*English
*Japanese

MOMENTS IN BETWEEN

CHAPTER ONE

Get the Hell Off My Couch, You Loser

It was the third week since he'd showed up half dead behind my house that I finally put my foot down.

"You need to stop sulking," I said flatly, standing beside the couch, crossing my arms over my chest, completely devoid of compassion at this point. "It's not natural."

Switching his attention away from the television documentary he'd been listlessly absorbed in, he glowered at me as though I was something disgusting the cat had dragged in from outside. He was quite good at that, I noted. As it was, I might as well have said nothing at all because his eyes averted right back to the documentary again. Though Madara Uchiha's collection of talents was certainly impressive, English, I had learned, was unfortunately not one of them. Therefore, I had kindly adjusted the captions setting on the TV to Japanese, and introduced him to Netflix the previous week when I considered the fact that he might feel better knowing a little more about the world he'd unexpectedly ended up stuck in. I sorely regretted that decision now, as his attempts to return home slowly dwindled, and he began sinking further and further into what more or less resembled a deep, debilitating depression. The television merely gave him a better excuse to sit around and wallow in self-pity all day long…

It was one of Madara Uchiha's many personality flaws, I noted with a resigned sort of acknowledgement. He had stubbornness and determination in spades, but if a solution didn't present itself easily right away…he had a tendency to give up all hope. This I knew well, as an avid follower of the manga during my teenage years. However, seeing it happen first hand was…more than a little disappointing. I'd stopped pitying him at some point. And though I still had enough sympathy for his sorry situation not to kick him out of my house, if he was determined to sprout roots and attach himself to my couch, I refused to dance around him on tiptoes carrying a watering can… Not only that, but I knew once he gave up completely, he'd do something drastic, and that didn't bode well for my life expectancy.

Was I unnerved by the fact that he could probably murder me with his pinky finger without even trying? Let's just say the idea had crossed my mind more than once, and I had a harder time falling asleep at night. But this couldn't go on, I decided. The novelty of the fact that somewhere out in the multiverse existed a dimension of magic ninjas was finally starting to wear off, and despite the elation I felt about the implications of all my childhood heroes being real, the grump on my couch simply had to go. Even if I was anxious about directly confronting him, I was not going to let Madara-fucking-Uchiha become a permanent fixture in my living room.

Walking around the couch until I was effectively blocking his vision from the television entirely, I made a valiant effort to withstand his undivided death glare, and ordered, "Get up."

I had been glad for my high school level Japanese in the past few weeks I'd been acquainted with the unpleasant man. I wasn't fluent, by far, and any conversations we shared were stilted and convoluted with my butchered accent and his odd dialect, but with some effort and some half-reliable electronic assistance from the Google Translate app, I was able to get across the general understanding that I was trying to help. From what I understood, he wasn't too happy about that, but seemed resigned to it now, nevertheless.

The real fun started when he asked me what my clearly nefarious and non-altruistic motives were (the paranoid bastard)…

Explaining about Naruto the manga/anime wasn't easy, and I still doubted he understood it, as he refused to indulge me and my so-called 'childish whims' in watching or reading the damn thing. He described the future Konoha as 'too stupid to actually exist,' and wouldn't acknowledge it—or, to be more specific, the utter failure of his plans as a whole—as fact. Which I could understand to some extent. His defeat was a rather humiliating one, to say the least… It got to the point where I didn't even try bothering with it again. When it came down to it, I merely told him the truth: That since I'd found him on my property, I felt responsible for his wellbeing and I was determined to see him home. He'd gone real quiet after that and hadn't initiated a conversation with me beyond which was absolutely necessary since. (And maybe a muttered 'thank you' for meals every once in a blue moon, which always shocked me into dropping whatever I was holding at the time. At this point, I think he was doing it to spite me).

Of course, there was that, and he kept giving me weird looks every time he thought I wouldn't notice…

And then there were the flat out murderous glares.

Like now.

He stood up threateningly, towering over me with a forbidding look on his face that just dared me to speak.

"What do you want, woman?"

"Follow me," I directed with perhaps more courage than I might have felt. And without waiting to see if he would do it, I turned on my heel and stalked brusquely out the back door.

His steps were, of course, completely soundless, and were it not for the fact that he had one of those indomitable presences that are impossible to ignore, I wouldn't have known if he had decided to accompany me or not. That was until he was suddenly right beside me, anyway. The novelty of that had worn off very fast—I'll tell you that right now. Just like his seldom 'thank you's, the appearing out of nowhere thing was really beginning to take a toll on my coffee mugs. Don't even get me started on the time I was trying to change a light bulb. I still hadn't forgiven him for that incident.

And now here he was, casting me a side-eyed glare that said something along the lines of 'you-better-make-this-worth-my-time-or-else' like he was as important as the fucking president or something… In response, I resisted the urge to make an unattractive face at him and merely concentrated on not tripping on the uneven game trail and faceplanting in the small copse of woods by my house. That in mind, it was a good thing we were less than five minutes in when I came upon the clearing I wanted to show him.

Tugging on his sleeve, ignoring the irritated look he gave me for it, I led him over to a patch of singed ground, gesturing towards it animatedly, saying, "This where I find, Madara. Big, BIG chakra explode—I feel it from my house and then run to look. I thought bad people come to kill everyone. Terrible, right?" My hands moved quickly as I talked, explaining as best I could in my broken Japanese while he eyed me with a speculative look, as if seeing me clearly for the first time. "Only time ever I have this feeling of chakra. Very strange. Kina scary." I pointed out the distinct outline of a body, like some kind of scorched and burnt chalk outline at a crime scene, and with a determine expression, I continued, "Here. You see this?"

"Why would you charge towards the enemy if you thought they had come to kill everyone?" he muttered at me with a frown as he knelt to examine the spot critically. "Are you stupid? Mentally challenged? How can you still be alive after all this time…?"

Rolling my eyes and feeling a bit disturbed at a sudden comparison, I muttered back, "Geez, you sound like my mom… Scary."

He only snorted derisively in response, more focused on the ground than he was on me.

I felt a spark of elation when I could visibly see some of the light return to his eyes. Even with all I knew about the man, about the sort of person he would become, or maybe because of it, I was disturbed to find him so down and out of sorts. It just didn't seem right. The strangeness of a fictional character—the would-be big bad, no less—walking around my house like he owned the place was one thing. But the moping, and the brooding? It almost would've made me feel better if he was trying to kill me, or doing something more Madara-ish, like trying to take over the world. Then again, it's not like he cared about what happened to this world. Come to think about it, maybe that was the root of the problem.

In contrast to all of that, a jolt of pure excitement zapped through me as I felt a subtle surge of chakra. It was so strange. The only time I'd ever felt something similar was at my uncle's wedding in Thailand. It baffled the mind, but somehow the nervous-natured man had fallen in love with a girl there on a business trip. And since then, she'd had him, and his money, wrapped around her little finger. That wasn't necessarily a bad thing though. Mauri, much like my grandma had been, was a strong-minded Buddhist woman, and frugality is a huge tenant of the religion. It was kind of funny, really. My uncle made enough money to live in a high-rise penthouse in New York City, but instead, they lived in a tiny apartment in Bangkok with their three kids; and they all slept in the same bed.

How that was even possible, I have no idea.

I don't think I want to either.

As for the wedding itself, however, they flew the whole family out from the states. Talk about cha-ching, cha-ching. Plus, nine monks presided over their ceremony. Nine. A lot of Monks live on donations for the most part from what I understand, but I doubt they work for free. Priorities, right? And when they started chanting, that's when things started to get weird. It was the strangest feeling. Even when I closed my eyes, it was as if I could see them up there on the dais in a hundred different colors—weak on their own but, chanting, chanting, something I couldn't understand; I didn't think I ever would. I'd passed it off as a bizarre religious experience back then and tried not to think of it much, because religion made me feel uncomfortable. But then Madara exploded out of nowhere—blowing everything that happened with the monks, and everything until then, right up to high heaven—and I finally realized that discomfort for what it was.

Chakra.

It was real.

When I watched Madara's eyes turn to sharingan red, I realized I'd never get tired of seeing that in real life. Idly, I wondered if I'd ever manage to pin him down and get him to show it to me in detail one day. Or maybe that was an incredibly terrible, no-good, very bad idea, and it was just my stupidity talking again… I suppose I'd just have to make due with catching glimpses of it in the seldom times he made use of it in my presence, such as now, as he examined the place he had come into this dimension. For residual chakra signatures, maybe? I knew the sharingan could do some pretty damn amazing things, but to see traces of energy lingering from weeks ago? Really? I wasn't too sure…

I watched his thorough examination of the area from a respectful distance until he met me back at the outline of his form on the ground, and I asked, "Learn any things useful? Help Madara get home?"

He pinned me with an inscrutable look for a moment, as if contemplating how to react to me before I watched the sharingan fade, and with it…the light seeped from his eyes once again.

"…No," he muttered, thwarted all over again, it appeared.

My gut twisted, watching him lose hope so easily again, and I sighed. Then I looked up at him with determination in the set of my jaw. Maybe he was willing to give up at the drop of a hat, but I certainly wasn't.

"Come," I said, decisively grabbing his hand and leading him back towards the house, ignoring the odd look he gave me at the action. "I not let you give up and be sad anymore. I help you, okay?"

"And how do you propose to do that?" He let out a cynical bark of laughter, irately snatching his hand away, and demanded, "If someone of my caliber can't work out what brought me here, what in the world makes you think you can?"

I shot him an assessing look, trying to work out the bevy of unfamiliar words and assemble them into something that made sense to me. It took me a minute, and I didn't get all of it—though the derisive tone of voice spoke more than just words—but I managed to catch the gist of it. The corner of my lip pulled up into a determined smirk that seemed to disarm him.

With a wink, I assured, "I have idea. Trust me."

He gave me an incredulous look that quickly formed into something resembling suspicious apprehension. "Every time Hashirama said that, something horrible happened shortly afterwards…"

I rolled my eyes.

"I look like Hashirama to you?" Slowly, he began to return my smirk and I smacked him on the arm. "Don't answer that. I only want to hit you harder."

Amused, he pointed out, "You couldn't hurt me if you tried."

I merely growled at him without a word due to my unfortunate lack of vocabulary, which actually made him laugh. I was glad that he didn't seem as depressed, even if it was at my own expense. I had to admit, one proactive side effect of him being stranded here was that my Japanese was improving in leaps and bounds. Listening and understanding was easier, of course, than speaking. But being forced to initiate communication under stressful circumstances—he'd just about decapitated me when he woke up in the unfamiliar surroundings of my home—was a great motivator for learning.

Fun fact: there are a few ways to learn things, which include learning through watching, learning through listening, and learning through doing. Each person has a preference—a way that works best for them—or a usual combination of all three. However, I'd recently discovered a fourth method that involved learning by trying to save your own ass. It just figured this was the method that worked best for me…

When I shut the sliding door to the back porch behind us, I dragged him down the hall and into my office. I then proceeded to motion him over to my desk and sat him down in the wheely chair in front of the computer. Next, I reached for the mouse, watching the screen closely from over his shoulder as I accessed the chrome browser with a quick series of clicks.

He was ominously silent for a long moment, and I attributed that to the vast dislike of having someone stand close behind him, until he asked, "What is this thing? I've seen you working on it for hours at a time."

"This thing?" I repeated, looking at him in surprise. "The computer? Oh, right. You not have this in your world yet. No internet either. Poor ninjas. Too much secrets is bad thing for business, you know." With a distracted shrug as I accessed the Naruto wiki, I murmured the familiar phrase, "It can't be helped, I guess…"

"That didn't answer my question," he pointed out, unimpressed by my evasive answer.

"Umm…" I frowned, trying to come up with the words necessary to explain. With my limited vocabulary, however, it was impossible to describe computers. "I need Google."

Madara rolled his eyes dramatically.

"You always need Google."

"I learning still," I grumbled with a defensive frown. "I try my best, you know. I let you stay at my house. Be nicer to me."

"I could leave if it's too troublesome for you," he suggested, his voice flat, edging on annoyed.

"Bad idea," I voiced my immediate rejection of that plan with a shake of my head. "People see you do jutsu and run screaming. The government track you down and cut you open or worse—make you into super-soldier or something. Nothing good. You not know how this world works."

"I've seen enough," he persisted, jerking a thumb at the television he loved so much.

"Not enough," I insisted, shaking my head again. "Not everything on TV is real. And you not see the worst things yet."

He laughed bitterly and glared at me over his shoulder, "Woman, this world is nothing. I've seen things you couldn't imagine in your worst nightmares…"

Meeting his eyes sternly, I did a quick YouTube search and brought up a documentary of Hiroshima and Nagasaki with Japanese testimonials and an in-depth explanation of an A-bomb, as well as a filmed test for said explosive device, and the implicative consequences of the world going nuclear.

At the end of another heart wrenching testimonial from a sobbing woman, I exited out of the tab and said merely, "Imagine that."

For once, he had no quick scathing response.

I returned to searching through the Naruto wiki pages, and had almost found the one I was looking for when he finally spoke up again.

"How is it…" he asked, "that this place can be so peaceful when forces like that exist in this world?"

Sighing, I muttered, "Difficult to explain… War has rules here. These rules not…" I paused searching for the words, face screwed up in frustration as I attempted to reassure him we probably weren't going to have a nuke dropped on our heads any time soon. But I didn't have the words to describe things like the Cold War between the US and Russia, an arms race, or the Geneva Convention. Already I regretted showing him that video… Sure, maybe I was trying to prove a point, but this conversation reminded me of when I tried to explain the same things to my teary-eyed younger brother, who was too little to be curious about such things. Shattering someone's world view always made me feel a little bit guilty… Finally I settled upon saying, "If rules are broken, bad things happen. You safe here, Madara." I grinned at him cheekily with a little mocking salute and said the same thing I said to my brother, "I protect you. Don't worry!"

It succeeded in wiping the serious look off his face, replaced with something decidedly unamused.

He muttered something scathing under his breath that sounded like, "Who's worried?" looking away sharply.

Grinning wider I leaned in closer and demurred a phrase I'd learned on the internet that was sure to aggravate him, "You're so cute when you're embarrassed, Madara-kun…"

The scandalized look he gave me for that one was priceless, and I burst out laughing. And it was totally worth it, even if I got a bruising knock on the head for it. Maybe I was scared of him when he was in a bad mood like earlier, but when he was like this, I think I could understand why Hashirama liked him so much.

"So mean!" I complained at him as I finally found the page I was looking for. "I try to be nice to you, and this happens. You be careful, or I not be so nice anymore, Madara." With a sly smile, I fibbed, "Maybe I not tell you my idea to get you home either…"

The tug on the collar of my tee-shirt shocked me enough that I dropped the mouse and almost fell into his lap as he brought my face close to his, enunciating very clearly, "Don't test me, woman."

Clearly, Madara had reached the end of his patience with me for today.

I held both hands up in surrender with a sheepish smile and the humble request of, "Please don't kill me, Madara-sama?"

At such close proximity, I was able to track the subtle movement of his eye twitching—just slightly.

A moment more and he released his grip on my collar with a disgusted expression. "Do you people not know how to use proper honorifics here?"

With a snort, I shook my head, "I never learn the right way. We not use honorifics in English."

"You're a barbarian…" he muttered, covering his face in exasperation.

"Ooh, that sound like fun word," I answered, not oblivious to the obvious insult in his voice, but for his sake, I pretended anyway. "What it means?"

He waved the question away dismissively with an irritated expression and ordered, "Just tell me your stupid idea…"

"Not stupid. Read." I pointed to the Naruto wiki page with an insistent finger. It wasn't really Wikipedia, but a Japanese otaku database that was very similar. And knowing the intense (read: borderline creepy) dedication of the Japanese otaku sub-culture, that meant this site was probably even better than the wiki. And Madara could read it. So that was a plus. My written education of the Japanese language had suffered immensely after I got out of high school, but I still knew enough to type in a couple of search tags. Namely…

"Kamui…?" Madara read aloud, eyeing the diagram of Obito's mangekyo sharingan with an incredulous expression.

"Yeah, it's gotta be," I slipped into English by mistake in my excitement. When Madara just gave me a flat look in response, I shook my head and explained, "Kamui is another technique of the mangekyo sharingan. It does many things, but the big one—here—look, look, read," I pointed out where I spotted the kanji characters for 'space-time.' "It explain giant chakra explosion I feel when you arrive, too. Strange though…kamui must 'syn-chro-nize' with other jutsu, like 'yo-mo-tsu kura—" I struggled a little on the next bit of kanji, "No, it's hira—'yomotsu hirasaka'…to switch realities." I managed to read it with some difficulty, shaking my head from the confusion, and I wondered, "What jutsu though…? Madara…" I looked at him with undisguised curiosity, "what happen to you?"

It wasn't the first time I'd pegged him with this line of questioning. But so far, he hadn't said a word about what had happened to him before he got here. I took it he either didn't remember or saw it as none of my business. After the first flat rebuff, I'd been reluctant to pursue the matter further and risk making him angry about it. But if it could give us some insight on sending him back…

Unable, or more likely unwilling to answer, Madara pretended not to have heard as his eyes widened slightly, following the lines of text, muttering, "This is… I've never heard of this technique—not from any of the clan elders…"

Puzzling out his mumbling, I interjected, "I think it for prodigies of the sharingan only—like you, and Obito but…in the manga, Madara not have kamui… Manga say you have to grab Obito's eye to use it." I tapped my chin thoughtfully. "…Maybe you activate it by mistake on your own?"

At the mention of the manga, Madara's expression became closed off and steely. "You're still going on about that children's book? Is that where this is coming from? What a waste of time."

He moved to stand and stalk off, and I think it was only surprise that had him falling back to his seat when I pushed down sharply on his shoulders, and demanded, "No. This time you listen to me, Madara Uchiha. I not stupid, even if I talk stupid sometimes, so listen good—" I grabbed a volume of manga off the shelf above my desk and slapped it down in front of him, flipping to the pages I needed like a woman possessed. Even Madara started looking a little unnerved. "Maybe future is not set—of course not, or Madara, you not be here in this world. I not know what happen to get you here, but even so…" I finally flipped to the page where two boys skipped stones together with carefree grins, and met the grownup version's tired, careworn eyes determinedly. "The past is something that can never change. Right?" I stabbed the page harshly with my finger, challenging him, "So read, then tell me if it's a lie."

He stared me down darkly, taking in my vehement expression before letting out a halfhearted sigh and grabbing the book ruefully, muttering, "I'll do it if it means you'll stop nattering on. I get no peace with you around, you stubborn woman…"

With my hands perched on my hips in disapproval and feeling a little vindictive, I answered, "Good. Maybe that mean you leave faster, you useless man."

To my surprise, he actually cracked a smirk at me and remarked, "You remind me of my grandmother."

Completely unprepared for that kind of response, I found myself gaping at him with a slackened jaw and I blurted out a befuddled, "What?"

He'd heard me say it enough times interchangeably with the Japanese 'nani?' by now to know what it meant though, and he chuckled as he leafed through the pages of his childhood meetings with Hashirama. "She used to talk like you do—to my father. She was the only woman he was ever frightened of."

Fascinated with this new information, I couldn't help but ask, "…Were you afraid too?"

Grinning roguishly as he turned another page, he answered, "Terrified." As his eyes scanned the inked panels, he recalled, "She used to chase my brothers and I around the stronghold like a demon when we made her angry. Gods help us if we ever got caught. Her mind was quite twisted when it came to punishments…"

Despite his words, he sounded quite fond of the woman.

"Aa, my grandma was crazy too…" I felt the need to share. Perching lightly on the arm of the chair and leaning on the back of it in a thoughtful motion, I recalled, "She used to throw big giant books at my cousin and me when we fighted." As an afterthought, I added, "I think you like her if you ever meet her in the afterlife."

"Did one of those books ever hit you in the head when you were young?" Madara asked, smirk becoming more lopsided by the minute.

Since he looked happier than I had seen him in days, reading about childhood misadventures, I decided to humor him, "Yeah, maybe that explain some things, ne?"

His smirk turned into a grin, and it made me that much happier to be the one who put it on his face…once again, at my own expense.

"You fought with your cousin a lot, I take it?"

I nodded, sending long brown hair flopping over my shoulders in my enthusiasm. "Yeah. Lots. He hates me now, I think."

For the first time in a while, he looked up and scrutinized me with a careful look. "…Why?"

"I don't know. Because I'm annoying, probably." I shouldered out a self-deprecating shrug. "He joined the Marines—elite soldiers, fighting on the other side of the world, just so he not have to look at my face anymore, haha…" After a thoughtful pause, I admitted, "It not like I did nothing to deserve it though. I was stupid, and made fun of him a lot—kina like I am with you." I grinned at him, then remarked a bit wistfully, "I really hope you don't hate me…"

He snorted, shaking his head.

"Elite soldiers? I doubt they're anything impressive if they're from this world. Don't compare me to them," he declared, snapping the manga shut with one hand. "As things stand now, maybe you're not entirely stupid. You were right, after all…" He slid the book back on the desk with a certain finality and confirmed, "The past doesn't lie. I remember those words…every last one of them."

Excited now, disregarding the fact that if there was one thing in this world Madara would be impressed by, it would probably be the Marines, I pointed out, "Then you agree, kamui maybe not a lie either?" At his thoughtful silence, I persisted, clicking on a gif of Obito disappearing into kamui's dimension. "You master kamui—you go home. Simple, ne?" At the slight sneer twisting his mouth, which I had since worked out was his version of uncertainty, I encouraged, "You Madara Uchiha. I know you can do it. You're a super-ninja-beast."

To my dismay, my heartfelt complement startled a mocking laugh out of him.

"I'm a what?"

Irritated, I bit out sarcastically, "A wizard. What else?"

Having watched the Japanese version of Harry Potter with me just the other day on a rare occasion of comradery, he burst out laughing.

Seeing him this genuinely happy for the first time really made me want to smile.

Then again, maybe it was impossible for someone like him to be truly happy.

I patted his shoulder which was still shuddering with laughter, quickly verging on the maniacal side, and I realized maybe even a super-ninja-beast like Madara Uchiha couldn't handle every situation with pure poise and a can-do attitude. If I was the one who randomly ended up in his world, I think I would've cracked long before three weeks were up… I shuddered to even think about it. No, it was more than likely I'd be dead if the circumstances were reversed…

I rubbed small, uncertain circles on his back, trying to go for comforting, and murmured, "Yeah, yeah. Everything will be fine. I know you can do it." Then, just to exacerbate the situation, I added, "Hey, so, 'Madara the Wizard' sounds kina cool, ne?"

After that, it was easy to make Madara smile.

Perhaps I should have been worried at how quickly it became one of my favorite things to do.

Yeah. So, our narrator is kind of a dork this time around, huh? She's a little like an iceberg though. Might look small and unthreatening at first, but there's a lot more hidden beneath the surface.

Anyway, this is my new drabbleish series. Chapters are loosely connected, and there will be an underlying plot…somewhere. Maybe. Possibly.

Tell me what you think!