Sacrifices for Peace

Part Seven: Dark III

It was a strange thing, rejection. Madara had never experienced much of it before. In his life, he'd mostly been revered or feared by his clan, or by his enemies. Hashirama never rejected him, though he'd rejected Hashirama. Tobirama originally rejected him, but their relationship had changed in recent months.

This rejection was different. The feelings involved made it so. The Uchiha, contrary to popular belief, were not a cold or heartless clan. The bonds between them ran deep, their emotions were strong. Family meant everything to them. They loved fiercely and protectively, and that ruined them as often as it built them up. A curse, perhaps, the depth of their feeling. It certainly felt like that to Madara: a curse. It was made worse by the fact that he knew that Itachi felt exactly the same way he did, but Itachi's feelings were reciprocated and because of that, he'd never give up Sakura.

Sakura. The thought of her name gave him pain. A stab through his chest. He still felt the softness of her lips, could taste the saltiness of her tears. How this had happened to him, he didn't know. When had he begun to feel for her? Likely from the moment she saved Izuna, even if he didn't know it. Wasn't that how these things started, without knowledge?

He had thought that getting his feelings out of his head and telling her might offer some relief. Whoever spouted that idea was a fool and a liar. Hearing her sincere, heartfelt apologies and seeing the tears in her eyes was enough to cause a strangling of his heart in his chest. After that kiss, he'd had to leave. It was too much. He'd wanted more once he'd had it. He'd gone to the river, where she'd healed Izuna. The crater she'd created with her foot was repaired. He sighed.

"Get a hold of yourself," he muttered to himself with irritation.

Sakura wasn't his, and wouldn't be his. Madara was many things, but he was not the kind of man who would lower himself to the level of an adulterer. Sakura would come to him willingly, or she would not. She knew his feelings, the choice lay with her.

He leaned a hand against the trunk of the tree. There was a ridiculous saying that wars were waged for love. He had never believed it to be true. There were always sinister motivations for war, and love was rarely a sinister thing. But he knew that if Sakura were hurt in any way, at any time, he would destroy the responsible party and damn the consequences. Perhaps there was more to that saying after all.

He let out a soft grunt of frustration, disbelief, and annoyance. Was this truly how he was going to spend the days to come? In sentimental thought about the cause and effect of romantic love? He scoffed. This broken curse that Sakura told him of had obviously caused him to become somewhat weaker. Not that he really wanted to go back to the feeling and fullness of darker emotion, but the adjustment period to his new self was going to take some time.

He lingered by the river for the remainder of the afternoon. He didn't often blow off an entire afternoon of work, but he'd lost his motivation for it. One day wouldn't change much, and Hashirama didn't need him to welcome him back to the village. He had enough fans to shower him with attention. The sun stained the sky in hues of pink and orange and gray as it dropped lower in the sky. He'd been gone a long time, and if he missed dinner without a word, Izuna would worry.

Halfway to the village, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He stopped walking, his senses alerted to danger. His eyes darted from side to side, scanning the trees, shifting from black to red and black. If he were any other man, he might have hidden in the trees and watched for the approaching chakra signature. But Madara was not another man. He stayed in place, watching the path for the man slowly making his way towards him in his red and black vision.