Sacrifice and Surrender

4: Puzzle

Madara washed his hands. Then washed them again. And again. And again. 

The nightly ritual before he went to sleep. Trying to wash away the blood that stained them. The blood of his brother. He looked in the mirror. To the world outside, he looked the same. His eyes weren't different until he activated his Mangeyko, something he had refused to do, refused to see. He looked away from the mirror, feeling bile rise in his throat, and wiped his wet hands on a towel beside the sink and walked away.

He walked barefoot and quietly through his house towards the shrine room. He kneeled before the shrine and lit the incense with his chakra, focused through his index finger.

"Good evening," he murmured, bowing his head in greeting.

First, he looked at the smaller picture, one that Matsuri had hand drawn a few weeks after the attack. He kept the image of Itachi in a place of respect on his brother's shrine.

When his head had cleared in the months after his death, and he thought back to his interactions with the man, Madara realised that he had a lot to be thankful for and that he had lost the chance to perhaps form a great and lasting friendship. The discussions they'd had, however brief, had had a lasting impact on Madara's state of mind. Itachi had been incredibly insightful, making him reconsider and reevaluate his thoughts on himself and the clan. Despite what the darker parts of Madara's mind tried to convince him of, Madara was not at all happy that he was dead.

He bowed his head to Itachi. It was awkward, even though the man was gone. But all Madara knew to do was make a promise, the same one he'd been making every day since he saw her wake up and cry.

"I'll protect her until my last breath."

Just like Itachi had. It was the only way he knew to honour Itachi's sacrifice.

Then looked at the picture of his brother.

"It's no good, brother," he murmured. "Sakura is..." he glanced at Itachi's image and sighed. "She's faded a little, but she's still so bright."

He put a hand to his head and went from kneeling to sitting cross-legged.

"I need to pull myself together."

He spent a year at her bedside. While she was asleep it was easy for him to just be in her presence. Now, she was awake, and he could see that she wasn't comfortable with him. Not in the way she was with Hashirama or Tobirama. His confession to her was her last memory of him before the attack. Of course, she was uncomfortable. In the midst of grief, of trying to pull herself together, he couldn't just step forwards into a place that was already occupied in her heart.

He lay on his back and closed his eyes.

He could still feel her in his arms, feel her warmth. See the flickers of life in her dulled eyes, the little smiles that were more genuine than forced. Her soft laughter that didn't have the energy of a year before. She was constantly with him, on his mind, easing and torturing him. His feelings weren't going to go away, and neither were hers. She was not his to think about in such a manner. He resolved to keep his distance and allow her time and space. He'd be there, supporting her, watching from a distance. Madara clenched his jaw. He would keep his feelings locked away, and maybe one day, if she ever felt the same, he'd let them out.

But hope was dangerous, and as he left the shrine room and headed to his bed, Madara squashed it down and away. He wouldn't hope or expect.

He could only do what he promised. He'd protect her, in every way he could.

*

Sakura didn't sleep.