Take Me Back To The Night We Met
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1 and a half years earlier….
~*~*~*~*~*~
3 more weeks, and he’d finally be free. 3 more weeks, and he’d officially be done school and headed off to take his place in the Uchiha family's long lasting tradition of health care.
He just had to finish his last clinical, here at this small little family medicine clinic on the north side of the city. He liked it here, even if it wasn’t his preferred field. He could only handle so many crying babies and snot nosed toddlers brought in for the common cold.
Rubbing his eyes, he leaned back in his seat, cursing at the brightness of the screen, but unable to motivate himself to dim the computer monitor.
“I’m heading out!” a familiar voice chimed, just as the doctor with his name on the sign outside the building breezed in and then out of the room again, with his usual chaotic energy. “It’s my little one's birthday, she’ll have my head if I’m late!”
“Goodnight, Doctor Yuko,” one of the nurses said, somewhat absentmindedly as she checked some files.
“You’re all alright to close up?” Yuko asked, shrugging into his coat and directing his question at the three nursing students currently under his wing.
“We always do,” one of Madara’s classmates said. “Have a good weekend, Doctor.”
Yuko sighed heavily and dramatically. “Oh, I’m going to miss you darling little students when you’re done with your clinical. Always staying after me to do your work…. If any of you want a job right away, you call me! Whaddya say, eh, Madara?”
Yuko bounced back into the room, and tousled Madara’s hair. It was only because he had been here for 2 months that Madara allowed it.
“I’d love to, but I do have two other offers,” he said dryly, exiting the records he was looking at. “One of which is OR.”
“Ah yes. You said you wanted to specialize in that. With Chiyo Uzumaki.” Yuko sighed again. “What a loss. For me. He’s a fantastic surgeon. You’ll see a lot working under him. But anywhos! See you guys next week!”
With that, he flounced out the clinic. He was soon followed by the team of nurses employed there, leaving Madara and the other two nursing students there. It was a habit of theirs that started quite soon after their clinical began. When they found out they were all being sent to the same clinic, Madara wasn’t overly excited. He knew his classmates, but wasn’t close to them. He was indifferent about it all. But after one week, the ice between them broke and they actually became…well, maybe not friends. But something along those lines.
Now, he and the two others, Shira and Meian, made a habit of staying late after the clinic had closed to get ahead on their final assignment: a synopsis of their experience at the clinic. It was dry and boring, but surprisingly, he liked Shira and Meian, so it was grudgingly tolerable.
Meian collapsed in the chair across the table from him, running slender fingers through her scraggly blond hair. “I can’t wait to be graduated,” she groaned.
“A few more weeks,” Shira sang as she pranced into the room, taking a seat next to Madara and cracking open her binder.
“It can’t come soon enough,” Meian grumbled, digging her own books out of her bag. “How are you so far ahead of us in this, Uchiha? It’s not fair.”
“I don’t get distracted by pretty shiny pens,” he replied dryly, pulling up the assignment marking sheet on his phone and double checking the requirements. Meian snorted, but had no comeback for his true statement, grabbing one of her brightly coloured pens and twirling it around as she bent her head to work on her assignment.
The minutes ticked by slowly, and the peaceful quiet that fell over them as they worked grew long and heavy, broken only by the occasional question asked and it’s answer.
Until a sudden, rapid knocking broke them all out of their thoughts. “Uh…. Did the last nurse to leave not turn off the open sign?” Shira wondered, frowning at the general direction of the door.
The knocking came again, faster and more frantic, insistent. “Well, hopefully they realize we’re closed,” Meian groused.
More knocking seemed to contradict her. “Dibs out of going and telling them we’re closed,” Madara said, leaning back and crossing his arms. Shira groaned, standing up and fixing her messy red hair.
“So antisocial. I’ll deal with it.” With that, she strolled out of the room, disappearing down the hall. Meian bent her head down to her work again, but Madara listened attentively as Shira opened the locked doors to send whoever was outside away.
Her voice was soft and compassionate, even if he couldn’t make out her words. Whoever it was outside certainly didn’t seem happy. He could just barely hear their angry voice and Shira’s quiet responses.
Then, there was a sudden silence. “Hey, Madara?” Shira called, her voice unusually high. “Could you come out here please?”
That was unexpected. Shira was good at dealing with angry or upset people, and he was famously bad at it. Meian raised an eyebrow, and shrugged at him.
Well. Maybe she needed help telling them to get lost. With a sigh, he stood up, tightening his ponytail and sauntering down the hall. When he rounded the corner of the hall, entering the wide, spacious waiting room, he came to an abrupt halt.
A group of men were congregated around the chairs. Some were standing, a few were sitting. All of them were in various states of dishevelment; dirt and sweat and blood stained their skin.
One of them, a malicious grin on his face, had his arm around Shira’s neck. In his other hand, he held a gun to her temple.
Well. Shit.
‘Don’t freak out…’
“Shira,” he said quietly, willing his voice to remain even and calm, waiting until her fearful eyes met his. Her face with pale, and her hands were shaking with terror. “Alright?”
She nodded once, jerking her head quickly.
Shiiit.
“What seems to be the problem, gentlemen?” he said coolly, gliding around to the receptionist desk. A few more steps, and….Another of the men, who seemed to be in slightly better shape than most of the others, pulled a gun from the back of his pants and pointed it at his face, and he wisely stopped in his tracks.
“You in charge here?” he growled, stalking closer.
“Depends on who's asking,” he replied quietly, willing himself not to react, despite all his survival instincts screaming at him to get out of there.
The mans lip curled, and he grabbed the front of Madara’s scrubs, dragging him forward. Madara was taller than him, but this guy probably had a good 80 pounds on him. “I’m asking, asshole. You the doctor?”
“No,” he snipped. “In case you can’t read, the clinic closed over an hour ago. Doctor Yuko and everyone else has already left. Come back tomorrow.”
The man leaned closer, glancing back at the others. “Why are you two here then?” His eyes flicked down, to the small silver name tag over the left side of the his chest. “Madarraaaa Uchiha,” he drawled. “Nursing student, eh? The both of you still students? Anyone else in this little building I should know of?”
Meian. She was still in the back room. And he wasn’t about to give her away.
He took a calming breath. “No. It’s just me and Shira.” Shira’s eyes widened a little at his bold lie, but she stayed blessedly silent.
The man moved the barrel of the pistol under his jaw, gabbing it up against him. Madara let his head tilt back to alleviate the pressure, and narrowed his dark eyes.
“Why are you here?” he asked, before the situation could get worse. In all his studies, he never anticipated he’d find himself held at gunpoint at a family friendly clinic. Is there even a proper protocol for this, what the fuck?’
The man holding Shira stepped sideways, dragging her with him. “We have some injuries that need attention. Rather urgently.”
Madara glanced past him, assessing the state of the rest of the group. A few of them had nasty slashes on their chests, abdomens, and limbs. He could see what looked like a stab wound on at least two of them. But it was the one collapsed in the chair furthest away, snowy white hair red with blood and pale face covered in a sheen of sweat, that demanded his attention. The man had a blood soaked shirt pressed against his abdomen, and he had a horrible slash on his face.
Madara ducked away from the man holding a gun to his face, twisting around him and heading to the white haired man.
A hand seized his wrist, dragging him to a halt and wrenching him around. “Not so fast, cupcake,” another man growled. “You don’t go near the boss unless he allows it.”
“Enough, Chuya,” the white haired man rasped, his voice strained and wet. Well, that was never a good sign. “Let him go, nitwit.”
With a triumphant glare, Madara pulled free of Chuya’s hold, resuming his walk towards the man and crouching down in front of him. The man was holding a hand against his face, and with gentle, but insistent fingers, Madara pried his hand away to assess the damage. The man let him, his strange red eyes watching him carefully. Attentively.
The whole expanse of his cheek was sliced, a dangerously large cut slicing through the muscles of his cheek. It was a nasty wound, but not his first concern.
He nudged the mans knee to the side, boldly stepping between his legs and balancing on his heels. “What happened?” he asked, smacking the mans hand aside and removing the blood soaked short against his abdomen.
Only having a perfectly practiced poker face kept him from reacting outwardly to what he saw. Inwardly, he was cursing all the misfortunes of the world. He had seen quite a bit already, but nothing like this.
The gunshot wound was big, clearly caused by a large diameter bullet. The surrounding area was severely discoloured, and the flesh felt warm and pitting under his assessing fingers. Without asking for permission, Madara lifted his bloodstained shirt, reaching around and feeling around his back. No blood, no exit wound. Which meant the bullet was still in him, somewhere. And judging from the location of the entry wound….
“Shot,” the man grunted. Madara frowned.
“By what, a freaken tank?” he snapped, probing at the inflamed flesh around the wound again. “How long ago did this happen?”
“Maybe an hour or so?” one of the men offered, sounding a little unsure. Madara glared at him in disbelief. An hour with a wound like that meant a lot of bleeding. And a lot of blood loss.
“An hour?” he demanded. “You bloody idiots. You need to go to a hospital, not to a closed family medicine clinic.”
“No, no hospitals,” the white haired man hissed, wincing in pain. “We’re here now, we’re not going to a hospital.”
“You need the resources a hospital has,” Madara said stubbornly. “And an experienced surgeon. There is nothing that we can do for you here, and-“
A hand grabbed the front of his scrubs again, and the white haired man pulled him forward with surprising strength. “No hospitals,” he said darkly. “You’re a fourth year, you can fix this.”
Madara frowned. “No,” he said firmly. “I do not have the experience or training needed.”
“Figure it out then,” Chuya barked, pulling him back. “Or kiss your little friend goodbye.” The man holding Shira waved his pistol, and pressed the barrel against her throat.
His thoughts race, scrambling for a solution to this bizarre situation. “You need surgery,” Madara tried again. “I can’t do that. None of us can.”
“So figure it out,” the snowy haired man grunted. “You seem like a smart individual.”
Madara pursed his lips, and shook his head. “I can’t-”
“Only two of you in the building, eh?” a new voice interrupted, sounding smy and utterly gleeful.
“Let go of me!” Meian’s voice snarled back, and Madara whipped around, feeling his heart drop as Meian was dragged into the room, her expression twisted with anger and fear. He had hoped she would stay hidden, but clearly one of the group had gone exploring.
“You lied,” the blanchette breathed, staring first at Meian, and then at Madara, with an expression of awe. “Right to our faces.”
“Bastard,” Chuya hissed. He grabbed the end of Madara’s ponytail, and yanked him to his feet, gun once again positioned under his jaw. “If you can’t help, then what’s the use of keeping you around?” he grunted. “I’m sure one of these pretty ladies can do it for us.”
“No!” Shira cried, and Chuya cocked an eyebrow, shifting his gaze to her with a leering sneer. She flinched back under his glare, but didn’t crack all the way. “Madara is the most experienced in the OR of us.”
“And he has the highest marks,” Meian put in, glaring furiously at the man who currently held her arm in a death grip. “He’s your best shot, it’d be foolish to kill him.” Her voice was trembling, but one had to admire her courage.
“Then why keep you two around?”
“Seriously?” Madara snapped, finally having enough. He grasped Chuya’s wrist, twisting his forearm under and up along his arm, and knocking the inside of his elbow, forcing it to bend. “Just who the hell do you think you are, marching into the clinic looking like you got into a losing fight and demanding us to help you? What makes you think we’d do so?”
“You don’t know who we are?” the blanchette mused, his voice starting to sound a little slurred. He grinned lazily at Madara. “How curious…”
“Does the name Senju ring any bells?” Shira’s captor huffed, looking put out. Meian paled dramatically, and Madara pursed his lips to stop a curse from spilling out.
Anyone worth their salt knows that name.
Senju. A well known crime family here. The city's resident mafia.
“How did you get all these wounds?” he asked, instead of pushing the subject further.
“Some cockroaches invading on our turf,” Chuya grunted. “Had to show them their place. It turned ugly.”
“And before you ask, we’re too far away from base to get help there,” another man added, his voice strained, wet, and weak. He was holding the side of his chest, his expression tight and pained. Shallow stab wound to the side, it looked like. It would need to be looked at soon. “This was closer, and the lights were on. So…”
“And that’s why you can’t go to a hospital,” Madara finished. Of course not. A renowned crime ring would never admit themselves to a hospital. It was far too public. A secluded little clinic like this was much more ideal.
Which leads to a dilemma. Madara didn’t want to treat a bunch of assholes who threatened him and his classmates. But he had also made a vow to help save lives, no matter who they may be. Would it rest on his conscience to refuse helping them? To let them die?
It didn’t take much consideration to know the answer.
“Oh, dammit,” he grumbled. He pointed at Chuya and another man who looked uninjured. “You two go to the back, wash your hands up to your elbows. With soap. We’ll need a hand. And if you two could kindly release my classmates, I’ll need them.”
Shira’s captor was the first to move, and she hurried to his side, clutching his arm in a surprisingly tight grip. “Madara,” she whispered, nearly crushing herself against his side. Meian pulled free, and her holder let her go. Shira took her hand as she approached.
“What do we do?” she asked lowly.
“What we were trained to do,” Madara replied, narrowing his eyes at Chuya. “Are you dumb? Go clean up, I won’t have your nasty little fingers dirtying the clinic.”
Chuya snorted, but finally stomped off to do so. He watched him go off, taking the other man with him. Meian and Shira stared up at him, waiting. For him to take the lead, to take charge. He didn’t want to, but if it meant keeping them safe….
“Okay, I doubt they’ll let us work out of their sight, so. Meian, can you bring some tables out here? Get snowflake here and these two guys sitting there on them first. The rest don’t seem so urgent. Oh, and some supplies….Shira, can you do some quick interviews so we can sort out priorities?”
“Of course,” Shira said, seeming relieved that he was willing to take charge. “What about you?”
He pursed his lips, glancing back at the snowy haired man. “I’m gonna make a call, if I’m allowed.” He leaned in, lowering his voice. “If you get the chance to, you know where it is, right?”
They both nodded quickly, immediately catching onto his drift. The emergency call button, under the receptionist desk. It would send a silent alarm right to the police department. “Good. Let’s go.”
They hurried off to obey, both of them shadowed by one of the uninjured, or less injuried, mafia members. He turned back to the various injuries waiting for assessment, eyes falling back on the snowy haired man. First things first. He took the man's hand, pressing his fingers against the inside of his wrist, and feeling for his pulse. Fast. Dangerously so, but weak. His skin was also cool to the touch and clammy. “How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Like I got shot.”
“Don’t be a smartass. Any dizziness or lightheadedness?”
A pause. “Yes.”
“Difficulty breathing?”
“A little.”
“Blood type?”
“AB positive.”
“Lovely.” He glanced over his shoulder, just as Chuya and the other man he had sent to wash their hands returned. “Hey, you. Grab a pair of gloves and get over here.” With a ferocious scowl, Chuya ripped a pair of gloves from a small box sitting on the receptionist desk and stalked over, snapping them on. “Take off his shirt,” he ordered, digging his phone out of his pocket.
Chuya made to grab for his phone, and Madara quickly stepped back, pulling it out of reach. “I will shoot you in the face,” Chuya hissed.
“Go for it, but then there’s no one to take that bullet out of your friend here,” Madara snapped back. “I’m calling a friend to give me a crash course on removing bullets so I can try and save his life, however worthless it may be. So, take off his shirt, and clean his chest and stomach with these.” He tossed him a few alcohol pads. “And hurry up.”
In reality, he didn’t trust the idiot to do a good job, but anything helped to distract him.
He glanced over at Shira, who was taking a few notes on the more severe injuries that would need attention first, after the blanchette’s surgery. “I’m almost done,” she said, noticing his gaze. He nodded slowly.
“Can you grab some anesthetic when you’re done? This one needs attending to first, I think. And three packs of O-?”
“Got it.”
Madara glanced back at the white haired man, and the two others cutting his shirt off of him. He was dangerously pale, and his gaze seemed vacant. Meian came back in, pushing a medical table into the waiting room. Chuya and his companion helped her guide the blanchette onto it, causing him to grunt and hiss in discomfort.
Well. Receiving less than gentle treatment was his fault for not going to a hospital. “Hey, Maddy,” Shira said, bouncing back into the room, a few supplies in her arms, including three bags of blood. “What’s the plan now?”
“Set up a line for blood transfusion,” he replied, unlocking his phone and scrolling through his contacts. “He’s lost a lot of blood, and if we’re going to go in and take the bullet out he can’t risk having any less than what he’s got.”
She nodded, leaving the anaesthetic with him and hurrying off to do so. Meian scurried past him, getting one of the other more badly injured men on another table. A few of the other gangsters were helping the last badly wounded member on the third one.
“What now?” Chuya demanded, sounding surly and cranky. Madara got the impression that he wasn’t used to relying on instruction from others.
“Go sanitize any surfaces around your boss,” he said absentmindedly. “And before you argue, it’s because we want as sterile an area as we can get. Decreases risk of infection. Now go.”
Chuya curled his lip in annoyance, and Madara ignored him, sauntering up to the white haired man sprawled out on the table. His abnormal red eyes fluttered, sliding over to him slowly and blearily focussing.
“Hey, dreamboat,” he said, glancing at the clean up job Chuya and the other had done. Surprisingly, it wasn’t too bad. “What’s your name?”
The mob boss grunted. “Tobi,” he rasped. Next to him, Shira finished setting up the IV line for the blood transfusion, cleaning the inside of his elbow and inserting the needle into his vein. His eyes twitched just a little, but otherwise he didn’t react to the prick.
“Alright, Tobi. Close your eyes, and take a nap for me, okay?” As he spoke, he plucked a large needle up from the surgical tool tray, filling it with anesthetic. Tobi reached up, grabbing his wrist in a falteringly strong grasp.
“No,” he protested weakly. “No needles, no painkillers. Just do it.”
Madara arched an unimpressed eyebrow at him. “You do know what surgery entails, right? I’m literally going to cut you open and rummage around your insides for a while. It’s going to hurt.”
“I don’t care,” Tobi hissed. “Don’t you dare put me under.”
“Fine,” Madara said, setting the needle down. “Your loss.” He glanced down at his dimmed phone screen, cursing himself for all the distractions, and finally found the name he was looking for. Hitting the call icon, he immediately put it on speaker, sliding it into his shirt pocket so his hands were free to prep.
It was answered after only a few rings.
“Chiyo Uzumaki,” the man answered, brisk and deep as ever.
“Doctor Uzumaki,” Madara greeted, hunting down an extra hair tie. “It’s Madara Uchiha.”
“Ah, Madara!” Chiyo said, instantly brightening. “Calling to accept my offer?”
Madara managed a dry chuckle. “I’d love to. But actually I’m calling for another reason…”
“And what might that be?” Chiyo prompted, ever brisk and quick to the point.
“I need you to talk me through removing a bullet from a man’s abdomen.”
A beat of silence. And then: “What?”
“I need you to-”
“Yeah, no, I heard you. Why on earth are you needing that?”
“It’s a bit of a long story that I can’t really explain,” he said evasively. Chiyo was quiet for a moment longer. Then, Madara’s phone started buzzing violently. With an annoyed sigh, he pulled it out of his pocket, wincing at the screen. Chiyo was requesting a change to a video call.
He glanced around, and found Chuya staring right at him, dark eyes narrowed. Maintaining eye contact, he pressed ‘accept’. Chiyo’s face greeted him, wrinkled and aged and wise.
“Let me see the wound,” he ordered, and Madara wordlessly obeyed, flipping the camera around so he could see the entry wound on Tobi’s stomach. “No exit wound?”
“Nope.”
“How much blood loss?”
“Too much. We have a transfusion set up already.”
“Good. Where’s your supervising doctor?”
“Gone already. It’s just me and my classmates here.”
“Can you call him in?”
“Um. I’m going to go with no….” He trailed off as Chuya stalked towards him, finger stroking along the barrel of his handgun.
“Who is this?” he demanded, grabbing the phone and frowning at the screen.
“A surgeon I know,” Madara said smoothly, reaching out for it again. Chuya held it out of reach. “He’s going to tell me how to save your boss's life, so don’t you dare hang up.”
Chuya eyed him for a moment, then gave the man on the video call a scrutinizing stare. “Try anything funny and I’ll blow the kids' brains out,” he threatened, turning the screen so Chiyo could see him nudge Madara’s chin with his gun before handing the phone back.
Chiyo, to his credit, didn’t react. That happened when you worked for 40 years as a surgeon, Madara supposed.
“Do you have what you need?” he asked quietly, giving him a discreetly questioning look. Madara winced, glancing down at the rudimentary tools they had on hand. This was a family medicine clinic, not a surgical unit. They didn’t have what they needed.
“No, but we can make do with what’s here,” he sighed. “Hopefully.”
“Good. Gown up, get your classmates to help you out, and I’ll walk you through it step by step.”
Madara pursed his lips. “Well. This guy’s not the only one injured here. I need Meian to take care of some of the others. I’ll get Shira, but…otherwise…”
“Alright, you’ll just have to make do, then. Go get ready now.”
Madara leaned the phone against a cup that he flipped upside down, and glanced down at Tobi once more. “Sure you don’t want anything?”
“Try it and I’ll kill you,” he mumbled, not even opening his eyes.
“Alright.” Madara wasn’t about to waste time arguing. “Shira, come on.”
“Where do you think you’re going?” Chuya demanded.
“If you think I’m putting my bare hands inside of him you’re mistaken,” Madara snarked, heading to the back to wash up and get his needed attire. Shira scurried after him, and with a furious scowl, Chuya stomped along too, not letting them out of his sight. There goes the potential for hitting the silent call button. But, he also had Chiyo.
Madara fixed his hair, securing it tightly in a messy bun before washing and sliding into his gown and gloves and mask. Shira was quiet as she did the same, but he could see the shaking of her hands.
“It’ll be okay,” he said lowly to her, too softly for Chuya to hear.
She bit her lip, and put her mask on. “You say that like you think we’ll get out of this alive.”
“We’ll be fine.” He leaned a little closer, making it seem like he was adjusting the tie on the back of her gown. “There’s more than one reason why I called Chiyo,” he whispered, straightening her gown before stepping away, snapping on his gloves.
Shira gave him a bewildered look, but wisely didn’t say anything, donning her own gloves and following close behind as he strode back to the waiting room.
Chuya stopped next to Tobi, scowling hugely. “Are you ready yet?” he demanded.
“Yup. Now go stand somewhere else, you’re in the way.” Madara ignored his aghast look, silently directing Shira to monitor the ECG Meian had smartly set up for them while they were out. He took a quick look over the wound again, and pursed his lips.
This was gonna suck. For everyone.
“Make sure the area is clean,” Chiyo instructed, watching attentively through the screen. Shira hurried to obey, redoing the cleaning of the skin around the bullet wound. Tobi grunted quietly at the coldness of the saline, eyes cracking open.
“This is gonna suck,” Madara warned him, voicing his thoughts from a moment before.
“Do your worst, princess,” Tobi rasped.
“Don’t tempt me.”
“Alright Madara. Make an incision about 8 inches long, four inches above and below the wound,” Chiyo went on, leaning forward so he could see as closely as possible without the phone moving closer. Sages, he really didn’t want to do this. Steeling himself, he plucked a razor sharp scalpel up from the tool tray, taking a moment to admire its gleaming shine, and then set the blade against Tobi’s skin. He didn’t let himself hesitate or second guess himself, and sunk in, slicing into the gangsters abdomen, the skin and underlying tissues coming apart easily under the scalpels sharp edge.
*not going into detail because YUCK, visualizing this makes me feel sick*
The weak daze Tobi was in seemed momentarily lifted as the man shouted a curse at the ceiling, clenching his jaws and fists, and jerking. Chuya immediately stepped forward, setting his hands on his bosses shoulders and holding them down. With a quick, barked instruction, he directd two other men to help hold down his arms and legs, keeping him as still as possible. Reluctantly impressed with his quick thinking, Madara set the scalpel aside, attentively listening to Chiyo’s instructions, moving aside skin and flesh and organs, hunting for the bullet lodged somewhere in Tobi’s abdomen.
It was a painstakingly long process, but one that eventually paid off. Tobi was barely conscious when Madara finally fished the bullet out of him, cleaning the wound once more and stitching the edges together.
When he finally stepped back, peeling the bloodied gloves off his hands, he wasn’t given the chance to catch a steadying breath. Instead, he directed Shira and Meian to start working on the other two major cases, changing his gear and washing up again before going to help. Chuya stole his phone, keeping Doctor Chiyo on the line to make sure he didn’t try anything ‘funny’, but Madara wasn’t worried. The wise old doctor probably had done what Madara was silently requesting.
It was a painful experience, but fortunately their interventions with the rest of the injured gangsters weren’t as invasive or time consuming. They handled the rest of the injuries, mostly deep slashes and shallow stab wounds,quickly and efficiently. When he was certain that they had things under control, Madara circled around again to Tobi, still lying on his table, staring blankly at the ceiling.
“How you feeling?” he asked, feeling his forehead with the back of his hand. He was feverish, but not dangerously so.
“Like shit.”
“Probably.” He lowered his hand, grazing the slash on his cheek, and Tobi winced. With a sigh, Madara started to work on the gash, cleaning the wound and silently stitching it together. “This will leave a nasty scar,” he commented.
“Scars tell stories.”
“Not always good ones.” He tied off the stitch, and tossed his tools aside, carefully applying a covering over the stitches. “What happened? Really?”
Tobi’s red eyes glinted. “We got into a fight.”
Madara snorted. “Noted. Why?”
“This city only has room for one crime ring.”
“Mhm.” Madara glanced at the time, and smiled. “Well. I can’t say it was nice to meet you. But it’s nice to see you go.”
Tobi’s eyebrows furrowed, and for once he looked puzzled. “What?”
Madara loosened his hair, tugging the tie out and letting it spill over his shoulders. “Oh, the police will be here in a few minutes. So, I’d suggest you leave.”
“You’re bluffing,” the Senju snorted.
“Am I?”
A brief stare down ensued, and then realization dawned on Tobi’s face. “You planned this out,” he said carefully.
“From the moment it became clear you needed surgery,” Madara agreed, leaning back and crossing his arms with a smug smirk. He supposed he should be grateful that the other Senju members couldn’t overhear their conversation right now.
“How?”
“That’s for me to know, and you not to find out,” Madara said smartly. He leaned forwards a little bit. “I saved your life. You owe me a favour.”
“It sounds like you already know what you want.”
“I do. You are not to come here again. And you are to leave Doctor Chiyo in peace. Without him, you’d be dead.”
“You were the one who did the surgery.”
“And I would have fucked up royally without him. You owe it to him.”
Tobi gave him a considering look. “Alright, princess. He won’t come to harm, even though I’m pissed off at him for calling us in.”
“Be pissed off all you want. Now get out.”
Tobi grunted, but sat up with great effort. Madara made no move to help him, watching him struggle until Chuya noticed and hurried over to assist. “We’re going,” Tobi ordered. “There’s nothing more they can do.”
“Shouldn’t we let you rest for a little bit?” another man asked, younger, and looking remarkably like Tobi. Perhaps a brother.
“No. Let’s move.”
Arms still crossed over his chest as he leaned against the desk, Madara watched the mobsters slowly collect themselves, leaving blood and dirt and a disaster behind them. But they were swift to obey their leaders orders, trickling out of the clinic.
Until only Tobi and Chuya were left, the former leaning heavily on the latter. Tobi paused just before they disappeared out the door, glancing back at Madara. “I suppose I owe you thanks.”
“You can thank me by never being seen by me again,” Madara deadpanned. Tobi’s lips twitched in a mockery of a smile.
“Sure thing, Ojo. Bye, princess.”
The moment the door slammed shut behind them, Shira couldn’t hold it together anymore. She burst into tears, trying vainly to stifle them.
Normally, Madara wasn’t good at even attempting to comfort people. But something within compelled him to reach out to her and draw her into him, letting her bury her face in his chest and cry. Meian held herself together a bit better, but as Madara guided them both to the chairs in the waiting room, letting Shira curl into his side and cry her heart out with his arm over her shoulders, Meian leaned into him, taking his hand in both of hers. He gave her a reassuring squeeze, and she made a quiet whimpering sound, leaning against him and resting her head on his shoulder.
They were still sitting like that when the police finally arrived, and a distraughtly worried Doctor Yuko returned, alerted by the events by either the police or Doctor Chiyo, fretting over his clinic and the wellbeing of his students. He was insistent upon calling the school and temporarily putting their clinical on hold, stressing over the events that happened while he was out and apologizing over and over again for not being there.
When the school found out, all three of them were flooded with phone calls from worried professors and instructors, and even the Dean himself. Madara got the distinct impression that he was more worried about what the event might do to the reputation of the school rather than the wellbeing of his students.
As the police questioned them and Doctor Yuko and Doctor Chiyo over the phone, Madara closed his eyes, rubbing his temples with a sigh. And resolved to forget about the nightmare that happened that night, and try to vanquish the memory from his mind.
He didn’t succeed, in the end. But he damn well tried.