NARUTO: MadaSaku - "Kimono no Onna" [Part Nineteen]
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yomi_gaeru as a gift for her after all the wonderful inspiration she has provided over the years![Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Eight] [Part Nine] [Part Ten] [Part Eleven] [Part Twelve] [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] [Part Fifteen] [Part Sixteen] [Part Seventeen] [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen]
At the yelling, Sakura burst from her room again, sleeves rolled high and jaw a hard line; but the fury melted away, replaced by fear the moment she found Lord Uchiha kneeling beside Madara on the floor still in the hallway. The Uchiha patriarch’s pale, lined face as he leaned down to Madara’s ear to call for him tightened something primitive and feral inside Sakura. Something that signalled deeply inside her that something worse had happened; that something serious, very serious had gone wrong.
“Madara! Son!”
But Madara wasn’t moving. He struggled to breathe, clutching at his chest.
“Madara! Wake up—argh!”
“Madara,” begged Sakura, yanking Lord Uchiha away with no regard for his person.
Without his balance, the tall man fell backward awkwardly, sprawled on his backside, gaping at her. She ignored him and took up his place beside Madara.
Sakura’s strength unleashed itself unconsciously and had rushed to the fore when she saw Madara so still. She would probably pay for manhandling Uchiha Tajima later, she may even need to apologise to him, but whatever the consequences would be, they would occur in the future and at that moment the only thing that mattered to her was her Madara. “What happened? Stay with me. Wake up, please!”
“S…k’ra…” He murmured wetly. His eyes flickered open for a moment and his body softened against hers where they touched. “Get… away…from father… ‘m not… weak…”
Gasping with relief, she grabbed his hand. “I’m here. Stay awake, we’re getting help!”
—which was when her hard emerald eyes flew up to find Tajima’s and she shot him a glare so poisonous he physically recoiled, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.
So he had been the cause of her Madara’s condition—again. Something lethal settled deep inside Sakura then, and she latched onto it. He had hurt her Madara and it was time that he should pay by her hand.
Her most precious person was suffering and the rage inside her would not be easily assuaged this time. She refused to be the calm, patient, agreeable young girl they had manipulated before; now, she was a woman enough to know what she wanted, and she wanted Tajima’s blood, a cup for every blow he’d struck upon her beloved. Every ounce of her disappointment and need for vengeance flooded her and she forged and coiled them inside her into a tight, metal spring, funnelling her anger into it and tightening it until it creaked with tension.
“You’re not moving fast enough,” she said evenly to her future father-in-law.
“I-I’ll—yes—”
“Now,” snapped Sakura icily, refusing to release his gaze until he nodded.
She had no way of knowing in that moment that she looked primed to kill a man where he stood, regardless of his prestigious station in life; and that man was quickly recognizing just how much he had underestimated the young woman leaning protectively over his son, as her fierce tiger’s eyes pinned him in place from across the hall. For the first time in his life, he wondered if he had endangered his family, and himself, and invited a killer into his home. He’d never seen this side of Sakura before, and it chilled him to realize how badly he had misjudged the relationship she and his son shared. Theirs was not a romantic love, or a sweet love, or a youthful adoration.
Theirs was a bond forged in blood and failure and devotion and the sheer strength of will bold enough to overcome any punishment or constraint that had been hurled at them; and in his foolish temper he had erroneously attacked and wounded one half of their magnificent pair. It was not a mistake that would be lightly, if ever, forgotten.
A predatory stillness enveloped Sakura when she too calmly tracked his movements with her now-unsettling green eyes so he nodded.
“Right away,” agreed Tajima, slowly backing away and getting to his feet. “Keiko-san!” he called from the top of the stairs. “Keiko-san, call the doctor!”
He disappeared down the stairs and his panicked orders, and Keiko-san’s worried replies, faded from Sakura’s hearing.
Her focus returned to Madara and she surrounded him with her love. Nothing else would touch him, ever. She vowed it.
“I’ll… talk… y’r father,” tried Madara, squeezing her hand. Squeezing far too weakly. “Soon.”
“Don’t rush, we can do it together,” murmured Sakura, leaning over him and kissing his brow. “Stay with me, OK?”
Madara coughed and Sakura’s heart dropped. His lungs. They were wet. He was drowning in his own blood. She pressed her lips together. No. No, this wasn’t… this wasn’t supposed to happen!
She refused to let him go until some of the staff arrived and lifted Madara onto a litter, rushing him downstairs toward the front door where the largest family motorcar awaited, engine idling. Sakura held onto Madara’s hand until Keiko-san gently but firmly extracted her—
“I have—no, I have to go with him—I can’t leave him—” rambled Sakura, scrambling to climb into the car. Hysteria had set in and she clambered over the other attendants, ignoring her torn nightdress and scandalous bruising and the gossip they would provoke.
“You’re not fit to follow right now,” argued Keiko-san, clamping Sakura’s arms to her sides and trying to hold her gaze. “Listen to me, you must wash and change first. Then I will arrange a driver for you. But Madara-san needs a doctor as soon as possible. Let go.”
From inside the car, Madara’s low groan sounded and Sakura whimpered and surged forward. “Please—”
“No,” stated Keiko-san, and in a show of surprising strength, she gripped Sakura’s wrists and dragged her away. “Stop acting like a weak child! That young man is far too stubborn to die. Wash up and make yourself presentable. This is no way for a mistress to behave. Show yourself some respect and dignity!”
Sakura’s mouth snapped shut as she stared at Keiko-san in surprise.
“The water’s already running for your bath. Hurry,” ordered Keiko-san, dragging Sakura through the front doors and back into the house again.
Behind them, Tajima in only his shirtsleeves and trousers, no tie, no belt, had hopped into the back of the car to ride with Madara. The doors slammed shut behind him and they raced away, every gate thrown open wide down the drive to enable their swift passage to the hospital.
“But—”
“If you’re going to be the lady of this house, then it’s time to start acting like it,” said Keiko-san severely. “Now is the time to be strong, Sakura-san.”
… Sakura’s racing pulse slowed as Keiko-san’s words registered.
She was right.
Nodding, Sakura straightened her shoulders and tugged her hands free. Then she lifted the hem of her nightdress and ran up the stairs.
Yes, she would take care of everything.
—including one Lord Uchiha Tajima, especially.
***
The ones who were left a bit lost in the drama, however, were Madara’s youngest brothers, Kojima, now eleven, Shichiro, now nine, and Tomoyuki, now eight. After all, Izuna had disappeared overnight, Tajima had rushed Madara to hospital, and Sakura had been upset beyond words when they woke less than an hour later, the morning of the fight. The youngest boys’ entire world revolved around their family and suddenly half of it was gone.
Determined to be the best now-oldest big brother he could, though, Koji had rounded up his two siblings and hand-in-hand they had walked downstairs to find Keiko-san and Sakura. He then shakily asked if the typhoon had come back and taken away their father and brothers, and then asked if she was going away, too.
It was too much.
Without another thought Sakura had gathered the boys in her arms and promised them nothing else was changing, she wasn’t even returning home to her family that day. She called her parents minutes later and let them know she would remain with the Uchihas for an indeterminate time and would explain later. Then she had turned around and settled the boys down with breakfast while Keiko-san went to clean up the blood and mess in the upstairs hallway.
“What happened to your neck?” asked Tomo as they chewed their eggs.
Sakura casually tugged up the collar on her dressing gown. “It’s nothing.”
“Were you hurt by the… whatever it was? The bad thing?” he asked.
Thinking, Sakura poured a glass of milk for Shichi. He was more than capable of doing it himself but she needed something to occupy her hands or she would wring them with worry.
“Thank you,” said Shichi.
Sakura smiled at him before wiping away a drop spilled on the table.
“I… um, I was hurt last night and didn’t realize it. Then your oldest brother was hurt this morning. Your father took him to the hospital,” said Sakura, choosing her words carefully. She would be honest with them, but they didn’t need all the sordid details. “Uchiha Izuna-san has gone to visit some of your family for a bit while we work everything out. Everyone’s going to be okay, though. It just all happened at once.”
“That’s a lot,” said Tomo, swallowing his food and reaching for his milk.
“Ah,” agreed Sakura. Over the last several hours, her adrenaline had run out and small tremors shook her hands. She tucked them into her sleeves while the boys ate.
“There was a big mess in the hall,” said Shichi.
Reaching for her glass of water, the only thing she could stomach, Sakura nodded. “Yes. Keiko-san is looking after it. It… it was an accident.”
“Do we have to help clean it up?” asked Tomo reluctantly.
For the first time in hours, Sakura grinned. “Not this time.”
“Phew!”
All three boys’ little shoulders sagged with relief.
“Told you I didn’t do it,” Sakura heard Tomo whisper to Shichi behind her when she returned the milk to the refrigerator.
***
Several days later, Madara woke in an unfamiliar room.
“Hn—”
His breath hissed out of him from between his clenched teeth and he grabbed instinctively at the stabbing pain in chest, his eyes screwed shut.
“Shh-shh-shh, easy,” murmured Sakura from beside him. Her strong hands came to his shoulders and gently pushed him down to the pillows piled at the head of the bed. “You aren’t supposed to move much yet. Doctor’s orders.”
He grabbed her closest hand and gripped it tightly to his heart, forcing his breathing to slowly even out. When he opened his eyes, he found her studying him. The fingers of her other hand traced his dark brows.
“You’re in the hospital,” she explained as he settled into the mattress again. “You’ve been here since last week. Do… do you remember waking up, before?”
“No,” breathed Madara hoarsely. Another sharp jolt of pain seized him and his eyes flickered shut while his measured breathing inhaled and exhaled out of him.
Gathering his strength when the worst had passed, he opened his eyes. The world spun for a moment before he focused on Sakura’s beautiful green gaze to ground himself.
“You’re here.”
She smiled at him, stroking the mussed, raven wing hair from his face. “Of course I am. Where else would I be?”
With her family, helping at the kimono shop, or with his brothers, looking after them, or with his father, helping him with his work, or a hundred other things she managed to fit in her day. But she wasn’t doing any of those. She was there with him, by his side, watching over him. And—wait, had she said days? Days when her family’s shop was so busy? She had given it all up to be with him when he woke.
Everything…
The memories tumbled over him, Sakura’s tears, Izuna’s stubborn pride, the smashing and spilling and his father’s fists and falling—
Madara’s fists clenched in the hospital bed’s covers.
His father—
Her family—
His carefully, methodically, perfectly arranged plans—!
He swallowed, his jaw clenching and throat working over the lump that rose up.
“I didn’t get to ask your father for his blessing.”
“Madara, that’s not what’s important right now—”
“The Hell it isn’t—argh!”
She winced as he grabbed at his side again. Picking up the damp cloth from a ceramic bowl of cool water, she reached forward, dabbing at him as sweat moistened his brow. “I can get the doctor if you need more pain medicine.”
“No. I don’t want any distractions. I need to speak to your father as soon as possible. As soon…” He looked down at his striped pyjamas, the shirt wrapped across his chest and secured with ties. His shoulders rounded before straightening. Pain flickered across his face but he pushed on. “As soon as I can be presentable.”
“You aren’t wearing any bottoms. You have a pot under you.”
Madara blanched.
Wheedling just a little, Sakura added, “I can invite him over now, if you’re up for it, though. By all means, don’t let being drop-trou stop you.”
At his flush and pouty frown, instead of irritated, her eyes shone warmly. Shaking her head, her lips softened and she leaned over to kiss his cleaned brow.
“I want only for you, Madara. I don’t care what else happens. You’re mine,” she whispered in his ear. “And I’m willing to wait for you. There’s no rush.”
“There’s every rush, especially now,” he mumbled back. Then he sighed as she nuzzled his cheek. “Ever yours,” he said, nipping at her earlobe. “And you’re mine.”
“Always. Madara… Madara… Madara…” she added, pulling back to watch his eyes darken as she repeated his name in a sultry whisper.
Her blush at his wicked smirk definitely improved his mood for the rest of the afternoon.
The laudanum probably helped, too.
***
Within a few hours of waking, Sakura had packed Madara’s things and was riding back to his home with him in the back of his father’s shiny black motorcar, which had been thankfully protected from the typhoon in the carriage house. The chauffeur helped them both in and Sakura took a seat beside Madara.
When he sucked in a breath after they bounced through a rut, Sakura turned to him and was about to speak when she found him glaring out the front windshield, his bloodless lips pressed together tightly and his jaw a hard, clenched line akin to those carved in Roman marble statues. Even suffering from ribs crushed from his father’s temper, he considered himself a man and refused to complain.
With sympathy and understanding, she reached for his hand to prevent him aggravating his injury. He glanced at her, eyes wide, before facing forward again and his shoulders relaxing, at least. From that point on, he didn’t complain a whit as she held his hand in her lap, occasionally running her thumb over his knuckles to soothe him.
Clearance of the typhoon damage from the main roads was complete by the time Sakura and Madara returned to his home, which meant the servants, maids, cooks, and other domestic and security forces returned to duty, too.
With a full complement of staff again, the Uchihas repaired, opened and re-stocked the largest, airy conservatory in the main residence building of their estate, full of floor-to-ceiling windows and a variety of plants. Situated down a bright hallway on the main floor, it opened out onto a small courtyard garden with a sprawling pond and a network of bridges to small, man made islands. Koi, some as long as six feet by Sakura’s guess, lazily circled the crystal clear water. Occasionally she had found Koji curled up asleep in the room, an open book across his lap and one of the estate’s silky, midnight cats curled up under his chin.
Sakura used the previously abandoned conservatory as a makeshift infirmary and care-room for Madara and the boys. Years before, she had adapted a storage closet to keep bandages, salves and splints for them, but the larger room now contained half a pharmacy, a pair of cots, several comfortable chairs, a washroom and extra sinks, linens, disinfectant, and a variety of medical tools and apparatus. As the boys’ pseudo-nanny, Sakura had learned much from the physician who personally attended the Uchihas over the years and together they had arranged the room to make it a wellness space. Grateful for the help in wrangling his wily charges, the doctor had taught her as if she were his private apprentice. The Uchiha were his primary benefactors, after all, and the boys listened to Sakura as closely (and sometimes more attentively) than they did their own father.
Upon Madara’s return from the hospital, the room became his convalescent centre… complete with a private nurse who would, when he was behaving very well, whisper his given name in his ear as a reward.
Over the next six weeks, Sakura was granted a generous reprieve from her duties at the kimono shop. The transition required actioning the restructuring plan Sakura had been planning anyway, just at a more rapid implementation. Her parents hired several additional women part-time to cover Sakura’s shifts. Each newcomer arrived experienced with the fine materials and tools their shop was renowned for, fortunately. Grateful, if confused at how quickly such skilled women had been found, Sakura heeded her parents’ words to ‘not worry about the shop, look after the poor boys’. She wasn’t entirely sure what had been relayed to her parents after her initial call, but apparently it had been dire enough that they gave her their blessing to remain with the Uchihas until further notice.
Sakura had no idea what on Earth Lord Uchiha had told her parents to convince them to relinquish her for so long, and seriously wondered if Tondo had informed them Madara was dying, but shook off the suspicion… mostly. Though Tondo would not meet her eyes (and kept his back to the wall) when they crossed each others’ path. Hm.
Whatever had happened behind the scenes while she tended Madara in hospital, this extended living accommodation was further enabled when the Uchihas made up a full bedroom suite in their family wing for Sakura so she would not be required to rush home at night, complete with Keiko-san as chaperone and personal attendant, as required. Sakura bit her cheek at the intense, mature pride in Madara’s eyes as he introduced her to ‘her rooms’, just down the hall from his own, and Keiko-san as her own staff. She held her tongue so as not to scold him in front of Keiko-san for going so far out of his way (and putting his staff so far out of their usual routine), but it was a close thing. If it got out that she was staying there even after the bridge repairs, that she had her own staff there…
The implications, when they hadn’t announced a formal engagement, could be terrible for all of them. They had to be so, so careful…
For better or worse, there were no connecting doors between her room and his when Sakura checked, but she did find the hidden door that led to the staff corridor. Mentally she weighed the wardrobe, debating whether she should bar the servant door with it, but she sighed and turned away, reminding herself that the threat to her person no longer resided at the Uchihas’ clanstead home. He was no longer part of her life.
If she was outside her room and heard Shichi and Tomo wondering what Izuna was up to sometimes, then she just smiled at them and reminded them he was on a fun trip to visit their family. At least that made the younger boys jealous instead of sad.
Inside her suite, her rooms began to reflect her personal taste faster than she would have thought possible. Bookcases, novels, spare clothing, toiletries and other essentials generously appointed the wing, which included a balcony that overlooked the gardens and fountains outside the conservatory.
“I’m leaving the doors open while I collect a spare quilt,” announced Keiko-san as Madara walked Sakura around her new rooms one afternoon.
“Thank you, Keiko-san,” said Madara.
With a curt nod to Madara, Keiko-san turned and winked at Sakura before heading back into the hallway towards the linen closet at the far, far, far end of the corridor. Her footsteps retreated loudly. At Keiko’s antics, Sakura couldn’t help smiling at her friend and enabler. She would have to talk to Madara about arranging a subtle show of appreciation for Keiko-san.
Finally alone, Sakura let Madara draw her over to the balcony, where he wrapped an arm around her waist and coaxed her to his good side.
“Thank you for coming back,” he said quietly. “I think you have witnessed the worst of my father’s temper three times now on my behalf. I’ve seen his business partners piss themselves and bolt when he’s raised his voice, and you… you were ready to tackle him like a bruiser.” A small chuckle lifted his healing chest, only slightly. “I knew sending you those suffragette pamphlets would only embolden you.”
“You aren’t getting rid of me that easily. I’m not afraid of any of you.”
“I know,” he said, his voice a touch lower.
The way he said it, the way his fingers slowly tightened at her waist, the way his lips brushed against her throat as he walked her back into her room and made a point of looking at her heatedly as they passed her bed, all weakened Sakura’s knees.
Without Izuna around to keep her on her toes, sometimes it was almost too easy to give into their mutual enthusiasm. Each hiss Madara tried to hide when she ran her hands down his side quickly settled Sakura’s ardour, however. Mostly. Madara giving her bedroom eyes in spite of his pain did not help her self-control.
There were other adjustments to be made around the fully repaired mansion and grounds, too. The house wasn’t just abuzz with Sakura’s introduction as a more-than-casual guest. It was a period of reorganisation at the estate and several staff were reappointed with the turnover. Under the guise of dealing with a heavier workload, Tajima had, as he had many years before, holed himself up in his office, whether in their home or out at one of his businesses. It didn’t hide the truth; Sakura had a sneaky suspicion Tajima guiltily footed the bill for any and all accommodations required for her to attend his healing son including paying the wages of her shop’s additional staff. Even when she went looking for Lord Uchiha, Sakura could find neither hide nor hair of him, which may have been for the best as she had more than a bit to say to him, none of it polite.
“He has it coming,” seethed Sakura, helping Madara rebandage his side after applying more healing salve.
“Ah,” sighed Madara happily as she touched him. “But let’s not be hasty…”
Pursing her lips and shaking her head, Sakura muttered under her breath about male hubris and overly entitled wealthy monsters without conscience, and they would never treat their children this way, and…
Madara’s breathing hitched.
Sakura swallowed.
—and went back to her bandages, hiding her heated face behind her loose bangs.
***
In October, Sakura looked around the convalescence room, noting the quiet. The younger boys were at school, Madara was working in his own office, and she…
Emotion squeezed her heart… she had not seen her family since the typhoon.
A pang of homesickness struck her as she recalled that she and her parents had missed their usual morning call. Her parents were away visiting their suppliers, now that the rush of sales had slowed. She had a routine at the Uchihas’ home and tried to keep her family as part of it, but sometimes it seemed it would not be possible. The future was coming faster and faster and while part of her was excited for the coming changes, she still longed for the familiarity and comfort of a life of routine. Her work. Her home. Her parents. Her room.
It wouldn’t be quite so lonely if Madara had not been sending her away from him more often over the last several weeks. He didn’t need her as much (loathe as he was to admit it). Even his father had increased Madara’s work responsibilities again on top of Madara’s studies, so Madara required more privacy to complete it all. Madara held meetings in the estate board rooms, occasionally using the drawing room when his father worked away from their home.
Her cheeks flushing, Sakura wondered if Lord Uchiha kept Madara so occupied to prevent the pair of them making use of the drawing room—or any other room—for non-business purposes in his absence. Very non-business purposes.
With a small sigh, Sakura shook her head. Probably.
Perhaps it was time for her to return home before she seduced Madara in spite of his father’s best efforts. She didn’t know how much more of his father's abuse Madara’s poor body could take that year. Guilt seeped in around the edges of her longing and she carefully tucked it away. She was good enough to be Madara’s wife. She was patient enough to wait for their engagement. She was hopefully strong enough to make it to their wedding night before they gave in to their baser instincts again.
But her head fell back as she groaned.
No. They would never make it that far. She knew it.
It couldn’t be hopeless, but it could certainly be frustrating. If only they could mitigate the most pressing of the risks, then they could take the edge off their…
She blinked.
Hn, as Madara would say.
Gathering the report on which Madara had asked her opinion, Sakura bit her bottom lip, her cheeks warming. The doctor was due to visit in an hour or two. She should get Madara’s things ready.
###
In mid-October, Sakura looked up from her desk in the convalescence wing—it had become her unofficial office—at a rap on the open French doors.
“Yes, Keiko-san? What can I… Hashirama!”
“Sakura!”
Sakura laughed as her friend picked her up and swung her around in a bear hug before setting her on her feet again.
“Be careful with my future wife, Hashi.”
From the doorway, Madara scowled at them before following Hashirama in. He closed the doors behind them after scanning the room and nearby halls.
Sakura looked between the pair, mouth gaping and brows furrowed.
“You two know each other? Since when?”
“Ah. Madara introduced himself last winter. It’s the first time he’s agreed to us all meeting together, though,” explained Hashirama. “He’s been keeping me at arm’s reach for some reason.”
“You never said anything…”
Hashirama shrugged and grinned at her.
More and more confused, Sakura frowned at Madara but he only nodded at the couches where they all took a seat, Madara planting himself beside Sakura, their sides and legs touching. If she didn’t miss her guess, he scowled and pressed in against her when Hashi grinned at him knowingly.
“I came to see if you wanted to go to the matsuri festival together,” said Hashirama. He pulled a folded paper flyer from his pocket and offered it to Sakura. He turned to Madara. “I thought your father may allow you some time away from your brothers if he knew I would be there. ‘Chaperoning’,” grinned Hashi.
Madara narrowed his eyes but leaned closer to Sakura to read the advertisement. Rather than his usual aloof countenance, his subtle, primed tension, gave away his interest.
“Would he agree?” asked Sakura, turning to Madara.
“Hn…”
Their eyes met.
A festival. Together. Just the two—three—of them. They could walk side by side, enjoy the lanterns and music, share treats… Together. Hope bloomed inside her heart but she knew Madara was so busy… Perhaps she could sweeten the deal…
“... I could wear the kanzashi and hair pins you got me?” she added.
Then she looked him up and down, biting her lip.
“He’ll agree,” said Madara immediately. His eyes darkened and darted to her throat. He swallowed.
“Great!” declared Hashirama, smacking his thigh and not quite interrupting the rapidly mounting sexual tension between Sakura and Madara, especially as the latter completely ignored him. “I’ll come by on Friday around 5 pm and we’ll go together!”
Forcing herself to turn away from Madara—and tamp down on the heat tightening her body—Sakura nodded at Hashirama. “Thank you so much, Hashirama. I can’t wait!”
“Remember to bring an extra sweater, in case it’s chilly that night,” said Hashirama.
The look Madara gave her as they walked Hashirama out later assured Sakura that there would be no risk of her getting cold the night of the festival.