard and cold. Beautiful ice, maybe.

Like a moth to a flame, she'd been attracted to him.

Oyabun Madara had two right hand men; Wakagashira Izuna Uchiha and Shateigashira Fugaku Uchiha. Under them, were the Shatei and the Nine Fingers of the Red Moon; the Akatsuki—the Kuromaku. For as long as he could remember, Uchiha Sasuke had been dealt out the short end of the stick; a Shatei for the sake of being a Shatei, in the perpetual shadow of his brother's odd pacifist tendencies, so much so, that he'd taken to fleeing. At seventeen he'd convinced his father to let him study abroad with the barest intention of ever coming back, until Itachi had given him a long winded speech that had made his heart waver.

"Your first family is your blood family," Itachi had said with the calm of the night sky, "and you always be true to that. That means something. But there's another family and that's the kind you go out and find. Maybe even by accident, sometimes. And they're as much blood as your first family. Maybe more so, because they don't have to look out for you and they don't have to love you. They choose to."

Sasuke was sure his older brother felt so strongly was because Itachi hadn't chosen his own path in life. Instead, he'd been thrust into the role of an intimidating business man and golden child since an early age.

But Sasuke had chosen this life; of his own volition. The only family he'd known was the Uchiha-rengo, and no matter how much he'd tried to take the Uchiha out of his blood, he'd never succeeded. Home was his mother's bright, beautiful smile and the seedy underbelly of the boryokudo empire.

Leaving Japan, going to the States for studies, had been Sasuke's rebellion, his escape from what others so blithely accepted as his fate. He would not, as he'd told his father once, be the passive pawn in the chess game of his own destiny.

He would make his own.

And yet six years later, that was exactly what he was; a passive pawn.

Kasai was a Kigyo Shatei disguised as a Mizushobai. Behind the legitimacy of club activities, ran an illegal train of drug-dealing and loan-sharking; and once in a while, a booming one-night business of Kakuseizai. All of this, under the watchful eye of Uchiha Sasuke.

While Itachi now served under the capacity of a Saiko-komon, Sasuke was still very much a made-man. It never failed to grate on his nerves, and once in a while, when he oversaw the boryukodo meeting's he liked to lament his destiny.

Standing in brooding silence at the windows of his office, the tall, dark man gazed at the panorama of twinkling lights fanning across the dance floor. Bitterness and resignation were evident in Sasuke's abrupt movements as he jerked the knot of his tie loose, then raised the shot of sake to his mouth, drinking deeply. The most recent batch of Kakuseizai had been apprehended by the police, and Madara was not happy. The only people who knew the travel routes of the van were very near and dear to the operation itself, which meant it had been an inside job.

In angry frustration, he raked his hands through his hair.

Behind him, someone strode quickly in the dimly lit room. "Uchiha-dono, It's time for the inspection."

"Aa," he said. Then turning from the windows, leaned against the frame. For a moment, he stared at the remaining Sake in the glass, then tipped it up to his mouth and drained it.

He needed a distraction. And as he strode around the bar, checking in on business, a distraction he found. Pink, he thought, almost taken aback. Her hair was the pink of cherry-blossoms in bloom and when she turned around, he could see that her eyes were the green of sea-foam bubbling at the shore. If he were anyone else, his breath would've caught.

Their eyes held for a long moment, the green ones glassy and flustered beneath the probing of black. And then she was coming towards him and he knew he'd found his out for the night.

God he was beautiful, Sakura remembered thinking through the haze of alcohol. She remembered sitting beside him on the bar stool, ordering herself a margarita and nibbling at the sugar on the rim. She remembered his deep, probing gaze and the fire palpitating through her veins. She remembered him never speaking a word until she'd thought she'd made a mistake. She remembered his deep, throaty voice, the way it dragged out certain words, as he'd said, "Where are you going? It's still early."

She'd finally looked him in the eyes, up close then. "I know, but I have to leave. I turn into a pumpkin at midnight."

She still remembered the tiny tingle that had tricked down her spine, as a corner of his lip had tugged upward. "Your chariot turns into a pumpkin," he'd countered. "And your dress changes to rags."

"Planned obsolescence and poor workmanship, even in Cinderella's time," she'd sighed in mock disgust.

"Clever girl," he'd praised.

"Patriarchal bullshit," she'd countered, a grin working onto her lips.

The next thing she knew, they were riding up the elevator, the barely restrained sexual tension an entity of its own. She remembered studying the mobile line of his lips when they quirked suddenly, in a smirk. Her gaze had shot up, and to her utter horror she'd discovered his eyes studying her.

Caught in the act of staring—and practically drooling over him, Sakura had said the first thing that had came to her mind. "I—I'm scared of elevators," she'd improvised madly. "I try to concentrate on something else to, er, keep my mind off the height.

"Right," he'd remarked, but his teasing tone had made it obvious he was applauding not her sensible solution to her clearly false phobia, but rather her ingenuity in inventing such a plausible lie.

The elevator had opened up in an apartment and she'd barely had time to take in her surroundings before he was kissing her. His hot mouth claiming hers as he undid the buttons of her jacket and flung it open. His fingers were under her shirt instantly, gliding over her belly and sliding upward.

The cup of her bra was tugged out of the way as his hand closed over her breast, pressing her back into the wall. He broke the kiss and his other hand came up to her lips, tracing his thumb over the seam of her mouth. "I'm going to fuck you here," he'd whispered against her lips, while his fingers skimmed to waistband of her skirt and, unabashedly slid into her panties, all the way to her burning center, "And here. And—," his fingers had skimmed a little further and her breath had started coming out in short, bursting gasps, "If you would allow me; here."

She'd whimpered.

The heat of his body had pulled back, and the expression on his face had been one of unmitigated desire. His hands had balled into a fistful of her skirt as he'd pushed it up and sank to his knees. Cool air had hit her thighs and she'd held the skirt up for him. His fingers had hooked under one side of her panties, dragging them all the way down to her ankles. She'd stepped out of them eagerly.

She'd moaned as his fingers had parted her, and she'd bit her bottom lip when he'd leaned forward and licked her. His tongue had stroked and massaged her clit, and her hands had clenched her skirt tighter, straining against the fabric. Heat had swelled and expanded in her chest, strangling her breath. He'd slipped a finger inside her and she'd gasped out her pleasure.

"Find something to hang on to," he'd ordered. She'd almost laughed, but then he'd nipped her thigh and licked all the way to the center of her core. He'd kissed her there with the same intensity she'd observed in his eyes down at the bar. She'd reached blindly over her head, trying to find anything to hold, but all she could find was the cool smoothness of the wall—and then he gripped her thighs and parted them even farther as he drew his tongue down her center. It was as if he was determined to explore every inch of her, his hands holding her in place. He circled her clit once, twice, a third time, drawing sounds from her that she hadn't been aware she was capable of making; helpless whimpers and sharp cries, and through it all, a demand for more.

She hadn't realized she'd said the word out loud, until he drew back, nipping as he went and said, "Not yet."

Then he'd sucked her clit into his mouth, rolling the sensitive bundle of nerves between his lips and tongue. Her body had went tight, unbelievable pleasure spiking through her again and again, drawn out by his mouth. It was only when her cries had quieted and her body's reaction had dimmed to a mere tremble that he gave her one last kiss and raised his head.

Silently, he'd supported her weight and led her to the bedroom.

The morning after had been a sordid affair.

Sakura had opened one eye and immediately closed it again, having felt a stabbing pain through her head that had indicated more sleep was necessary. Except that she couldn't have slept any longer. She couldn't have slept any longer because something had been wrong. Just what that something was, she couldn't exactly put her finger on—not without opening an eye again, and she was very reluctant to do that, given the pounding that had shot through her head the first time.

Still, she'd known. Something hadn't been right. Something had been, in fact, very wrong. She had not thought, for some reason, that she was back in her own bed in the cozy little apartment she shared with Ino. For one thing, her room back home was painted in soothing blues and creams. She hadn't seen any of those colors when she'd cracked her eye open. Instead, she'd had a disconcerting glimpse of wood paneling.

She had wondered briefly if she were in her parents' basement.

And another thing; she'd been fairly certain she hadn't been alone. She had never, not once during her residency, invited anyone over to her apartment. So she'd wondered whose arm was under her head—because there had definitely been an arm under her head. Which, to her sleep addled mind hadn't made the least bit of sense. Sakura had never in her life had a one-night stand, or even allowed herself to be picked up at the bar. She was, simply, not that type of a girl. And she'd hadn't had a boyfriend in a long, long time. Her commitment to her job had never allowed her such luxuries.

So she'd wondered what she was doing in bed with a very male arm draped across her chest, lightly cupping her breast.

And then memory had come flooding back, and Sakura had realized where she was, what she had been doing there, and who that hand had belonged to. She'd swallowed thickly, and after barely thirty seconds of careful consideration, slowly, painfully extricated herself from the stranger. Under the covers she was completely naked, and there had been a delicious pain between her legs. It had taken an effort of sheer will for her to draw herself from the warm bed in the almost serene quietness of the room. Even then, it wasn't until she'd splashed her face with ice cold water that her brain had begun to function.

In a daze, she slipped back in the room and picked her clothes from all over the room while the stranger slept then she'd tip toed back to the bath room, slipped on her things and talked herself out of a panic attack. She'd slept with a stranger. She'd slept with a complete, utter stranger, she remembered thinking distantly. Mutely, she'd picked a small comb from the edge of the vanity and brushed hair until the burnished strawberry and gold strands framed her face and tumbled in waves across her shoulders.

Then she'd leaned against the sink and tried not heave. Her stomach had churned like the innards of an ape, and she'd suffered a head ache of such terrifying ferocity it had been as if there was a metal brace grinding into her skull.

She'd cursed Ino profusely.

After taking quite a few deep, calming breaths, she'd found the courage to step back into the room. She'd just get to the elevator and book it the hell out of there, she'd thought.

Except, he'd been awake, sitting up in bed; gorgeous and tempting. In the semi dark of the room, the planes of his face stood out even more. Her legs had trembled. "Um, hi," she'd blurted, looking anywhere but at him.

The long wall on the right was glass from ceiling to floor, and even with half the drapes closed, provided an uninterrupted view of downtown Konoha in all its old world charm as it fanned out for endless miles in the distance below. The three remaining walls were paneled in satiny rosewood and her shoes were nowhere to be found.

The stranger regarded her groggily. But unfortunately, not groggily enough. He had been awake enough to observe. "Leaving?"

She'd straightened up, then. "Yes," she'd said, then let her mouth run loose, "I mean, you're very—um, gorgeous and I had a great night, and all, but—I don't usually do this kind of thing?" Independent of her brain, her mouth had continued to run, "Anyway, I've never had to do the walk of shame before and, um, I'd really like to stay and talk things out, but I think I'm going to be late—and stuff," she'd finished lamely, forgetting all about her shoes and slowly inching towards the door. He might've said something, had she not been so frantic to run.

And run she had, booked it the hell out of there; taken the lift to the club lobby and ran out the front door like her life depended on it.

All without her shoes.

So now, after two months, she drove her car to that godforsaken club and asked herself for the millionth time, How did I let this happen?

She had always prided herself on her restraint; her sensible approach at life, and yet one night courtesy of an alcohol addled mind and a gorgeous man was all it took to throw it down the drain.

She braked the car to a jarring stop beside the club, grabbed the shopping bag full of pregnancy tests and hurried up the wide flagstone walk to the lobby, feeling very stupid and very weepy.

What am I even going to say, she thought morosely and stopped with her palm on the handle of the door. And it was as she stood there, barely holding on to the tethers of her sanity that she caught the Kanban. It wasn't as blatantly showey as the ones the Senju's liked to use, so she could only assume this one belonged to the Uchiha-rengo.

A cold vortex seemed to form within Sakura's abdomen, as the full weight of that little sign settled upon her chest. A man who lived in same building the club was in. No, she thought. Slowly, as if moving through mollasis, she pushed open the door. In the cold hard light of the day, the lobby was almost fashionably sterile, with not a soul in sight. The door where the bouncer usually let people in was unmanned and Sakura pushed inside, hoping, praying and wishing beyond reason that she was wrong. Only a few steps in, and she recognized the back of his head, sitting at the bar with a bunch of corporate honchos.

She felt like stone as she stared that the set of his shoulders, and her gaze wandered to someone at his side; Uchiha Itachi, the very well known, right hand man to the Uchiha Oyabun. Numbly, she started at him, not comprehending what her brain was seeing. God, she thought, she'd slept with an heir of an organized crime ring and now she was pregnant with his baby.

The panic that had been slowly boiling in her chest since that morning finally started bubbling over. Oh god, if she told him and if he believed her, her child was going be an automatic heir of a crime syndicate. There would be blood and murder and—and prostitution rings and whatnot and she'd die before she let that happen. Slowly, she started backing up and right then, she saw his profile; he was striking. And there was a nobility to his bearing that, she thought, had a lot to do with his bloodline.

Uchiha. The name roared in her ears and pounded in her brain. A silent lament of denial rose in her throat as she ran towards her car, cutting off her breath. Her child was Uchiha. She slammed the door to the car and let out a terrified exhale. She wasn't going to tell him. She was never going to tell him.

She was, she assured herself, doing the right thing.

She folded her arms on the steering wheel and burst into tears.

Ino had never, not once in the course of her friendship with Sakura seen her break like she was breaking now. Clutching her close, she was now buried in Ino's shoulder, and if the dampness on her sleeve was any indication she had no plans of stopping any time soon.

Not for the first time, she said, "It'll be okay."

Sakura didn't reply; only clutched her tighter. "My life feels like it's been through the shredder on extra-fine, totally destroy mode," she finally said in a thin, wet voice.

Ino wholeheartedly agreed. But she would never let Sakura know that. So instead, she said, "It will get better. I'll be there, and your mom and dad would be there, and I promise you, this baby will want for nothing."

"Ino, somewhere down the road, this baby is going to want to know who their father is. What will we do then?"

Ino didn't have the answer for that. "Well cross that bridge when we come to it," she said, and gently pried Sakura off herself, "But right now," she added sternly, "I need you to stop crying and wallowing. When things go wrong in life, you lift your chin and you gut that bitch. And this baby is anything but wrong."

And she hoped like hell she was right about it.

tbc

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