Madara x Rachelle

Chapter: Four

When the woman left, Madara turned and went inside the church. How could he make that woman understand that he had to return? If he had died, It would mean he had left too much undone. What horror had befallen the people he'd left behind?

Madara had dropped to his knees on the cold stone floor and begun to meditate. Perhaps if he calmed himself and figure out a jutsu as strong as the witch's magic, he could overrule her power and return himself. But as he meditated, his mind raced. Phrases ran through his head: The woman is the key. You need to know. These words were what he heard over and over.

After a while he stopped and opened his mind to his thoughts. Witch or no, the woman had brought him forward, therefore only she had the power to return him to his own time. Yet, for all that she had brought him forward, she did not seem to have a use for him. Perhaps, Madara thought, she had not meant to call him forth. Perhaps she had great power, but knew not how to use it.

But, again, perhaps he had been pulled across time for some reason neither of them knew. So why had he come forward? he wondered. Was he to learn something? Was this witch to teach him something? Could it be possible that she was as innocent as she claimed to be?

Had she been weeping over some base lovers' quarrel, and, for some reason neither of them knew, she had conjured him forward to this dangerous time? If he learned what he needed to know here, would he then return to his proper time?

The witch was the key. The phrase kept running through his mind. Whether she had brought him forth through malicious intent or by unhappy accident, he was sure that she held the power to return him. And if that were true, then, through her, he was to learn what he must in this time.

He must bind her to him, he thought. No matter what the cost to his peace, no matter if he had to lie, slander, blaspheme, he knew that he must bind the woman to him. He had to see to it that she did not leave him until he discovered what he needed to know from her.

When the woman returned to the church, Madara was still on his knees, and while she was complaining about the money Madara had given her, he offered Kami his thanks for the woman's return.

"Who are you?" Rachelle asked the man wearing the ridiculous costume. She watched him get off his knees, and from the ease with which he moved in the heavy armor, she knew he must have been rehearsing with it for a long time. Are you by any chance a burglar?

When she saw his eyes ignite, she stepped back. She didn't want him to press a sword against her throat again. But she saw him calm himself.

"Nay, madam, the money I gave to you is my own."

"I can't accept all of it," Rachelle said firmly, holding out the money. "It is a lot, I only wanted bus fare."

"It should be enough for your needs. Yes?" he asked softly, even giving a slight smile. Rachelle gave him a suspicious look. A few minutes ago he was attacking her with a sword and fire, but now he was smiling at her as though he meant to . . . well, to seduce her. The sooner she got away from this incredibly delicious looking man the better off she would be, she thought.

When the man made no effort to take the money, she put them on the edge of the chair. "Thanks for offering them to me, but I only wanted 100 bucks. You can keep the rest, I'm sure you need it more than I do." She turned to leave the church.

"Pause, woman!" he said loudly.

Rachelle clenched her fists at her sides. This man's grammar was getting on her nerves. She turned to face him. "Look, I know you have problems. I mean, maybe you cracked your head and can't remember who you are, but that's not my problem. I have problems of my own. I don't have a penny to my name, I'm hungry, I don't know anyone in this city, and I don't even know how I'm going to get a bed tonight, even if I could afford one."

"Nor do I," the man said softly, looking at her with sad, hopeful eyes.

Rachelle sighed. Needy men, she thought, the bane of my life. But this time, she told herself, she wasn't going to fall for it. This time she wasn't going to help an insane man who, when angry, breathed fire and pulled a sword on her.

"Go outside the church, take a right—be sure and watch out for cars—walk two blocks, there's a shopping mall. Buy yourself some proper clothes, and check into a good hotel. Miss Marple says there are few problems in life that can't be solved by a week in a good hotel. If you take a long, hot bath, I'll bet your memory will return in no time."

Madara could only stare at her, what was a "block"? Who was "Miss Marple"?

At his blank look, Rachelle sighed again. She could no more leave him alone than she could leave an injured puppy in the middle of the highway. "All right," she said at last. "Come with me to the telephone and I'll point you on your way. But that's it. That's all I'm doing! You're on your own after that."

Quietly, Madara followed her out of the church, but he stopped in his tracks when they stepped outside the gate. What he was seeing was too horrifying to believe.

After only a few steps, Rachelle realized the man wasn't behind her. Turning, she saw him gaping at a young girl on the opposite side of the road. She was dressed in the current English idea of chic: all in black. She wore tall black high heels, black hose, a tiny black leather skirt, and a huge black sweater that reached to the top of her thighs. Her short hair was sprayed purple and red, and stuck up like a porcupine's quills.

Rachelle smiled. The punk rocker-influenced fashions were a shock to anyone, much less to a crazy man under the illusion that he was from the past. "Come on," she said good-naturedly. "She's ordinary. You should see the people attending a rock concert."

They walked to the phone booth, and Rachelle again gave him directions but, to her annoyance, he didn't leave, but stood outside the booth. "Please go away," she said, but he didn't move. I'll ignore him, she thought as she picked up the telephone, but she put it down quickly and turned to him.

"I think we need to get some things straight between us. If this is a Japanese way of pick up ladies, I'm not interested. I already have a guy. Or did have one." Rachelle took a breath. "I do have a man in my life. In fact I'm going to call him right now, and I'm sure as hell he'll change his mind, realize I'm best woman out there and he'll come and get me."

Madara didn't reply to her little speech, but just stood there looking at her like she was the biggest fool to ever appear in the world. With a sigh, Rachelle called the operator to place a collect call to Mack at his cell but it was switched off.

Now what do I do? she thought.

"What is this?" Madara asked, looking at the telephone with great interest. "You talked to this?"

"Give me a break, will you?" she half-yelled, taking her anger out on him. Rachelle leaned against the phone cubicle and, in spite of herself, tears came to her eyes. "So where's my Hero?...my Prince?" she whispered. As she said the words, she looked at the man standing before her. A fading ray of sunlight struck his armor, a shadow fell across his black hair. This man had appeared the last time she'd cried and begged for a prince/hero.

"You have had bad news?" he asked.

She straightened. "It looks as though I've been eternally abandoned by my boyfriend," she said softly, looking at him.

No, it couldn't be, and she wasn't going to even consider it. It was a one in a million chance that this actor, who was so involved in his role that he believed it, should appear exactly at the moment she'd asked for a gorgeous prince. The truth was that Rachelle was a magnet for strange men. Men who had problems seemed to have radar for finding her.

"I, too, seem to have lost all," he said so softly she hardly heard him.

Oh, no! she thought. She was not going to fall for that line. "Someone around here must know who you are. Maybe if you ask at the post office, someone can tell you how to get home."

"Post office?"

He looked so genuinely lost that she could feel herself softening toward him.

No, Rachelle, no, she told herself, but the next moment she heard herself say, "Come on. I'll take you there." They walked together, and his erect, perfect carriage made Rachelle straighten her shoulders.

Everywhere they passed people stared at them—as far as Rachelle could tell, all the eyes were on Madara, they passed a couple of American tourists with their two adolescent children. The man had two cameras about his neck.

"Lookit that, Myrt," the man said, the adults rudely gaping at Madara in his armor, and the children laughing and pointing.

"Ill-mannered louts," Madara said under his breath. "Someone should teach them how to behave in the presence of their betters."

Things happened very quickly after that. A bus stopped just a few feet from them, and out stepped a bunch Japanese tourists, their cameras clicking as they photographed every attractions they would see. When they saw Madara, their mouths fall wide open and they advanced on him, cameras covering their faces.

Madara put his hands together and his eyes become RED, he stepped forward. Watching from the sidelines, the American woman tourist screamed in fear, but the Japanese kept moving closer, their cameras clicking like cicadas on a hot summer night.

To prevent the coming clash, Rachelle did the only thing she knew worked: she flung herself against the armor-clad man and yelled, "No!" Unfortunately, when she hit him, the edge of his sword slashed the upper sleeve of her blouse and cut her arm. Startled by the pain, Rachelle tripped and nearly fell, but the prince caught her, lifted her into his arms for the second time, and carried her back to the sidewalk. Behind them, the Japanese cameras were still clicking and the Americans applauded.

"Gee, Mama, this is better than the lame show we watched last night," an American kid said. "It's not in the guidebook, Dylan," the woman said. "I think they should put things like this in the guidebook, or otherwise a somebody could think it was real."

Madara set the woman down. Somehow, he did not know how, but he had made a fool of himself.

He did not ask his questions, as questions seemed to annoy the witch-woman. "Lady, you are injured," he said, and Rachelle could tell by the way he stiffened that he was mortified that he'd injured her.

Her arm was bleeding and the wound hurt, but she decided to let him off the hook. "It's only a flesh wound," she said, trying to sound funny. But the man didn't smile at her joke. Instead, he continued to look embarrassed.

"It's not anything," she said, looking at the bloody place on her arm. She took a tissue from her skirt pocket and pressed it over the cut. "Lets go shop for some clothes at the mall."

When Rachelle entered the cloths store, a man smiled at her in welcome. "If there's anything you need help with ma'am, please let me know. I—" He broke off when he saw Madara. Slowly, without a word, the man came forward and began to walk around Madara, examining his clothing.

After one circuit, he dropped down the clothes he was holding and looked at the armor, murmuring, "Mmm hmm," over and over. While Madara stood stiffly erect, looking at the man in distaste, but also looking as though he didn't want to commit another indiscretion, the man examined every part of Madara. His face, hair, armor, sword, and finally his legs.

"No, it can't be, impossible. The man said, almost to himself."

Throughout this, Madara had been enduring the clerk's scrutiny with ill-concealed distaste.

At last the clerk stepped back. "Remarkable," he said. "I have never seen a cross-dressing this perfect, you look like the real guy. Who did your makeup and hair style, I really must know ~ I would take my sister there, she's a huge fan of the character your cross-dressing as well."

"Cross-dressing?!" Madara snapped. "Who do you think you are to insult me in such manner?

Do you know who I am?

"No, sir, not personally anyway," the salesman muttered, but I know you are trying to look like Madara Uchiha from the Naruto Shippuden. The man replied with a grin.

For once, Madara was speechless and looked really furious, he was now glaring at the man. Before anyone knew what was happening, Madara had his sword on the man's neck.

"Talk now," before I slice your throat this instance. How do you know my name?

The clerk fall to his knees putting his hands up...In surrender, fear showing on his round face. He was murmuring something, they couldn't hear what he was saying.

"Madara what do you think you're doing?" You can't just put a sword on someone's ne…Rachelle didn't get finish her scolding, a piece of info had registered in her brain, wait a minute, did he just say you name? She looked at the man on the floor.

I'm not going to ask you again, how it is you know both of my names, start talking. The man was now freaking out, if only I knew how to keep my big mouth shut and mind my own business, I wouldn't be getting in trouble with these weirdos.

"My sister and I watch this show called Naruto. It's a japanese animated show, there's this one character named Uchiha Madara and he is a villain in the show." My big sister has a huge crush on this character, she always force me to watch every episode he's in, she goes as far as cross-dress just to look like him. When you walked in, you looked exactly like him, that's the why I inspected you, I apology for my rude behaviour.

They both looked dumbfounded and speechless.

"May I watch this show you're talking about?" Rachelle asked, still looking at man on the ground.

You can watch it online, just google it, it's one of the popular anime, you'll find it easily.

Unfortunately, I don't have my laptop with me right now, can I borrow yours? This is an emergency. When the clerk gave her the F-off look. I guess I'll do this the hard way, she leaned to the guy's ears.

"The man in front of you might be the real thing, it'd be in your best interest not to piss him off~trust me, I'm speaking from experience. He almost killed me a couple of times, now hand it over. She commanded."

Madara was still standing with his sword stretched as he watched the scene before him, he wondered what these people were doing or talking about.

"It was too much for him to take in, first this man had called him a cross-dresser and a cartoon character. Did that annoy him..? Not as much. The worst was being called a cartoon villain….A Villain." Madara had been called a bunch of thing by his enemies, but none measured up to being called a villain. Who does this man think he is...huh?

"Madara are you coming? Rachelle called, we're going to the food court on the third floor, we need a place to sit and watch the anime. The clerk is going to borrow us his laptop so we would watch the show he told us about, maybe there might be a connection between you and this character he told us about; you have the same name. I doubt it tho, I mean being crazy and weird is one thing but coming out of an animation show is another. She thought."

But first, you should change out of this ridiculous outfit you're wearing, the last thing we need is people taking pictures of you again, we both know how that's gonna end up.

"We need clothing for him from the skin out. And he'll have to be measured for size." Even if the man did remember his sizes, he'd no doubt pretend he didn't just to give me a hard time, she thought.

"Certainly," the clerk said, then looked at Madara. "If you'll step over here, sir, we can begin measuring."

When she saw that the man was leading the way to a semi-private area at the back of the store, Rachelle stood where she was. But Madara insisted that she go with him into the curtained-off area. Rachelle sat on a chair off to one side, picked up a magazine, and pretended to read while the clerk began to undress Madara.

The way he raised his arms for the clerk to unlatch his armor made it look as though he was used to other people undressing him. Carefully, almost reverently, the little man set Madara's armor on a cushioned bench. Rachelle saw the man run a caressing hand down one side of the armor before turning back.

"Rachelle got a good view of Madara's body when the armor was off, her jaw almost dropped on the floor...What a body he had! Rachelle thought as she tossed her magazine."

She'd seen armor in museums and had laughed at the way the metal had been molded into the shape of a muscular torso. She'd always thought that it had been done to hide a man's paunch. But this man, this Madara Uchiha, was indeed as broad-shouldered and as muscled as the shape of the armor.

Rachelle tried her best to put her eyes and pay attention something else, but it was hard to do as she kept glancing up at the bare-chested Madara. The clerk brought one shirt after another for him to try on, but the prince liked none of them.

After about the fifteenth shirt, the clerk looked with pleading eyes to Rachelle.

She walked to stand before him, her eyes determinedly on his face. "What's wrong?" she asked Madara.

He moved to one side, away from the clerk, who busied himself with folding clothes. "There is no beauty or style in this raiment," he said, frowning. "The colors are too bright. Perhaps a woman could ply her needle to one of these and—"

Rachelle smiled. "Women don't sew today. At least not like this," she said as she touched the cuff of his shirt that had been thrown across a clothing rack. The cuff was embroidered in black silk in a design of red and white fan.

Rachelle caught herself. Of course women—some women, somewhere—still sewed like that because someone in this century had sewn that shirt, hadn't she?

Rachelle picked up a beautiful cotton shirt from the discarded heap. The Japanese weren't like Americans in always wanting something new every five minutes. If one could afford the outrageous prices, the quality was worth the cost.

"Here, try this one on again," she said, finding herself coaxing him. She wondered if there was a woman alive who hadn't experienced shopping with a man and trying to persuade him to like something. "Look at this fabric; feel how soft it is." As Rachelle held the shirt for him, his reluctance evident, Madara slipped his arms into the sleeves, while she did her best to keep her eyes off the way his muscles played under his skin.

The shirt was beautiful. "Now," she said, "step over to the mirror and have a look." She had seen the four full-length mirrors when they'd entered the curtained area, so it had not occurred to her that Madara had not noticed them.

Rachelle wasn't prepared for his reaction to the three mirrors. At first he just stared at them; then, cautiously, he reached out to touch one.

"They are glass?" he whispered.

"Of course. What else are mirrors made of?"

Glancing up at the man, she saw the way he was studying his reflection. Was it truly the first time he'd ever seen a clear full-length view of himself?

Of course not, she told herself. He just didn't remember the last time he'd seen a mirror. Or maybe he did remember and was pretending he didn't.

Looking up, she caught sight of her own reflection in the mirror. What a mess she was! As a result of all her crying, her eye makeup was under her eyes instead of above them. Her blouse was hanging out of her belt, and there a long cut on the sleeve, and it was dotted with blood. Her navy blue tights were bagging at the ankle. And her hair, tangled and droopy, was too awful to contemplate.

Turning away from the unpleasant vision, she mumbled, "Trousers." This time, Rachelle left the curtained area as the clerk measured Madara. When the door to the shop opened and more customers entered, the clerk ushered Madara to a dressing room, then handed him several pair of trousers through the door. All was quiet for a moment until Rachelle saw the dressing room door open a crack and the man peeped out, looking at Rachelle for help. She went to him.

"I cannot manage," he said softly, then opened the door wider so she could enter.

"What manner of fastening is this?"

Rachelle tried not to think of this situation. She was squashed into a dressing room with a strange man who's trouser zipper stuck on his boxer shorts. "Here, let me him . . ." This's really awkward, she thought.

She backed out of the dressing room when she was done. "You need any more help, let me know." She was still smiling as she closed the door behind her. Standing with her back to the dressing room door, she looked at the clothes around her.

While they had been inside the dressing room, the clerk had placed the armor, the sword in two large, doubled shopping bags and had set them to the left of the dressing room door. When Rachelle went to pick up the bags, they were so heavy she almost dropped them.

After a while, Madara came out of the dressing room. He was wearing a soft red cotton shirt and slim black cotton trousers. He looked utterly divine.

As Rachelle watched him, he walked to the mirror, then glowered at his image.

"These . . . these," he said, tugging at the ease of the trousers at the back of his leg.

"Trousers. Pants," she supplied, blinking at him. It was taking her a while to adjust to his good looks.

"They do not fit me. They do not show my legs, and I have a fine pair of legs."

Rachelle laughed and her trance was broken. "Men don't walk around wearing bandages and ninja shoes, but, really, you look great."

"I am not sure," he said, frowning. "Perhaps a black shirt."

"No, too much black is not good" she said firmly. "Trust me on this. You look breath-taking."

She chose a leather belt for him, then socks. "We'll have to go to another store for shoes." Feeling as though she'd done her good deed for the year, Rachelle wasn't prepared for Madara's actions at the cash register. The little clerk totaled the tags he'd cut from the clothes, then told them the cost. Rachelle was shocked speechless when Madara shouted, "I will have your head, thief!" then reached for his sword—which, thankfully, was in the shopping bags by Rachelle's feet.

"He means to rob me!" Madara bellowed. "I can hire a dozen men for less than he asks for these unadorned clothes."

Rachelle nearly leaped as she put herself between Madara and the counter while the poor little clerk huddled against the opposite wall. "Give me the money," she said firmly. "Everything costs more now than it used to. I mean," she said as she clenched her teeth, "you'll remember soon enough about how much things cost. Now, give me the money."

Still angry, he handed Rachelle the leather bag full of coins. "No," she said, "the modern money." When Madara just stood there, not seeming to understand what she was talking about, she searched through the shopping bags until she found the Canadian dollars she had gave him back.

"He will take that paper you're holding for clothes?" the prince whispered as Rachelle counted out the money; then he smirked. "I will give him all the paper he wants.

"He is a fool." Madara said with distaste.

To be continued.

Sorry for the late update.

Hope you enjoyed it. If not, let me know.