| Chapter 7 |

Impatience coloured his face swiftly. His arms did not move from being strapped across his chest and he did not budge from the doorway, only fuelling Madara's irritation.

"Izuna, I—"

"I want to know how," Izuna stressed the word, his tone bitingly sharp, "the Elders discover my – err – heated discussion with the Senju whore."

"They are engaged, so technically speaking she is not a whore, Izuna." Madara replied, knowing the lack of directness would irk Izuna as much as his little brother was vexing him. When Izuna opened his mouth to argue, Madara smirked slightly and said, "I told them of your so-called heated exchange. It has happened too many times and I will not allow you to be questioned because of a Senju—"

"Whore," added Izuna, disregarding Madara's inauspicious glower.

"—so you are not to come near her and will be overtaking my duties as the leader until further notice." Madara dragged a comb through his untameable locks, only for the comb to get stuck halfway down one side. He gritted his teeth. Izuna snickered quietly. "I will tell you something – instead of moping around, make yourself useful and get this comb out of my hair!"

From the doorway, Izuna scoffed at him. "Big Bro, you are the leader of one of the most powerful clans in the world – and you cannot get a comb out of your hair?"

"Do not sound so derisive, Izuna!" barked Madara, a tad flustered by his brother's words. Although he was attempting to untangle the comb, he was only adding knots to the mess. Finally, Madara huffed out a sigh and gave up. He went to stand up, but got pushed back down by Izuna.

"I cannot untangle it if you stand up. You are taller than me, remember?" he reasoned.

"Hn," Madara muttered, crossing his arms and sitting down.

Izuna smirked lightly. "So ... what are you going to do today, paperwork?"

"Unfortunately," grunted Madara, his eyes wandering over to the window and the view below. More than thirty families resided on the level beneath the top, where he and the other governing figures lived, and even more on the level below them. Tunnels within the hill of the stronghold transpired all around, to every level, and even to exits into the forest in case their citadel was successfully attacked – an event that had not happened so far. It had not happened because he had made sure that all those families were safe – and paperwork just had to be one of the many things that kept them safe.

As Izuna's fingers flexed and recoiled, trying to disentangle the mass of hair from the fragile ivory comb, he continued wearing his—to Madara, at any rate—infuriating smirk. After a couple of moments, Izuna remarked, "It is like having an elder sister."

"Silence!"

A snigger seeped out from Izuna's throat. Madara bit down on the inside of his cheek, trying to not reproach his mischievous younger brother, but found the urge becoming increasingly tempting as that smirk widened and the wicked gleam in his eyes strengthened. Izuna knew he was getting under his skin, and he was enthralled by the kick!

"Tch. Stop smirking like that, Izuna. It hardly suits you." At that, Izuna couldn't hold in his laughter anymore.

Clicking the door shut after him, Madara briefly looked around the room before his eyes settled upon the sleeping figure of the woman. Her curtains were drawn, blocking out all daylight.

Her golden-orange hair was spiralling around her head, twisting around her shoulders and twirling around her face. Her fringe covered her eyes, so Madara couldn't see if her eyes were open or not. Directing his vision downwards to her chest, he observed the rise and fall as she breathed. Her breathing was rather unperturbed. He could safely assume that she was still asleep.

Settling himself by the table again, he waited patiently for several minutes. The gloomy lighting of the bedchamber made the morning seem night-like still. His thoughts were mainly focused on what paperwork needed to be completed first, like the weaponry supply and the food sources, but at the same time he listened carefully to any rustle of the bedclothes in case Satomi had awaken and wondered why he was seated in her private chambers before she had even woken.

A sharp intake of breath stopped his train of thought.

Looking over to the bed, he saw that Satomi was sat up, poker-straight, and staring unblinkingly at the wall in front of her. The way that her eyes were wider than normal showed that she was, at least, suffering from the after-effects of a nightmare.

He waited for the shock to ease before addressing her. "You are safe, if you are scared," He ignored how her head snapped round to stare at him and he declined meeting her fearful gaze. "Nothing is going to harm you while I am here."

Slowly—very slowly—his words sank in and her breathing recovered to its normal pace. Her chest stopped moving as much and the grip she held on her wrist slackened. Her bottom lip still trembled, however, almost like she was on the verge of tears. If there was one thing Madara could not stand, it was a person—be a man, woman or child—crying in front of him. Very rarely, they had something to cry about – most of the time, their lives were no different to his or that of anybody else, and so they should not cry. It was selfish.

But watching a woman shake and tremble, something so foreign to him, lessened his scorn for weeping. He heard watched countless people, of all ages and genders, break down at the death of a loved one or a piece of news equally heartbreaking; yet the sight of a Senju woman, an enemy, reflected the brokenness of reality and of the world as a whole.

For a moment memories of the dream he and Hashirama had dreamt came back to him. A village where no one was unhappy, everyone was safe – it had never seemed so helplessly far away before now.

"Was it a nightmare?" He tried to sound like he didn't care – growing attached to a prisoner was a lesser man's mistake, and he was more than a fledgling to war. But something in her eyes reminded him of himself when his mother died, the breakability he felt back then.

Very slightly, she jerked her head forwards.

The room simmered with mixed emotions bubbling between them. Satomi, as it was very well visible, was shaken and hesitant – left at a loss after her nightmare. Then Madara, a leader and a highly-trained Shinobi, remained apathetic-looking while observing Satomi's behaviours – the clasping of her wrist, the lines that appeared on her forehead as she concentrated on calming herself. Seeing her in such a state when his first impression of her as a solid and composed young woman only made him more curious – what could get under a Senju's skin from just a dream?

Madara looked away, out of the window again. "You should get dressed. It has long since passed sunrise."

He would not give her pity, even if she was a woman – she was still the enemy. She was entitled to no privileges because of her clan's name. She was a Senju, an enemy to the Uchiha, and she would be treated as one.

"Why did you bring me here, Madara-sama?"

He did not spare her a glance as he surveyed their surroundings: the field was large and the wall running along one entire side was high enough for anyone who was not a trained Shinobi couldn't jump over. It was the perfect place to test his assumptions.

"Run."

"Pardon?"

Out of nowhere a kunai flitted straight past her cheek. Her eyes widened; she looked at Madara as though realising how dangerous a foe he was for the first time. Quietly, he reasoned to himself that it probably was the first time. "Run."

That time his warning seemed to work, for Satomi leapt into action and started sprinting away from him. Suppressing the urge to smirk, Madara merely trudged after her slowly, his Sharingan spinning in his eyes. No, she was no Shinobi. Tobirama must have been the one to bestow her with a tanto – he may have even taught her how to wield it. Hopefully that was so; otherwise he would only be squandering his time on a tedious task, which he knew he would only be questioned about later by the Elders.

"Cut your tongue according to your cloth," he murmured, watching as the flecks of light chakra shimmered in the soles of her feet.

Suddenly, Satomi ran headfirst into his chest as he chakra-jumped in front of her. "Oof!"

"Got you."

Satomi struggled against his tight grip on her upper arm, banging her tiny, scrunched-up fists against his chest. Madara watched her disinterestedly. "Let – go – of – me!" Still, his grip did not loosen. Satomi grit her teeth and aimed a hard kick to his shin; he hissed in pain, his red eyes narrowing down at her.

Damn Senju.

He adjusted his right hand around her arm while his left snatched one of her fists. In retaliation, Satomi latched onto one of his hands with her mouth, chakra focused in her teeth to make her canines sharper and draw blood from Madara's hand. Masayuki had told her to do anything—bite, kick, scream—to get the enemy off her. Madara growled lowly as her teeth sank in, jerking his hand away from her and kicking her abdomen. She grunted and released his hand.

He scoffed. "You fight like an Inuzuka!" he snapped at her heatedly, his glower bearing down on her as she crouched defensively in front of him.

"And you fight without honour. What kind of a warning is 'run'?"

"It is an order," retorted Madara, "Surely you would not disobey Hashirama or Tobirama?"

"Of course not!"

"Then do not disobey me!" Madara glared acridly. His hand snaked round to his back, unlatching his gunbai and swinging it around to cause a strong gust of wind to batter Satomi. She brought her arms around in front of her protectively. Madara could have rolled his eyes and scoffed at her pathetic attempt to defend herself. At least she didn't call herself a Shinobi or a kunoichi.

As soon as the wind had dulled, Madara launched himself at her and booted her chest, throwing her further backwards. Satomi yelped when her back collided with hard ground. Madara didn't even raise an eyebrow: he needed to push her to her limits to assess her unreservedly. For one moment he allowed her a break as she clambered to her feet, looking slightly worn and unconfident. She licked her lips apprehensively as she studied his movements. Inwardly he smirked. It meant that she was beginning to fight back.

An unexpected glimmer flooded her eyes.

Whoosh!

Sniffing, a sweet floral smell wafted towards him from his left, carried by the wind. Utilising his Sharingan to read her next move, Madara spun round and blocked her sword attack with his gunbai. She was getting serious, then, if she was using weapons that she wasn't even carrying. Most probably, she knew some kind of summoning or sealing jutsu to conceal the sword – it may have even been on her body. He would have to investigate that if he was right.

"Your form has a lot left to be desired." Madara jeered, a spike of confidence shooting through his body. "Who taught you, Tobirama-sama?"

At the tone he used for '–sama', Satomi narrowed her eyes. Fear forgotten, she spat, "No, my father. And Tobirama has more respect from his enemies than you ever could dream of achieving!" In reply, Madara growled at her and threw her sword away before bringing his gunbai down towards her now defenceless form. Satomi squeaked in surprise, squeezing her eyes shut.

Just before he hit her, he stopped.

Thanks crazyuser, Blink-Dream and of course, the lovely GG! Your reviews mean so much to me! Did you like my little brotherly moment at the beginning, anyone?