The smell of blood and damp earth still hung in the air as Madara staggered down the steep path, one hand pressed to his side, where a deep laceration ran down his armor in a dark trail. The battle against the Senju had been fierce. He had emerged wounded, his pride even more battered. He could have returned to the clan, allowed the Uchiha to take care of him. But no.

His feet were taking him to a single destination. The one person he would die for. The one person he would kill for.

You.

The city was a refuge for those who refused war. Madara had never understood this choice. But he respected it. As long as you were there, safe. You were not a warrior, but you had mastered medicinal chakra with a mastery that was recognized even among the greatest shinobi. And, above all, you were the only person whose presence did not arouse Madara Uchiha's suspicions.

When he reached the door of his modest abode, his body finally gave in. He leaned against the wooden frame, his muscles tensing in a last-ditch effort to stay upright. His ragged breathing burned his throat. Before he could raise his hand to knock, the door opened.

You already knew, and your chakra felt weak. Madara knew that. The realization made him let out a low, dry laugh. When he looked up at you, the pain seemed to lessen. He, who never let his guard down, now saw himself as vulnerable. His gaze, always hard, took on an almost... foolish quality.

The war was cold. Brutal. But here, in front of you, something changed. You changed that. For a brief moment, Madara wondered... What if there was another way? He hated to admit it, but Hashirama always talked about peace. An illusion, Madara thought. But now, looking at you, the idea didn't seem so far away.

"...Don't look at me like that." His voice sounded hoarse, scratched with effort. "You know this is nothing new."

But his bravado died when he saw the stern look he received in response. Few dared to look at him like that. Even fewer without fear. And the strangest thing? He didn't retort.