A/N: Whew. So it's this difficult to write with your phone. I apologize in advance for any errors you might encounter in this chapter. Thank you very much for your support. I was quite surprised by the positive reception. Thank you, really. I've totally forgotten about the ever important disclaimer. Well, I'm including it now.
I don't own Naruto or its characters. That honor belongs to Masashi Kishimoto.
Un
Although his features were still as tranquil water, his eyebrows twitched in irritation at the scene unfolding before him.
The teacher, whom he estimated to be in his mid-thirties, was gazing at him expectantly, a goofy smile adorning his pink lips. "Why don't you introduce yourself, Uchiha-kun?"
Taking a marker, Madara scrawled his name on the whiteboard, impressing everybody, including the teacher with his neat, sure strokes. He then turned to the class. His mind was plotting at an alarmingly fast rate, and had already come up with fifty different ways of disposing of the pink-haired nuisance. Despite the murderous thoughts and graphic, gory images swimming in his head, he maintained an indifferent facade, observing his surroundings with a blank expression.
"Uchiha Madara. Hajimemashite."
What followed his toneless statement made him seriously consider availing an eardrum transplant. The cacophony threatened to blast a hole through his tympanic membrane, the most deafening among the sounds being the high-pitched squealing by the blushing girls. How he relished the thought of ripping their lungs out of their chests.
"Eh? You're not a girl? Why is your hair so long?" a boy rudely questioned.
"Red eyes, cool!" remarked another enthusiastic kid, whose jaw had literally dropped.
He held no dislike for children. Having been the eldest of five, he cared deeply for his younger siblings. He treasured each moment he had with them, no matter how brief or seemingly insignificant. If anything, he appreciated, cherished, and most of all, envied them—that offending innocence, the infuriating obtuseness, the sweet freedom of inexperience, all such annoying qualities shielded them, a protective barrier against the cruel truths of the world.
He calmly raised a brow at the snotty brats. It had nothing to do with the impudent remarks, certainly not. Appearances were for the shallow. The unmatched inquisitiveness simply reminded him of what he once had. Of what he had lost. Of his failure. And that infuriated him to no end.
"Try asking your mommy about the difference between male and female," Madara stated impassively. His eyes drifted across the entirety of the class, taking in the dull expressions carved into the each of the children's faces. "As for my red eyes, they are a rarity exclusive to the Uchiha clan," he continued.
Expressions of awe erupted through the classroom.
"How old are you?"
"Your hair's soo cool. You're like…super saiyan!"
"Ne, ne, Madara, what's your favorite subject?"
Fortunately, his sensei came to his rescue. The Uchiha was barely able to restrain his tongue from berating the silver-haired man for waiting too long to placate his unruly flock.
"All right, settle down, minna. You can talk to Madara-kun on recess and after class. Uh, Madara-kun, you can sit beside...Tsunade."
Madara walked over to the desk assigned to him, looking disinterestedly at the occupant of the one next to his. The girl wore a veil of white gold, which would have tumbled down her shoulders had it not been for the scrunchy restraining her mane. Her pearly whites were bared before him as she grinned widely, her soft brown eyes greeting him with warmth and glee, vaguely reminding him of someone.
She extended a pale hand. "I'm Senju Tsunade. It's nice to meet you, Madara-kun."
'Figures. Hashirama's offspring.' The ravenhead promptly accepted the handshake. "It's nice meeting you, too, Tsunade-chan."
The classes dragged on so painfully slow that he had been driven awfully close to counting the number of strands on his head. It was maddening. Had he been in the same age as his body, enduring this would still prove to be torture. His body, his now juvenile body.
He redirected all coherent thought to the conundrum he was faced with. Will his physical capabilities be limited to those of a mere boy? At least his conscious was intact. Or will that soon be taken as well, leaving him with a child's simplemindedness?
It was rather daunting, he found, having to perceive things from a much lower stature. He reckoned he wasn't even four feet tall.
"Let's eat together, ne, Madara-kun?" the Senju girl beamed at him, holding forward her pink lunchbox. Her lips were drawn into that toothy grin yet again. God, Hashirama just can't leave him alone, can he?
He acquiesced, smirking as he took out his own food. "I can't see why not."
Kudos to Sakura. She had managed to arrange a decent bento, pleasing both to the eyes and the palate. The side dishes were simmered to perfection, the meat impeccably succulent and tender. His tastebuds were swimming in euphoria with every bite. That was until he discovered the roe sitting atop the futomaki rolls.
Tsunade observed him curiously as he flicked away the accursed fish eggs using his chopsticks.
"I can't stand roe," he said curtly.
The girl let out a soft 'oh' before asking. "Mind if I have them instead?"
His brow rose for the second time today. He shrugged and presented his lunchbox to the other, who happily snatched up the roe. He cringed inwardly at the sickeningly sweet smile he was being subjected to. Damn you, Hashirama, he cursed silently.
The Senju lass was rather ravenous, he observed, her lack of finesse apparent in the serving after serving of rice and vegetables and animal protein she'd shoveled into her mouth. The hairs at his nape prickled in mild disgust. He was a tad traditional himself, and he thought it unbecoming of a woman—no, anyone—to be eating in such an unsightly manner.
A sneer almost escaped him as he began hearing choking sounds. "Care for some water, Tsunade-chan?"
ѻѺѻ
Sakura waited anxiously as the hours dwindled, nearing the end of her shift. Her mind wandered to the Uchiha stripling. He must have been worried sick, resting in the expanse of that empty house, alone and unsupervised. Or not. Madara has always made it a point to assert his independence. Yeah, that kid should be doing fine.
The Uchiha was not very pleased with the idea of attending school, she was well aware of that fact. He had insisted that it was unnecessary, if not absurd. 'I fail to understand why I am obliged to put up with such idiocy,' was his snarky response to the sudden development.
He was brilliant, without a doubt. Much too learned for his tender age. Although precociousness is normally a trait that parents take pride in, she could not but grow concerned. Geniuses, prodigies, and the like tend to be alienated, be it by the society, or they themselves. Madara was not one for socializing. That aloofness combined with flawless arrogance and dark humor that appeared to be hereditary in the Uchiha clan was the perfect recipe for seclusion. Without warning, images of a mad scientist cackling evilly in the dimmed confines of his laboratory on the night of a brutal thunderstorm flashed through her mind. Or a sadistic dictator with an army of killing machines ushering world domination.
The ridiculousness of her thoughts hit her like a slap to the face. What had she been thinking? The boy in question was very much like Sasuke during his childhood, cold and distant and unapproachable. She had called him a prick once. But her husband turned out fine, and with no semblance to the futures presented by those horrifying visions. There was no reason for Madara to not tread the same path, was there?
"I must be really tired," she sighed to herself as she unlocked the front door of the house.
The large space had always filled her with emptiness ever since Sasuke's passing, a representation of the void in her heart. She hated it.
There were times when she indulged in handicrafts—wooden puppets, knitted garments, and origami, to name a few—only to marvel at the disorderly state of her living space, to surround herself with the illusion of overcrowding. To dull the pain. To not feel alone.
For the first time, the vast blankness didn't feel desolate. Naturally, she couldn't shake the discomfort at the notion of replacing him. Never. Dead or alive, that man will forever hold her heart captive.
Seeing the boy peacefully slumbering on the couch tugged at her heartstrings, making a rush of happiness surge through her. 'I'm not alone,' she reassured herself.
The smile upon her lips broadened further when she noticed the post-it on the fridge door.
Sakura,
Eat. You can't subsist on those pathetic hospital meals stolen from soup kitchens.
Madara
P.S. Roe is unforgivable. I made that abundantly clear when we last talked about food.
"Who knew you could be sweet and thoughtful." She microwaved the refrigerated meal and boiled some water for tea. Tasting the young man's cooking, she felt proud and embarrassed at the same time. She suspected that his culinary skills were better than hers. What a failure of a mother she was being.
Oh, there it is again. Baka baka Sakura, deluding yourself like this. You are not his mother.
After clearing the table and finishing her bath, she poured herself another cup of tea and returned to the living room. She had not seen it earlier, but there were ink-filled sheets of paper littering the coffee table. The sketches were meticulous, very well-detailed—almost like hand-drawn blueprints. A number of sheets were marred with series of complex equations and chemical formulas, which stared back at her like runic inscriptions or an alphabet of some intellectually superior, extraterrestrial race.
She decided to leave it alone and focus on the dainty figure that was swallowed by the cushions. Madara lied fully on the couch, slim creamy legs sprawled across the furniture and arms simply resting at his sides. His soft eyelids concealed the blood red gems that were his eyes and his lips were slightly pouted forming a small 'o.' His current state was so angelic that Sakura would have never associated him with his default sarcastic, fiendish self.
Indecision set in as she debated whether or not to rouse him. She seated herself on the unoccupied portion of the couch, only to jolt out of it when the boy stirred and wrapped his fingers around her neck. She was pinned to the floor, causing the cup of tea to fly out of her hands.
"Identify yourself." His voice was demanding, as was his arctic gaze. His grip tightened, forcing the air out of her. The haziness gradually faded from his eyes, replaced by recognition. Only then did he release her. "Sakura."
Rendered speechless from shock, she could only calm her shallow breaths. Her eyes flitted from the now tea-soaked floor, to her own hands, and then to Madara's eyes. Never in her life had she been so terrified by someone's touch.
Madara uttered inaudible profanities. He blamed her for it. She shouldn't have sneaked up on him the way she had. But it occurred to the Uchiha that it wasn't her intention. Nevertheless, it was not completely uncalled for. For all he knew, it could very well have been him gasping for air. Or worse.
"I...I-I didn't mean to startle you. I'm sorry."
He stretched his arm to her, reaching but not quite touching. His fingers hovered above her skin, as though afraid that she might break or burst into flames from even the slightest contact. "No. I'm sorry."
How she loathed herself at that very moment. Heavily tormented the boy must have been to have such a reaction to the presence of the other. Perhaps he was a frequent recipient of death threats and assassination attempts. His extreme caution and apparent paranoia would not be entirely unreasonable. She took the outstretched hand into her own, squeezing it firmly. Her other hand darted forward to caress his unblemished cheek, thumb slowly tracing the curve of his chin.
"I can't claim to know what you have been going through, because, really, I don't. But know this, I'm willing to listen and understand. To help, if possible. I may not be your mother, and I may not have been with you from the very beginning, but I am here now. I will stay by your side, always, if need be."
His eyes widened momentarily before slamming shut and reverting to their original size. He lifted his free arm, latching his tiny hand onto her wrist and feeling the steady rhythm at her pulse. One of the sides of his mouth tilted skyward. "Doling out such oaths haphazardly...you might regret it someday, Sakura."
She pressed a finger to his lips. "It's way past bedtime. You still have school tomorrow, remember?"
Madara frowned at this. With a groan, he disentangled his limbs from hers, and rose to leave. He was suddenly yanked back, spinning on his toes and colliding with her softer womanly form.
Her embrace was warm and tight but not suffocating. "I'm here for you, Madara. I am and will always be."
"You're smothering me," he complained. He had never been one for prolonged skin-to-skin contact, finding affectionate touches and other such gestures overly dramatic and simply uncomfortable. Yet he made no attempt to move away from her.
Her hold slackened, but her arms were still snaked around him, still holding him close. Murmuring an apology, she leaned down and lightly pressed her lips to his forehead.
"Good night, Madara."
He stared at her for a few moments, eyes narrowing in suspicion. A smirk slowly graced his lips.
"Good night."
Fin.
I'm really sorry for messing up the Senju family tree. I'm just not familiar with Hashirama's children. I'm actually beginning to doubt their existence.
To answer your questions regarding Madara's age, yes he is a child in this story. Well, at the moment, anyway.
Please do drop reviews if you have the time.
Ciao.
-Pluie Mauve