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NARUTO: IzuSaku, MadaSaku - "Immured" - Day Four - Morning
Previous Chapters: DFC:
[Day Zero] [Day One] [Day Two - Morning] [Day Two - Morning Continued] [Day Two - Afternoon] [Day Two - Night]
Previous Chapters: Personal DW:
[Day Three] [Day Four - Morning]
Day Four:
Morning:
Izuna left Sakura before the sun rose the next morning, brushing back her hair to press a kiss to her brow before tucking her in again under the blanket. The complete relaxation in her body, her trust in him, lightened his spirit as he closed the door to her room behind him. With a full day planned, he washed quickly and dressed, leaving a message with his main servant before the rest of his new staff woke. That accomplished, he hurried outside to begin his errands.
# # #
Just after dawn, Madara’s eyes narrowed as he approached Sakura’s room. Her door was open. It was one thing to leave her without restraints, but her door should never be left open.
When he reached Sakura’s door, he paused.
Tea. Water. Juice. Vitamins. Fresh bread. Jam. Eggs. Rice porridge. Strawberries with sugar. Books, paper, brushes, ink, pens, scrolls. They surrounded Sakura like she was right at home.
Sipping her tea and dressed in clean, loose training clothes, Sakura sat at the table with her hair up in a simple French twist secured with chopsticks. She looked up at Madara as he stared at her from the doorway of her room.
“Good morning,” said Sakura, returning to the book she’d been reading. “There’s breakfast tea if you’d like some.”
The lingering scents of cinnamon, apple, lily of the valley and to a lesser degree, sex, wafted to Madara’s nose, immediately setting his senses on edge.
For a brief moment, anger flared so hotly within Madara’s chest he thought it physically burned him. His heart tightened uncomfortably for a moment before he straightened and entered without knocking.
Early morning light entered through the room casting a warm glow about. In the corner of the windowsill, Madara noted a pair of candles, half burned, their wicks extinguished. Seeing them, he realized he did smell a faint trace of beeswax in the air.
“You took my advice,” remarked Madara, staring at the candles. His irrational anger had not receded. The evidence of the candles only made it burn hotter.
“Hm?”
A muscle ticked beneath Madara’s eye. Sakura was ignoring him on purpose.
He turned to look at Sakura, her legs crossed, one leg bouncing on the other faintly as she read. In her room, with all the comforts she would have once she was married, she was completely at ease. But she had them now. Why did she have them now?
Something had changed between her and Izuna for him to have provided her with so much.
Something fundamental had changed for Sakura to be so casually relaxed, perfectly sated if going by her scent, that morning.
Madara’s presence didn’t bother her in the slightest. He didn’t even have her attention.
His irritation and anger building, Madara took a step closer to Sakura but stopped.
No.
That wasn’t entirely true.
She had changed the rules on him. She had noticed him. She had been waiting for him.
He would not play her game.
He was there to enjoy his—
No! Madara caught himself, reasserting himself mentally.
He was there to instruct her.
Guide her.
Discipline her.
“I’m almost done this chapter,” said Sakura, still not looking at Madara. “Just give me a minute.”
On quiet feet Madara approached Sakura. With a single graceful finger he shut the book. The thud was soft but strong enough that it made the tea set rattle on the table. He pressed down on the book with his hand, sealing it away from Sakura.
Sakura’s soft sigh didn’t sway him.
“What is it today?” asked Sakura, finally looking up at Madara. Yet her clear viridian eyes weren’t annoyed or angry with him. They weren’t mischievous or even a hint defiant.
To his fury, they were faintly curious and primarily bored.
His teeth clenched.
“We have three chakras left, correct? Is it crown, heart or throat? I doubt heart, to be honest, given the way things are progressing, but you’ve surprised m—”
Madara’s fist choked off Sakura’s last guess.
“Throat,” said Madara silkily, squeezing his fingers tighter.
Sakura’s hands had instinctively risen when Madara first lashed out at her. When she closed her eyes and overcame her instincts however, she let her hands fall to her sides and simply watched Madara.
She was waiting him out.
His eyes bleeding red, Madara unleashed a snarl.
“No fight today?”
Her calm green gaze holding his crimson one, Sakura did nothing. The colour around her lips paled, her eyes slowly turning bloodshot. Her arms hung by her sides.
Sakura listed to the side in her seat, falling forward.
Soon the only impetus holding her up was his hand, strangling her.
“Fight.”
He raised her higher until her feet lifted clean off the ground. Spinning on his heel, he pinned her to the wall, face to face with him. Her head smacked it and bounced off the wall with a light crack. Still she held his gaze.
“Fight,” he repeated.
The light began to fade from her eyes.
“Fight.”
Her head swayed on her shoulders, her eyes falling shut.
Footsteps approached outside the room and quickly retreated, but Madara only had eyes for Sakura.
“You think I won’t revive you and start all over again?” asked Madara, his Sharingan spinning. “Why won’t you—”
“Why won’t you fight?”
“Why would I lower myself?”
The previous day’s conversation played back in Madara’s head and he stared down at Sakura. Her face had turned a mottled, blotchy purple.
—Why had he lowered himself—
Sakura’s head fell forward and to the side, her body slack. One faint beat at a time, her pulse faded beneath Madara’s fingers.
Madara’s Sharingan shifted into the Mangekyou and his heart stopped.
# # #
Sakura’s chest filled with air and burst apart.
Gasping, she coughed harshly, desperate to breathe.
She coughed violently again as someone rolled her onto her side.
Nausea flooded her where precious air had been only moments ago and Sakura fought it, clenching her teeth as her body was racked with pain.
Especially her raw, ragged throat and her cold, vibrating chest.
Dragging in coarse breaths, Sakura slumped back down onto the hard floor, closing her eyes until the blurriness cleared. Her shoulders sagged and she focused entirely on refueling her blood oxygen levels with beautiful, precious air.
As her other senses slowly returned, she heard the rustle of fabric beside her; footsteps outside the door; above her, a low, distinctly male exhale. The hand that had turned her to the side finally released her, though gently, slowly, fingers dragging down her sleeves.
Her hands regaining feeling, Sakura lifted them to her exposed chest, fumbling with the sides of her robe to pull it closed and ward off the morning chill.
She tried to clear her throat and winced. She was surprised to taste mint.
“So that is how you chose to fight today.”
Resting her head on the ground, Sakura turned her eyes up at the condescending voice.
Kneeling at her side with his hair in disarray around him, Madara stared down at Sakura. His dark eyes were lined with stress.
“Your stubbornness brought you very close to death.”
“Pity,” croaked Sakura.
Madara frowned at her.
“I expected more from you.”
The perfect calm on Sakura’s face was at odds with her listless, wistful voice.
“Me, too,” she admitted.
The way Madara’s brow furrowed would have amused Sakura at another time. Instead she watched him, waiting for his next move. It didn’t take long. She had learned Madara liked to talk. He learned people. Combined with his Sharingan, it was what made him so strong, being able to read his opponents’ thoughts and movements.
“You were willing to die, rather than fight,” remarked Madara.
He remained in seiza, watching over her. His arms rested on his lap rather than in their usual pompous fold across his proud chest. Perhaps it was the way the morning light reflected off him, but his palms were stained red.
Sakura shrugged.
“Worth a shot.”
Madara’s brow dipped.
He opened his mouth to speak again but madly running footsteps tearing through the house made them both turn to the hallway, just as Izuna flew through the door.
“Sakura! Are you alright?”
The younger Uchiha’s dark eyes were wide and he fell to his knees beside his brother, taking in the scene; his elder brother calm, if ruffled, and reserved; his fiancée sprawled on the floor, dishevelled and half-undressed.
“‘Zuna,” croaked Sakura.
His chest heaving with emotion and jaw tight, Izuna slid his hands beneath Sakura and lifted her, cradling her against him.
Sakura’s hands instinctively clutched onto Izuna’s shirt. She closed her eyes a moment, breathing in his scent, calming herself with his warmth. Unfortunately their time together was far too short. Izuna ushered and settled Sakura on her futon a few feet away, adjusting her shirt to cover her. He quickly checked her over himself, his eyes stopping immediately at the garish, finger-sized bruises around her throat.
The room went quiet. Izuna’s coal eyes froze before they slowly bled red.
Sakura grabbed his sleeve, but he pulled away from her.
Without a word, Izuna reached into his sleeve and pulled out a wrapped package, setting it beside Sakura. Then he stood and turned back to his brother. It was then Izuna’s sharpened eyes caught sight of the bloodstain on the wall, above the table where Sakura’s breakfast still sat, spilled across its surface.
“What happened,” asked Izuna evenly, looking down at Madara.
“She was stubborn.”
“She is generous and curious and intelligent,” said Izuna, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “What did she do that led to this?”
Madara’s hands curled in his lap.
“What did she do?” demanded Izuna, advancing on his brother.
“She was—”
“What did she do!”
Madara glared at Izuna, but his eyes remained unchanged and black as ink, in spite of the way Izuna’s swirled with red rebellion and ill intent. His reply was calm.
“Nothing.”
The resulting silence stretched and smoke began to rise from Izuna’s fists, his chest rising and falling rapidly as his pinwheeling eyes bore into Madara’s.
“Izuna, I’m okay,” said Sakura, her voice still raw. She brought a hand to her throat instinctively to heal it, only to pause, her shoulders slumping.
“Is there a chakra healer nearby?” asked Sakura.
Both men froze.
“Hashirama?” continued Sakura. “Is he here?”
The Uchihas turned to her.
“How do you know that name?” asked Madara, his eyes narrowing on Sakura.
“She knows plenty. And I’m taking her to Hashirama,” said Izuna.
Izuna turned away from his brother, but Madara lunged forward, grabbing Izuna’s arm.
“Do not give her back her—”
“I’ll decide what’s best for my wife,” snapped Izuna, yanking his arm out of his brother’s grasp. “Future wife,” he corrected himself, avoiding his brother’s furious gaze. Izuna looked at Sakura. “You can go to my room to change. We’ll leave in a few minutes. Can you walk?”
Sakura nodded and winced at the movement.
Izuna looked pointedly down at the package beside her and Sakura’s spirits lifted.
Izuna smiled at her with a nod.
“We’ll spar when we get back, if you’re still up for it.”
Sakura’s face lit up with excitement.
“Thank you!”
With care Sakura stood up from the futon, pushing through her dizziness. She took the package and walked around the men, leaving them alone in her room.
Izuna waited until he heard his door close before he turned back to his brother.
By now Madara stood, absolutely seething at Izuna.
“She’s no good to us dead,” said Izuna quietly.
“Keep her chakra leashed or she won’t be the only dead one,” said Madara.
Izuna huffed, turning away.
“She doesn’t need chakra to kill us. She could have left us dead a hundred times over by now. She could have killed me in my sleep last night. She hasn’t,” argued Izuna. “Stop giving her reasons to.”
“We have three days left.”
“Stop wasting time and teach her, then,” said Izuna. He clenched his teeth, looking down for a moment to calm himself. He took a breath then looked over his shoulder at Madara. Madara, the brother he had admired and competed with his entire life. Madara, who, for all his intensity, had never become so unhinged in a spar that he ever risked killing Izuna, no matter how heated their arguments. Madara, who had never lowered himself to fight someone lesser than himself.
Concern tempered Izuna’s anger the longer he considered his brother’s uncharacteristic outburst.
“You’ve never lost control around anyone other than Hashirama.”
For the first time Madara looked away. He wasn’t quick enough, though, for Izuna saw the way his Sharingan flared active before receding beneath the blackness once more.
Izuna waited, listening for Sakura to finish as he watched his brother.
“She’s exactly what I thought,” said Madara after a long minute.
Izuna didn’t miss the way his brother stared at the bloodstain on the wall, over the breakfast table.
“That’s supposed to be good,” said Izuna. “That’s why we looked so long for her. For us to grow stronger together.”
“Ah.”
From down the hall Sakura greeted one of the staff, asking them if they could clear the breakfast dishes.
“I’ll stay closer tomorrow morning,” said Izuna.
With that he left Madara and joined Sakura in the hallway, steering her away from her room and down to the front door.
# # #
“Master Hashirama, are you in?”
Hashirama stepped out of his front door when he sensed the Uchiha approaching.
“Izuna? Is everything alright with Madara?”
“Ah. I came to ask for your help with Sakura,” said Izuna. “Her throat is injured.”
Sakura?
Hashirama stepped further out and looked down from his porch.
Sure enough, a pair of brilliant green eyes stared up at him curiously.
The beautiful curtain of rose hair caught his eye next, as did her poise. She was as graceful as the most skilled nin he had ever crossed and something about her captured his curiosity. She wore the Uchiha clan crest on her clothing, though it was obvious she was not an Uchiha.
His fiancée, Hashirama reminded himself. That’s what Madara had said. Sakura was Izuna’s fiancée.
Her quiet confidence reminded him of his wife.
But what had Hashirama’s eyes widening was the rhombus seal upon her forehead. His memory jumped to Mito’s and her clan’s fuinjutsu secrets, most of which even he didn’t know.
Izuna had brought him a mystery, indeed...
“Come up,” said Hashirama. “Let’s take a look.”
When they settled on cushions on the long planks of Hashirama’s sunlit porch, Sakura and Izuna sat beside each other, facing Hashirama. The young pair sat hip to hip, both relaxed and attentive. Seated beside Sakura, Izuna kept a warm, possessive hand on her lower back, idly rubbing it. The Uchiha’s dark eyes softened whenever he looked at the beautiful woman beside him, and Hashirama’s heart clenched at the genuine fondness he recognized in the young man.
Sakura unwrapped the scarf from around her neck.
Unable to help himself, Hashirama winced at the heavy bruising that defiled her throat like vulgar graffiti. He leaned in and gently tilted Sakura’s chin from side to side for a closer look. The size and spacing of the marks on her throat were evidence of hands larger than Izuna’s. When he gently opened her collar further, he caught sight of the mauve passion bites strung along her shoulder and neck, marring her otherwise flawless, healthy skin.
What in the gods had they put this poor woman through…
Sakura, the young woman who had broken Madara’s arm, the Senju suddenly remembered.
Malevolent suspicions arose in Hashirama. He focused his breathing, controlling his temper.
“Were you hurt anywhere else?” asked Hashirama, staring into Sakura’s eyes meaningfully.
At Hashirama’s question, though, Izuna’s arm stilled.
The Senju noted how closely Izuna sat beside Sakura. He could tell Izuna cared for her. If this was the state the young woman before him was in after only a few days with the Uchiha, something more was going on.
But what?
“Just the bruising,” said Sakura.
A blatant lie.
She even smiled as she said it.
The faint lines around Hashirama’s eyes and mouth deepened. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
This poor kunoichi.
“Okay,” said Hashirama. He lifted his glowing hands. “This won’t take long—”
“Her chakra stays where it is.”
Facing Hashirama, Sakura’s polite expression turned neutral at Izuna’s command.
Once again Hashirama’s eyes found the seal on Sakura’s forehead.
“Madara said not to change her chakra,” insisted Izuna.
Rolling his shoulders, Hashirama nodded. “I couldn’t change her chakra if I tried. That seal,” he pointed to Sakura’s forehead. “Gives her the strength of a hundred. Her chakra reserves are as deep as a tailed beast’s. Even if she died, it would resurrect her, assuming enough of her chakra system was intact. It would rebuild her all over again, brand new. First time I’ve seen it on someone other than Mito, though.”
In front of his eyes, Hashirama saw Sakura’s eyes age slowly in her face at his words. Bags appeared beneath them while lines of stress formed around her mouth. The transition was so sweeping that Hashirama, riveted, couldn’t turn away from her.
Thus Hashirama missed the pieces fitting together in Izuna’s expression beside them.
Lifting his glowing hands again, Hashirama went back to his original job of healing Sakura’s throat.
“Not sure what happened here,” lied Hashirama blatantly to avoid an argument. “Normally her body would have healed something like this on its ow—”
As his chakra network made contact with Sakura’s, Hashirama’s warm eyes flew open and met Sakura’s desperate ones. At the same time, the edge of Izuna’s blade slashed out, the tip grazing Hashirama’s throat, just above the jugular.
No one moved, as if the group had turned to statues on Hashirama’s porch.
The tension spread until Sakura sighed softly under her breath.
“The bruising around my neck is the only thing that requires immediate attention,” said Sakura to Hashirama politely, her shoulders slumping.
His instincts screaming at him to protect the young woman in front of him, Hashirama looked between Izuna’s firm expression and Sakura again.
“Please,” added Sakura with resignation.
Her fists released in her lap and she closed her eyes, defeated.
# # #
The leafy canopy above them sang with birdsong and the wind through the branches as Sakura and Izuna made their way back to the Uchiha Clan compound.
Izuna stared straight ahead, not speaking to Sakura. He knew the path between the Senju and Uchiha encampments well, having travelled it with his brother during their peace negotiations. He had been concerned at the time of the Senju betraying them, ambushing them along the way.
He should have been looking closer to home.
Beside him, Sakura walked, calmer than he’d seen her in some time. She enjoyed sparring and missions, he remembered. She was probably happy to be outside.
Did he dare continue with their original plans to spar?
Was it worth the risk?
Why had his brother kept such secrets from him—
To Izuna’s right, Sakura reached for his sleeve.
“Izuna—” she murmured.
He ignored her.
“Izuna,” insisted Sakura, reaching for him again.
“No,” snapped Izuna, caught up in his own thoughts.
Sakura’s eyes glanced around them furtively. She reached for his sleeve, the one where he kept spare kunai, again.
“Izu—fuck,” spat Sakura, rolling to the side as a barrage of senbon rained down upon them. Instinctively Izuna had leapt away, unfortunately in the opposite direction from Sakura.
Unsheathing a brace of kunai from his ankle, Izuna tossed it to Sakura across the small gully that now separated them. He heard her muttering curses as she hid between two logs. It sounded suspiciously like, “Fucking kunai? A fistful of chakra would have been better, asshole,” but he was probably missing some of the finer details.
“Uchiha Izuna, come out,” called a voice with a Stone accent.
Izuna was not having a good day.
To be honest, Sakura’s wasn’t any better.
# # #
When Izuna found Sakura again, she had just finished wiping the blood off her kunai on the Stone nin’s flak jacket. She was sweaty, dirty, covered in scratches and her robe was missing its sleeves, bearing her shoulders. She tucked the kunai back into the brace she had strapped to her ankle, looking around.
When she found another dead nin, she walked over and untied the makeshift noose from around his neck.
She had repurposed her own scarf as a noose.
Something low in Izuna’s stomach clenched.
A quick count confirmed that Sakura had taken out more than two dozen nin with her scarf and a brace of kunai.
And no chakra, Izuna reminded himself as he re-sheathed his swords.
“You made it,” remarked Sakura, patting down another body. She sighed and straightened, moving on to the next one.
“I don’t see any mission scrolls on these guys. How about yours,” asked Sakura, kneeling and checking another body.
“They were after the Sharingan. They came to negotiate with Madara recently,” said Izuna. “Hashirama offered to sell them tailed beasts, but Madara wanted an additional treaty confirming they would no longer hunt Uchiha.”
Sakura kicked over another body, sending it flying.
“I take it negotiations broke down,” huffed Sakura, glaring at Izuna.
“Ah.”
Sakura shook her head, her hands on her hips. She frowned at the mess of bodies littering the forest floor. It had been so peaceful only half an hour ago. Now the glade had been churned up by fire jutsu and fallen trees.
“What?” asked Sakura, lifting a wrist to wipe the sweat from her filthy brow.
Izuna hadn’t realized he was staring at her.
“I thought you said you didn’t have any chakra,” said Izuna.
“I don’t.”
Izuna looked around them again.
Fortunately he had his wits about him as he caught the kunai brace Sakura lobbed at his head. Two were in pristine condition, with only one showing use, in spite of how well Sakura had wiped it clean. Which meant she had only used one.
She had taken down two dozen shinobi with a single kunai.
A shiver ran between Izuna’s shoulder blades and straight down to his groin.
“They were only jounin level,” said Sakura, not paying Izuna much mind. She set her hands on her hips as she cocked one hip outward, surveying the scene. “Hardly S-class nin.”
With a final glance around, Sakura started back toward the place they’d separated on the path back to the Uchiha camp. Izuna frowned, returning to her side.
“It would have been a lot faster if I’d had chakra,” muttered Sakura.
Refusing the urge to look behind them, Izuna matched Sakura’s pace for the remainder of the walk back.
He did give in to the urge to study Sakura, though, and the tattoo on her right shoulder. For the first time he wondered if it was a badge rather than a decoration.
“How did you learn such skills,” asked Izuna.
“Hm?”
Izuna kept his attention on Sakura.
She shrugged.
“Sensei. Shishou. ANBU.”
“You mentioned ANBU before. What is it?”
Sakura inhaled deeply, letting it out slowly.
“The personal guard to the village leader,” said Sakura. “The Hokage’s right hand.”
Izuna’s eyes sharpened as he watched Sakura intently. To be so skilled, that meant Sakura had been part of...
“The elite,” stated Izuna.
At that, Sakura nodded.
They walked in silence for several minutes, the forest gradually returning to its usual activity around them.
“Would you still like to spar?”
Sakura looked up at Izuna, her brows raised.
He held her gaze.
“... Do you have more wraps? I need to secure the loose parts of my clothes,” said Sakura.
A thrill of anticipation trickled into Izuna’s blood.
“Ah,” he said, his dark eyes shining down at her.
The corner of Sakura’s lips curled at his eager tone.
Izuna’s heart squeezed in his chest.