NARUTO: MadaSaku - "Kimono no Onna" [Part Two]
AN: A MadaSaku based around 1910 in Japan (and later, England), where Madara and Sakura meet as children. Warnings for a parent spanking their unruly child, smoking, and mild xenophobia.
[Part One]
###
After showing her parents her gifts, Sakura hurried to her room. The next day was Saturday and with the spring festivals coming, it was sure to be a long, busy weekend. She normally would not have been permitted to leave for a full Friday afternoon, let alone evening, but now she understood why her parents had both seen her off earlier that day, their eyes twinkling knowingly.
Sakura shook her head, grinning to herself. So everyone had known but her.
Their combined efforts delighted her and Sakura had never felt so special.
She washed up quickly and carefully set the new bracelet in its box beside her bed. In her rush to get under the covers in the cold bedroom, she tripped on the bag she had forgotten by her nightstand.
Swallowing her grunt, she picked up the bag. Why was it so heavy? It hadn’t felt that heavy earlier, had it? She must be more tired than she thought.
Reaching down, she fished around inside the bag for her new poetry book. Izuna was right. She adored poetry. Adored it almost as much as she adored romance novels, but she wasn’t going to admit that to a bunch of boys. The thought made her grin. They would never stop teasing her if they knew that.
Her fingers caught on the edge of a handkerchief and Sakura paused.
The handkerchief was wrapped around something.
Her eyes widened.
Oh no, had she forgotten to deliver something that day when she was running her errands?
She yanked her bag up onto the bed and dumped out its contents across the covers. There were her usual items, like her comb, lip salve, pocket watch (which she’d ignored all day), wallet, 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, some lint, the new book of poetry… and a rectangular furoshiki-wrapped box with a letter tucked into its top fold.
That definitely hadn’t been part of her errands this morning.
She lifted it curiously, turning it over in her hands.
The furoshiki had been beautifully arranged, making excellent use of the folds to display the pattern in the fabric. The way it had been tied, it looked like an extended cherry blossom stem, its petals blowing in the breeze. Even after jostling in her bag for who knew how long, its knot was consistently proportioned and taut. Someone had spent a great deal of time planning out the presentation of the wrapping and folding it so.
Then she noticed her name written across the envelope.
[Sakura]
The script was suspiciously familiar.
The fabric’s scent was, too.
Her heart in her throat, Sakura debated whether to open it or not.
In many ways, it was a beautiful piece of art, just the way it was.
But somehow, she knew he would be hurt if she didn’t untie it to at least see what was inside.
She slit open the envelope and read the note first.
Her heart moved from her throat to skip in her chest. Each sentence was written on its own line, as if he’d wanted each one to be perfect. Her lips twisted as she read.
[Haruno-dono,
[You have changed my brothers’ lives for the better.
[Not just by teaching them; but by listening to them, cuddling them, and comforting them.
[Our father is not an affectionate man. Since our mother passed, it has been difficult for him.
[He uses his work to deal with his grief. He is a good man, but he struggles.
[It has been difficult for me to be both mother and father to my brothers, as our own father retreated into his work.
[Our dinner table has been quiet since our mother passed.
[Then you arrived in our family.
[For the first time in three years, someone came along to unite us again.
[Our house is loud again.
[Our hearts are warm again.
[The day we met I said I hated you, because the affection our father would not show us he bestowed upon you easily.
[Instead of running away when I was punished, you waited with me; your eyes held mine through every strike, and when my father left, you cared for my wounds with your own hands.
[After seeing such things, many have fled from our family.
[Instead, you showed that you will see through your duties, no matter what.
[You have come back every week.
[You have a strong heart.
[I want you to know that I do not hate you.
[Far from it, in fact.
[With deep respect,
[And as a friend,
[Yours,
[Uchiha Madara]
Swallowing to clear the lump in her throat, Sakura breathed deeply to clear her sniffles.
The sentences were basic, and they were perfect.
“Uchiha-dono,” she murmured, re-reading the letter twice more before folding it and saving it in her nightstand.
He’d given nothing away during the last few weeks. Not a word. He’d been saving them for his letter.
That left her with the artfully wrapped box in her lap.
Making her decision, Sakura packed the rest of her things back into her bag again and tucked it under her bed. After such a personal letter, she had no idea what to expect from Madara.
Tucking her knees up, Sakura carefully untied the knot at the top of the furoshiki. After a few tugs, it came loose and fell open.
Holding her breath, Sakura opened the smooth camphor wood box with its silver inlay.
Her heart froze in her chest.
Twin jade hair sticks, nestled on a midnight velvet cushion, accounted for why the box was so long.
Alongside them, four mother-of-pearl hair combs, one pair large, the other small, explained the width.
Circling them like constellations in the night sky were a dozen teardrop pearl hair pins, mounted in silver.
Sakura glanced at her nightstand.
The liquid moonlight bracelet twinkled back at her. They matched.
Her hands shook as she set the box of hair ornaments down on her covers, terrified she would drop it and spill its contents over the floor.
The bracelet alone was too generous a gift that she only accepted because of her parents’ close relationship with Lord Uchiha.
The hair combs alone would have cost ten times what the bracelet did.
She’d seen similar items prominently featured in bridal dowries, for goodness sakes, when she’d assisted her parents with dressing and kitting out brides and their boudoirs for Europe’s elite.
Sakura’s shaking hands came together in front of her, clasping her fingers tightly to ground herself.
What had Madara been thinking?
Did he ask his father to get this for her?
Then why still get the bracelet?
It was too much. She was 12-no, 13 now, she corrected herself. What Madara had gifted her was the equivalent of an engagement proposal for families of a certain class. It was ridiculously outrageous.
She couldn’t accept such a gift.
She couldn’t.
Untangling her fingers, Sakura rubbed her hands over her face.
Her parents had seen the bracelet, but they hadn’t seen the hair ornaments. That worked in her favour. There was less chance of anyone losing face if she could keep this between herself and Madara. That was good.
And bad.
But good enough, she groaned to herself.
With utmost care she closed the lid on the camphor box and set it on her nightstand.
Her weekend would be too busy with work at the shop for her to make it back to the Uchiha residence before her next scheduled visit.
That meant that her next session, on Monday, she had to corner Madara and shove his gift down his throat.
In the meantime, she would write him a letter in return, and thank you cards for him and his brothers and father.
Yes.
She could write thank you cards.
She would even draw little penguins in Shichi and Tomo’s cards. They’d been ridiculously excited about penguins since she had brought a book about animals to show them several weeks ago.
With a long suffering sigh, Sakura turned off her light and slumped back in her bed.
Madara just had to go and make things complicated…
###
It was close to ten o’clock when Madara arrived home. He handed his coat to the maid who also put his shoes away at the main entrance, and proceeded to the kitchen for a glass of water.
He startled internally when he found his father at the kitchen table, smoking, but kept his physical reaction minimal, limited to his shoulders twitching. The ceramic ashtray between his father’s elbows was half-full and a dull haze filled the room. He had been there for some time.
Waiting up for him, realized Madara. The notion filled him with a mixture of curiosity and irritation.
“Sakura-chan made it home safely?” asked his father.
“Ah,” said Madara.
He glanced at the cupboards where the glasses were kept. Exhaling, his father waved him over to them, permitting him to continue.
“It took a long time.”
“Ah,” said Madara. He debated a moment before adding, “She had not seen a starry sky before. She wanted to look at the constellations. It delayed us.”
Tajima’s sharp, dark eyes scrutinized his son.
“Anything else?” he asked.
“We met her father at her home.”
Tajima’s lips twitched.
“How did that go?”
“Fine.”
“You had a gift?”
“Of course.”
Tajima nodded, quietly taking another drag of his cigarette.
Madara went to the sink to fill his glass with water.
“Anything else?” asked his father.
There was something more, something approachable yet intrusive in his tone that Madara couldn’t pinpoint. Something that made him wonder if he had done something right or wrong but couldn’t tell what his father expected of him. It made Madara suspicious and his stomach tightened.
“I informed her that we would send a cab for her if the weather was poor on one of her scheduled days,” said Madara.
Tajima wheezed before breaking out into a coughing fit. Instinctively Madara moved closer, but his father held up a hand so Madara stopped and frowned at him instead.
“You’re laughing,” said Madara, pouting.
Coughing several more times from behind his hand, Tajima shook his head, though his eyes avoided his son.
Madara’s shoulders tightened in irritation.
“That’s very considerate of you. It wouldn’t do for Sakura-chan to arrive here bedraggled,” agreed Tajima.
“That’s what I told her!”
Another round of hacking coughs took possession of Tajima’s lungs and shoulders, and he shuddered as he tried to hide his mirth.
Madara glared at him.
“Don’t waste water,” coughed Tajima.
That wasn’t possi-
Madara cringed as his fingers tingled. Water overflowed the glass and his hand and had been spilling down the sink for some time. Quickly he shut off the water and turned back to glare at his father, his chin stubborn. He poured a little excess water out of the top of the glass before setting it on the counter and reaching for a cloth to wipe his hands and the glass down.
“Anything else?” asked his father after a moment.
Madara’s eyes narrowed as he searched his memory. Was there something else he was supposed to have done?
-grabbing her wrist on her own doorstep with her father steps away, desperate to-
Did she like his gifts?
-staring at her lips-
His mouth dried as his lower belly tightened in the way it did sometimes now, but he didn’t understand why.
“No,” said Madara, though it lacked a shade of his usual confidence. It didn’t help when his voice cracked.
“Ah,” said Tajima, taking another drag on his cigarette.
Madara sipped his water and watched his father out of the corner of his eye. When his father exhaled slowly and stamped his cigarette out in the ceramic dish, Madara swallowed with relief. The pack of cigarettes was tucked away in the folds of his robe, so he was done for the night.
“Don’t stay up too late. You have practice in the morning,” said Tajima, pushing his chair back.
The tall man set the ashtray by the sink and looked down at his son, studying him.
Madara frowned and stared right back at his father, unsure what held his focus so long.
In an unusually affectionate move, Tajima patted him on the back. Then he headed for the main hallway with its stairs that led to the bedroom floor without another word... though his eyes had shone warmly for reasons only he knew.
Tsk’ing in his throat as he stood at the kitchen counter, Madara reached for his water again and drank deeply. Who knew what was up with his father these days. He’d been acting strange ever since Sakura started visiting.
###
TBC
AN: This is another WIP, based on illustrations by the wonderful artist
yomi_gaeru . Thank you for sharing your fanart with everyone, yomi! <3 There's currently about 50K words for this one. I am hoping to finish it soon and edit/post it later this year... or next year, depending on when I finish. We'll see.
[Part One]
###
After showing her parents her gifts, Sakura hurried to her room. The next day was Saturday and with the spring festivals coming, it was sure to be a long, busy weekend. She normally would not have been permitted to leave for a full Friday afternoon, let alone evening, but now she understood why her parents had both seen her off earlier that day, their eyes twinkling knowingly.
Sakura shook her head, grinning to herself. So everyone had known but her.
Their combined efforts delighted her and Sakura had never felt so special.
She washed up quickly and carefully set the new bracelet in its box beside her bed. In her rush to get under the covers in the cold bedroom, she tripped on the bag she had forgotten by her nightstand.
Swallowing her grunt, she picked up the bag. Why was it so heavy? It hadn’t felt that heavy earlier, had it? She must be more tired than she thought.
Reaching down, she fished around inside the bag for her new poetry book. Izuna was right. She adored poetry. Adored it almost as much as she adored romance novels, but she wasn’t going to admit that to a bunch of boys. The thought made her grin. They would never stop teasing her if they knew that.
Her fingers caught on the edge of a handkerchief and Sakura paused.
The handkerchief was wrapped around something.
Her eyes widened.
Oh no, had she forgotten to deliver something that day when she was running her errands?
She yanked her bag up onto the bed and dumped out its contents across the covers. There were her usual items, like her comb, lip salve, pocket watch (which she’d ignored all day), wallet, 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, some lint, the new book of poetry… and a rectangular furoshiki-wrapped box with a letter tucked into its top fold.
That definitely hadn’t been part of her errands this morning.
She lifted it curiously, turning it over in her hands.
The furoshiki had been beautifully arranged, making excellent use of the folds to display the pattern in the fabric. The way it had been tied, it looked like an extended cherry blossom stem, its petals blowing in the breeze. Even after jostling in her bag for who knew how long, its knot was consistently proportioned and taut. Someone had spent a great deal of time planning out the presentation of the wrapping and folding it so.
Then she noticed her name written across the envelope.
[Sakura]
The script was suspiciously familiar.
The fabric’s scent was, too.
Her heart in her throat, Sakura debated whether to open it or not.
In many ways, it was a beautiful piece of art, just the way it was.
But somehow, she knew he would be hurt if she didn’t untie it to at least see what was inside.
She slit open the envelope and read the note first.
Her heart moved from her throat to skip in her chest. Each sentence was written on its own line, as if he’d wanted each one to be perfect. Her lips twisted as she read.
[Haruno-dono,
[You have changed my brothers’ lives for the better.
[Not just by teaching them; but by listening to them, cuddling them, and comforting them.
[Our father is not an affectionate man. Since our mother passed, it has been difficult for him.
[He uses his work to deal with his grief. He is a good man, but he struggles.
[It has been difficult for me to be both mother and father to my brothers, as our own father retreated into his work.
[Our dinner table has been quiet since our mother passed.
[Then you arrived in our family.
[For the first time in three years, someone came along to unite us again.
[Our house is loud again.
[Our hearts are warm again.
[The day we met I said I hated you, because the affection our father would not show us he bestowed upon you easily.
[Instead of running away when I was punished, you waited with me; your eyes held mine through every strike, and when my father left, you cared for my wounds with your own hands.
[After seeing such things, many have fled from our family.
[Instead, you showed that you will see through your duties, no matter what.
[You have come back every week.
[You have a strong heart.
[I want you to know that I do not hate you.
[Far from it, in fact.
[With deep respect,
[And as a friend,
[Yours,
[Uchiha Madara]
Swallowing to clear the lump in her throat, Sakura breathed deeply to clear her sniffles.
The sentences were basic, and they were perfect.
“Uchiha-dono,” she murmured, re-reading the letter twice more before folding it and saving it in her nightstand.
He’d given nothing away during the last few weeks. Not a word. He’d been saving them for his letter.
That left her with the artfully wrapped box in her lap.
Making her decision, Sakura packed the rest of her things back into her bag again and tucked it under her bed. After such a personal letter, she had no idea what to expect from Madara.
Tucking her knees up, Sakura carefully untied the knot at the top of the furoshiki. After a few tugs, it came loose and fell open.
Holding her breath, Sakura opened the smooth camphor wood box with its silver inlay.
Her heart froze in her chest.
Twin jade hair sticks, nestled on a midnight velvet cushion, accounted for why the box was so long.
Alongside them, four mother-of-pearl hair combs, one pair large, the other small, explained the width.
Circling them like constellations in the night sky were a dozen teardrop pearl hair pins, mounted in silver.
Sakura glanced at her nightstand.
The liquid moonlight bracelet twinkled back at her. They matched.
Her hands shook as she set the box of hair ornaments down on her covers, terrified she would drop it and spill its contents over the floor.
The bracelet alone was too generous a gift that she only accepted because of her parents’ close relationship with Lord Uchiha.
The hair combs alone would have cost ten times what the bracelet did.
She’d seen similar items prominently featured in bridal dowries, for goodness sakes, when she’d assisted her parents with dressing and kitting out brides and their boudoirs for Europe’s elite.
Sakura’s shaking hands came together in front of her, clasping her fingers tightly to ground herself.
What had Madara been thinking?
Did he ask his father to get this for her?
Then why still get the bracelet?
It was too much. She was 12-no, 13 now, she corrected herself. What Madara had gifted her was the equivalent of an engagement proposal for families of a certain class. It was ridiculously outrageous.
She couldn’t accept such a gift.
She couldn’t.
Untangling her fingers, Sakura rubbed her hands over her face.
Her parents had seen the bracelet, but they hadn’t seen the hair ornaments. That worked in her favour. There was less chance of anyone losing face if she could keep this between herself and Madara. That was good.
And bad.
But good enough, she groaned to herself.
With utmost care she closed the lid on the camphor box and set it on her nightstand.
Her weekend would be too busy with work at the shop for her to make it back to the Uchiha residence before her next scheduled visit.
That meant that her next session, on Monday, she had to corner Madara and shove his gift down his throat.
In the meantime, she would write him a letter in return, and thank you cards for him and his brothers and father.
Yes.
She could write thank you cards.
She would even draw little penguins in Shichi and Tomo’s cards. They’d been ridiculously excited about penguins since she had brought a book about animals to show them several weeks ago.
With a long suffering sigh, Sakura turned off her light and slumped back in her bed.
Madara just had to go and make things complicated…
###
It was close to ten o’clock when Madara arrived home. He handed his coat to the maid who also put his shoes away at the main entrance, and proceeded to the kitchen for a glass of water.
He startled internally when he found his father at the kitchen table, smoking, but kept his physical reaction minimal, limited to his shoulders twitching. The ceramic ashtray between his father’s elbows was half-full and a dull haze filled the room. He had been there for some time.
Waiting up for him, realized Madara. The notion filled him with a mixture of curiosity and irritation.
“Sakura-chan made it home safely?” asked his father.
“Ah,” said Madara.
He glanced at the cupboards where the glasses were kept. Exhaling, his father waved him over to them, permitting him to continue.
“It took a long time.”
“Ah,” said Madara. He debated a moment before adding, “She had not seen a starry sky before. She wanted to look at the constellations. It delayed us.”
Tajima’s sharp, dark eyes scrutinized his son.
“Anything else?” he asked.
“We met her father at her home.”
Tajima’s lips twitched.
“How did that go?”
“Fine.”
“You had a gift?”
“Of course.”
Tajima nodded, quietly taking another drag of his cigarette.
Madara went to the sink to fill his glass with water.
“Anything else?” asked his father.
There was something more, something approachable yet intrusive in his tone that Madara couldn’t pinpoint. Something that made him wonder if he had done something right or wrong but couldn’t tell what his father expected of him. It made Madara suspicious and his stomach tightened.
“I informed her that we would send a cab for her if the weather was poor on one of her scheduled days,” said Madara.
Tajima wheezed before breaking out into a coughing fit. Instinctively Madara moved closer, but his father held up a hand so Madara stopped and frowned at him instead.
“You’re laughing,” said Madara, pouting.
Coughing several more times from behind his hand, Tajima shook his head, though his eyes avoided his son.
Madara’s shoulders tightened in irritation.
“That’s very considerate of you. It wouldn’t do for Sakura-chan to arrive here bedraggled,” agreed Tajima.
“That’s what I told her!”
Another round of hacking coughs took possession of Tajima’s lungs and shoulders, and he shuddered as he tried to hide his mirth.
Madara glared at him.
“Don’t waste water,” coughed Tajima.
That wasn’t possi-
Madara cringed as his fingers tingled. Water overflowed the glass and his hand and had been spilling down the sink for some time. Quickly he shut off the water and turned back to glare at his father, his chin stubborn. He poured a little excess water out of the top of the glass before setting it on the counter and reaching for a cloth to wipe his hands and the glass down.
“Anything else?” asked his father after a moment.
Madara’s eyes narrowed as he searched his memory. Was there something else he was supposed to have done?
-grabbing her wrist on her own doorstep with her father steps away, desperate to-
Did she like his gifts?
-staring at her lips-
His mouth dried as his lower belly tightened in the way it did sometimes now, but he didn’t understand why.
“No,” said Madara, though it lacked a shade of his usual confidence. It didn’t help when his voice cracked.
“Ah,” said Tajima, taking another drag on his cigarette.
Madara sipped his water and watched his father out of the corner of his eye. When his father exhaled slowly and stamped his cigarette out in the ceramic dish, Madara swallowed with relief. The pack of cigarettes was tucked away in the folds of his robe, so he was done for the night.
“Don’t stay up too late. You have practice in the morning,” said Tajima, pushing his chair back.
The tall man set the ashtray by the sink and looked down at his son, studying him.
Madara frowned and stared right back at his father, unsure what held his focus so long.
In an unusually affectionate move, Tajima patted him on the back. Then he headed for the main hallway with its stairs that led to the bedroom floor without another word... though his eyes had shone warmly for reasons only he knew.
Tsk’ing in his throat as he stood at the kitchen counter, Madara reached for his water again and drank deeply. Who knew what was up with his father these days. He’d been acting strange ever since Sakura started visiting.
###
TBC
AN: This is another WIP, based on illustrations by the wonderful artist
yomi_gaeru . Thank you for sharing your fanart with everyone, yomi! <3 There's currently about 50K words for this one. I am hoping to finish it soon and edit/post it later this year... or next year, depending on when I finish. We'll see.