A/N: I ended up splitting this chapter into two parts because it's been taking me a while to update. So, here is the first half. We're also taking a break from Sakura's POV in this one.
The footfalls were quiet, but heard. Slow and intentional, they paced down the long hall. Audible enough to make their presence known, and nothing more.
Opposite the flight they took upon the roof, when they were silenced by chakra and perfectly imperceptible. When they deceived its residents of his presence, and his ignorance.
Just how the walls of their corridors liked to deceive guests with its cleanliness. Its simplicity and class. Minimalism…like a polished, porcelain mask hiding the scarred and grimacing face of the restless beast beneath.
A mask he could trace intimately, and see right through. A mask similar to the one he could slip on at will.
Stale sweat and smoke tainted the earthy perfume of their clan leaders' home. Its essence lingering in his wake in a subtle, defiant plume as he floated closer to the door he knew he would enter. The stillness was a hopeful sign. No voices reached him. Just a faint, repetitive shhck sound. It seemed nothing had escalated during his time away.
But that meant little. An unspeakable amount of damage could be done without a voice. Madara rarely needed to raise his own to get a point across.
The chill of night returned when he opened the door to the sitting room. Fog thickened in a murky curtain directly across from him, through the second set of open doors. Growing heavier as the evening progressed. Firelight reflected within the gray mist, bleeding dim orange into the dark.
"Itachi…" Madara greeted him, black eyes flitting quickly over the evidence of a long and tiresome day on his face as he turned from the pond. Next to him on the porch sat Izuna, whose attention was absorbed into the edge of his katana. Tiny droplets flecked onto the wood with each shhck it made over the smooth water stone in front of him. He didn't look up.
"I know it's late. I won't keep you long." Madara wandered leisurely into the room, stopping before the small table between them. Its surface was empty but for a single kitchen knife near a corner. Even closer still was the reason he was there in the first place.
Sakura sat on a cushion with her back to him, hands hiding beneath the warm blanket spilling from the table. Choosing neither to turn nor speak, much like Izuna.
He didn't take offense. After all, he understood much of what occurred through what he was able to hear on the roof. Anything he missed, he would piece together soon enough.
"Please, take a seat."
Red speckles in a cluster on the floor. A painted scroll hanging with a slight tilt. The bloodied edge of the knife on the table. Her yukata, wrinkled and bunched in places that implied it was slipped into without care. A silver and white obi that didn't lay as flat as it should have around her waist, with the bow folded onto her back sloppy and uneven.
All subtle things he registered in a split-second.
A hand touched her as he moved past. Fingertips pressing briefly between her shoulder blades, the precise moment Madara glanced away to his standoffish brother.
Sakura's back straightened slightly. She glanced to the coat swishing next to her. Keeping her gaze low, but observant. When Itachi sank into the cushion to her right, she looked to the table again.
Izuna continued his meticulous sharpening. Ignoring the inquisitive eyes that watched, waiting to see if he would join the small gathering inside. The sword lifted and fell in purposeful strokes. Edge shifting up the wet stone as he finished one spot and began honing the next on its length.
The long red stripe painted down the front of her throat was less subtle. Blood that was too fresh to crack and flake away, yet no longer flowed. The stain it spread into the white underlayer was masked by green. He traced its path from the fabric and up to its source hiding under her chin. A casual and fleeting sweep that ended when Madara returned his attention to them.
"I would introduce you, but I'm under the impression that won't be necessary. You've met Sakura, haven't you?" Madara asked, deciding to leave his brother to his mysterious brooding for now.
"Yes, we've met." Itachi agreed. The dull gaze watching his clan leader was a little glazed with fatigue, but otherwise appeared entirely neutral to the situation he'd walked into. Unassuming and receptive to his summoning, despite his body language hinting to his preference for a quiet bed.
"It must have been a fair meeting, since she has named you favorably..." He ventured without getting the chance to expand on his reasoning.
"Fair…" Itachi repeated, sifting through the silt of his own recent memories. Finding nothing fair left behind in the sieve of his mind. "I carried her once from a pile of ash, and then again from a pile of slaughtered women." He mused aloud, yet with no discernable inflection. "I'm not sure if she would call that a fair meeting."
Schhhh…
The glinting orange metal slowed in its glide over the stone, paused half a breath, and then lifted. Izuna stared through the thin shimmer on its hard surface, unseeing.
"Did you…?" Madara murmured, matching his unseemly indifference as he stared back.
Itachi blinked in silence. Dark lines inked the thin creases of his eyelids and down his cheeks. A dusting of soot mixing with the oil on his skin created the facade of a harsher expression than he meant to give. One ear trained on the blade outside as it returned to a predictable rhythm.
"Well… Something you did left an impression, which is the reason you're here tonight." Madara glanced at the reticent ghost of a woman next to them. So still and quiet, as if she hoped to evaporate from their presence entirely. Rejecting any voluntary involvement, despite choosing the man herself. Her discomfort was palpable.
It was the illusion of choice, though. A surrender to what she hoped would be a gentler fate.
"I'll be straightforward with you, I can't think of an easy way to introduce you to this…proposition." Diving right to the point, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Hesitating in a genuine attempt to cut to the chase without being too blunt or tactless. Madara was never one to mince his words or hide his true intentions beneath frivolous language that catered to egos, or even sentiment. But that didn't mean he was oblivious to how startling the subject might be for Itachi.
He was one of their most valuable and reliable shinobi. In truth, he ranked him high enough to rival his own brother, which was no easy feat. He would not treat him carelessly.
"As you know, we don't often accept outsiders into our clan. Only those who demonstrate talent are considered, and even in those cases, there has always been some pushback from our own people. The idea of a Senju becoming one of us has never been entertained…until now."
The door behind them opened. Small feet shuffled into the room, going about its business without waiting to be acknowledged. The young girl was but a blur of subdued colors as she lowered a tea set on the table between them. Madara looked at him through the ribbons of steam melting into the air. Pausing long enough to let her pour the pale green liquid into three of the four small cups, and then disappear as quietly as she came. When the door tapped shut, he resumed.
"We have obvious concerns for how successful she will be in assimilating into our village. You understand why."
Teeth sinking into the tip of his tongue behind his lips, Itachi glanced down. Leaning over the cup of tea to let it warm his face. A tickle of heat reminded him of the sauna he wished he was sitting in, and of how his muscles seemed to only tighten the longer he sat there–and it had nothing to do with his long day training chaotic little firestarters.
"In the past, we've always let them decide for themselves what role they will fill. As long as they're contributing, the details don't matter. Sakura is in a more difficult position, so it requires more deliberate guidance."
A slow nod seemed to agree with him. The cup lifted to his lips, and he took a small sip. "You don't think she will adapt on her own."
"No. Not well, or quickly, if at all." Madara confirmed. His tea was left untouched for now. "Since we cannot let her return, and because I'm sure we would all prefer not to add to the pile of slaughtered women, if it isn't necessary…"
Soot-streaked eyes snapped up at him through his short lashes. The cup hovered close to his mouth as he listened closely.
"...the plan is to arrange a marriage for her, and have her assist Kazuo in the hospital. Izuna was considerate enough to give her some time to make the choice for herself…" He chanced a glance at his brother, noticing the repetitive shhck had ceased.
The katana hovered indecisively in the air while he stared at it. Far more absorbed in the conversation taking place feet away, than the weapon in his hands. Then it flipped and lifted eye-level so he could examine its edge. The hint of a frown tugged at Izuna's mouth.
'Considerate…' Another slow sip, and then Itachi lowered the cup to the table, keeping his attention coolly on Madara.
"She surprised us both when she took him up on the offer, and named you."
The first sign of life stirred from her since Itachi sat down. From the corner of his vision, he saw her tilt her chin downward slightly. Eyes either closed, or looking directly at her lap. Her arms squeezed against her, and the blanket shifted over her legs as she fidgeted awkwardly.
He was quiet for a long moment. Staring first in shock, and then glancing away to let his eyes wander down in open skepticism. His dark brow wrinkled in thought within the frame of his loose hair. It was a serious expression, though not exactly negative.
"As I said, not an easy subject to broach. If you want some time to think about it, that's fine. In the meantime, Izuna will find some other suitable options for her." The continued silence that followed was anticipated. He read the dumbfounded look, and then the cautious consideration as Itachi withdrew into his own thoughts. The dying steam puffed gently over Madara's face as he finally lifted his own green tea and took a sip. Content to wait for him to speak.
"It's alright if you want to decline…" Izuna interrupted the silence first. A small surprise for all three of them. "No one would judge you for saying no. It is a lot to ask of you."
Itachi nodded distractedly as he leaned forward, though neither Uchiha spared one another a glance. Every little twitch that flickered on his face, and the slow, deep sigh that left his nose indicated he did not take the request lightly.
Beneath the table, his hand slid soundlessly from the valley of his crossed legs and over Sakura's knee. A move that contradicted his own wary mask. His fingertips found hers, and loosely curled over them.
She didn't say a word, but he caught the shoulders sinking in his periphery. Tension unwinding a notch. Her gaze crept over the table to the cup sitting in front of him, but no higher. Not until he spoke.
"I will accept."
A wink of fire shot down the length of the blade as the katana tilted in the light. It froze in the air under Izuna's scrutiny. His eyes narrowed slightly.
"Really…" Madara murmured, taken aback. Ultimately, the decision was inconsequential to him, but his answer did pique his curiosity.
That detached aura returned when Itachi met his eyes. As casual and unaffected as if he'd merely been tasked with another assignment. One with an unique objective that threw him off at first, but he recovered quickly, all things considered.
"Well…" A short, amused chuckle rumbled under their clan leader's breath. "This is…a surprise, Itachi…but I'm not going to look a gift horse in the mouth."
The silver mist crept over the porch now. Shrouding the distant Uchiha in a thinly obscuring veil. Washing what little color he possessed, and leaving him a dark silhouette accented by harsh fiery highlights from the lanterns above. The blade lowered slowly to the floor, forgotten. Izuna stared forward.
Pale green eyes finally lifted. Boring into him with conspicuous disbelief. Itachi darted her a quick and cryptic glance, but maintained his focus on Madara.
"You're right, it isn't an easy subject. But it does provide a solution to more than one problem we are facing. If she is choosing me, it would be all the more selfish for me to say no. An easier adjustment for her would benefit the clan."
"Yes, it probably would." An eyebrow twitched in recognition.
"I find it interesting, Itachi…" Izuna's voice carried to them, a touch louder before. "You were engaged once, not long ago. To a close friend of yours who, correct me if I've misjudged, has put you on a pedestal her whole life. Your personal relationships aren't my business, but it is unusual to me that you would throw away a potential wife who doted on you the way Izumi did, just to turn around and marry a stranger."
Itachi glanced thoughtfully down to his cup. The only place the hostile glint in his eye would go unnoticed. On the surface he was settled. Pensive at most, but relaxed.
"Izumi…wants something more intimate than I can give her. She deserves the chance to find it with someone else." He explained carefully. A shadow of regret fell over his face, and he took his time sipping his tea as he debated how to justify his actions without revealing anything too personal. Or being too honest.
Because no, it wasn't any of Izuna's business, and he would never expose his innermost thoughts and feelings to him.
"Marrying a 'stranger' would make things much less complicated for me."
Itachi lifted his gaze, catching and holding Sakura's as she continued to stare in quiet shock. The streak of blood down her throat was perhaps furthest from her mind, for the moment, but it dominated his attention. Taunting him whenever he regarded her, even though he never looked directly at it.
"I'm guessing she chose me because I'm one of the few men she's had a civil conversation with since she's arrived, and because she's being forced to make a decision. Not because she wants to marry me. I can live with that."
"You'd prefer no emotional attachment." Madara concluded for him, reading between the lines.
"My priority is the survival of our clan. Most of my time is spent training or instructing, in between our battles. Romance is not a distraction I can entertain in good conscience."
Madara nodded in understanding. He couldn't agree more.
"That being said, our numbers are a fraction of what they used to be. We've buried more bodies than we have birthed this past year. We need to focus on growth as much as training the shinobi we have left. It would be just as irresponsible for me not to start a family."
The irritation Izuna felt was as undefinable as it was irrational. A gnawing, nebulous feeling of raw emotion that was too fresh for him to start dissecting, but it itched in the background. Pricking and tickling. Making him want to swat it away like a pesky mosquito, and move on. Then he heard Itachi reiterate an echo of his own words back to him. It wasn't an exact quote, but it was too similar to overlook.
The fire-licked shadow shifted, head tilting in their direction. His eyes sharpened on Itachi. Gnawing and nebulous crackled into electric resentment and coiling suspicion.
The strips of hair framing his face hung in limp, jagged pieces down his cheeks as he bent forward in another casual sip of tea. An image of infuriating calm. Then, a single dark eye snapped back in his direction. Sensing him, like the fine hairs on his skin would sense the change in the air before a lightning strike.
Itachi met him from the corner of his eye with an edge that parried his own. Striking and deliberate, and then it was gone.
"Very practical of you, Itachi." Madara hummed in approval. Hearing precisely what he needed to hear, and satisfied now to wash his hands of the matter. "Everyone gets what they want." Straightening his back and folding his arms across his chest, he glanced to Sakura. Her stillness had been entirely her decision. She was free to speak if she wanted, but she had chosen to remain an observer for the duration of their conversation.
He let her be…but it was because he knew the reasons why.
Trailing an ambiguous path down the red stripe on her throat with his eyes, he took in a slow breath and sighed. Remorse wasn't quite the word, though he did feel a sense of vague disquiet lurking beneath the most superficial musings of his mind. It was enough to make him appreciate the fact that Itachi made no mention of the blood.
"The two of you can discuss the rest in your own time, then. I won't keep you any longer."
The hand beneath the table retreated to his lap, and Itachi leaned back. More than ready to take his cue to exit. The longer he sat there, the harder it became to maintain an indifferent expression. Antipathy stirred from Izuna like a building storm, and it goaded his own. He'd felt it since the moment he stepped through the door.
Initially, he didn't quite understand what put him in such a foul mood. This was his plan, wasn't it? None of them had asked to be in this position.
Yet as Madara's appraisal of him rose, Izuna's seemed to fall. That was what he found interesting. It was almost as if Izuna had someone specific in mind, and he had become the perfect, unwitting obstacle to his endgame.
It was the only reason Itachi could think of for him to be silently simmering on that porch.
How tragic for him…
"Do you need me to take her home?" He asked, never sparing Izuna a second glance.
Madara hesitated, his gaze lingering on Sakura while her's was glued incredulously to Itachi. Clearly she hadn't expected him to be so agreeable, either. The moment he accepted, it was as if Madara and Izuna had vanished from existence.
"Yes…I think that would be for the best. You can take your brother with you on the way out. I have no further need for him."
A single, polite bow, and Itachi rose from his cushion. The hand that extended in offer to the awestruck eyes next to him hovered empty for a beat. She stared at it like she wasn't sure if it was real, and then tentative fingers slipped over his calloused palm. Shifting light and shadow in the backdrop of her vision pulled her attention to Izuna. Just long enough to watch him stand in time with them. A flash of orange and gold flickered on the sword at his side.
She looked away quickly, still intent on avoiding his eyes, and turned with Itachi as he led her from the room. Grateful to escape the thinly disguised interrogation cell. They could open all the doors and place all the decorations they wanted. To her, it was nothing but confining and uninviting. If she could have gotten away with it, she would have sprinted the rest of the way out.
Yet as she walked alongside Itachi, the instinct to flee melted more with each step.
Madara listened to their footsteps fade in the hall and disappear down the steps of their front door. Once they were gone, he spoke.
"What was that all about?" He rumbled quietly, remaining seated and refilling his tea.
"What was what all about?" Izuna countered. It wasn't quite a snap, but it certainly fueled his skepticism.
"You're angry. Why?" Madara pressed. Patient, but just as direct with him as he would be with anyone else.
"I'm not angry." He spoke in a sharp tone that would easily belie his claim.
A knowing silence followed. Madara's eyes drifted through the fresh steam billowing over his face to the forgotten kitchen knife left on the edge of the table. He meant to give it back to her on the way out, but it slipped his mind.
"He agreed too easily. It doesn't make sense…" Izuna relented after a pause. Voice lowering, but no less bitter.
"Itachi has always put the clan first. He does what needs to be done, and he rarely complains. It isn't that unusual, if you understand him. We need more men like him…especially now." His older brother rationalized calmly. Curious to keep digging at whatever had wriggled under his skin. What really didn't make sense was this unwarranted change in attitude. He should be grateful he no longer had to waste time finding someone else in Itachi's place.
"Why her? Nothing stopped him from making that kind of arrangement with another Uchiha, if that's all he wanted. He's always had options."
"No one asked him until now." Tilting his head, he glanced to him. Sword hung idly in one hand, reflecting a flickering gold sheen. Stone gripped in his other palm, dribbling water to the floor. He couldn't see his eyes, they were trained downward. "It's been one of the last things on his mind. Is that surprising? Have you considered your own marriage?"
"Of course not. There are much more important concerns we're dealing with." Izuna grumbled defensively.
"Then you do understand…" Madara murmured. "Maybe you should start considering it. You both said so yourselves, we have a lot of men to replace. You're right. It's time we took it seriously, now that we have a break in this war."
The small puddle of water inched wider with every glimmer that rained down to the wood. The orange and black koi glided in and out of sight beneath his feet. Light catching the iridescent shimmer over its scales. Izuna followed its evasive path in the thin cracks between each plank.
"You didn't need to stab her." He said softly. A simple, unprovoked comment that revealed more than he intended.
One might even consider it his own projection. An echo of regret for his own misdeeds.
Madara paused mid sip. His eyebrows pinched together.
"It was a shallow cut." He corrected with a snort of disbelief. One of the last things he expected him to bring up. Least of all after the massacre he left behind at the Senju camp. "I didn't think that would bother you, Izuna… You had no problem killing–how many women was it? No one–"
"That is completely different." Heat seared through his words. White hot and full of resentment. Lashing like a raw nerve had been plucked. One he was keenly aware of, yet was incapable of protecting. He knew it was only a matter of time before someone found it and nudged it just the wrong way, and all he could do was wait and brace himself.
The sudden intensity made him still. Madara watched his younger brother closely.
"Killing them…" His jaw flexed as he grit his teeth, mind cycling through everything from his own memories of the bloodshed, to his justifications, to the contrasting emotions he was still trying to escape. The decision he made had not been a quick or careless one, but that didn't mean it had been easy. To this day, he questioned himself, and the fact that he continued to do so over and over again enraged him. "Killing them was as crucial to our success as killing the rest of their shinobi. You know they've outnumbered us for months. Most of their women aren't on the frontlines, but they've always played a critical role, Madara. The same as ours do. You can't deny that."
"Then why not kill all of them? I heard you only took a third." The question came without judgment. Harmless and inquisitive, like an interview. He may not agree with the decision he made, but he loved his brother more than anything…and there was obviously more to unpack here than he anticipated.
The question, no matter how neutral it sounded, was another harsh pluck that reverberated through his conscience.
Fire flashed in the mist as the sword bobbed slightly in the air. His fist clenched and released, fidgeting. A bead of water pooled on the corner of the stone, and hung suspended. Reluctant to fall.
"Because…I was weak." He admitted, the edge receding from his voice. Certain as the sky was blue. The ghost of their father loomed in his self-criticism, and it left a sour taste in his brother's mouth.
Madara frowned, eyes narrowing.
"No. It wasn't weakness." Another correction, this one stern.
Izuna turned from him, balancing the stone in his grip with another fidget. He gazed out into the silver abyss blanketing the koi pond. "I don't want to talk about this right now." He murmured, tense and tired. The fire had been doused with that single admission, and the smoke it left behind was punishing as it choked him.
Madara closed his eyes with a soft sigh. "It's bothering you. We need to talk about it." Returning his tea to the table, he folded his arms across his chest and waited. Giving both of them some breathing room to think while he figured out which subject he was going to tediously untangle first.
His primary interest had been uncovering why he was so bothered by Itachi, but now they were spiraling into something much more complicated and delicate.
This was something he meant to address, so it wasn't too derailing. He just didn't expect it to be tonight.
"I understand why you believed you needed to kill them…but I never would have given you that order. With that argument, I would be considered even weaker than you. Sparing them wasn't a sign of weakness, Izuna. You were torn between giving our own clan an advantage after watching us sustain unprecedented losses, and maintaining your honor. It is a difficult position to be in, with no easy solution."
There was no answer.
The vacant porch both surprised and disappointed him when he reopened his eyes. Izuna had moved so silently, there was no way of knowing where he went, or how much he'd heard before he disappeared. Madara stared blankly at the wall of fog across from him.
He waited for a time. Listening for footsteps. The sound of a sword sheathing, or a stone returning to its resting place. Any clue to the direction he might have gone. But he wouldn't rise to his feet, and he wouldn't chase after him.
The silence enveloped him, along with the shroud of silver as its slow creep finally began invading the room itself. So gradual he hardly noticed.
Madara reached for his tea and held it in his lap. Glancing once more to the knife angled towards him, and tiny flecks of dried blood staining the table. His eyelids sank heavily as he wandered over the chaotic pattern they made from his careless toss earlier.
They would revisit this conversation. That was a promise…but for now, he would resign himself to the stillness, and reflect.
A/N: We'll return to Sakura & Itachi in the second half.