[ a light in the dark ]

Thump, thump, thump.

The pulse behind your right eye splintered into the base of your skull. The zig-zagging blind spots from hours ago had finally delivered their threat. The afternoon sun bleeding through the paper screens scraped against your retinas, and you buried your face deeper into the mattress, pressing the heels of your hands against your temples to cage the heat, the intense light invading the room. Everything hurt. Every small sound, movement, and even the quiet rustle of the cotton bedsheets made your stomach turn.

Thump, thump, thump.

The door slid open, letting the aroma of freshly made spicy beef broth and steamed narutomaki drift inside. On most days, that smell would bring you to your most overjoyed state as you could not wait to sip on it. Today, however, the smell instantly spiked your queasiness, causing you to curl tighter into yourself as if the pain would miraculously go away. Whenever your migraine attacked you, it also took a hit on your stomach.

Madara stepped into your shared bedroom, cataloged the uneven stress of your breathing, and immediately set the ceramic bowl out in the hallway to insulate the offending scent because he knew what you were going through right now. It only took him one quick look to assess and understand the predicament you were in.

He knew your triggers, he knew what helped, what didn't, and how to properly care for you even when he couldn't take the pain away immediately. He snapped the remaining screens shut, plunging the room into darkness; the sudden absence of light felt like a benediction.

Thump, thump, thump.

This whole situation infuriated him so much. So. Much. The reason? Truth being told, Madara Uchiha could bring entire nations to their knees, yet he was forced to stand by with his hands tied while his partner writhed in agony.

When these migraines first started consuming your days early in your relationship, he had dragged every renowned medical-nin across the Land of Fire to his compound. He dismissed the ones who called it a simple headache with threats so violent that Hashirama started receiving complaints about it. The Hokage had to personally intervene before Madara's protective rage caused him to level an entire medical clinic. 

After a while, Madara even took it upon himself to find healers in other lands in hopes someone could finally tend to you. He was desperate to rip the invisible grip the condition had on your life. It took months of incessant search and pressure before an elder healer from the Land of Whirlpools finally synthesized a bitter herbal tincture capable of actually numbing your nervous system, thus making the pain more manageable and bearable.

He crossed the dark room, his footsteps muffled by the tatami, and retrieved the glass vial of your medication from the shelf. He poured the correct measured dose into the cup of water that sat right by your bedside table, before moving to the bed where the mattress dipped under his weight. 

You tried to shrink away from the shift, your brain misfiring with the motion, but his hand settled gently at the base of your neck. His skin carried the rough texture of old battles; regardless, the pressure he applied remained painstakingly calibrated. He guided you backward, easing your tense frame until your spine rested against his chest.

The ambient heat of his body enveloped you, acting as your grounding pillar against the spinning room. He held the cup to your lips, his fingers supporting your jaw, tilting your head back just enough to make you swallow the medicine, his motions so gentle it did not feel like the Madara everyone knew. Just your Madara. 

You weakly pushed his wrist away, your stomach forcibly revolting at the bitter scent of the crushed herbs. You thought that by now you would have gotten used to it, but that could not be farther from the truth.

"Don't waste any of your remaining strength fighting," Madara murmured, the rumble of his voice seeping directly into your shoulder blades. His scarred fingers slid to bracket your face, his thumbs finding the crux of the heat at your temples. He brought the cup close to your mouth once again. "Drink it. It will make you feel better soon."

You forced the acrid liquid down, shuddering as the harsh taste coated your throat and pushed the cup away towards Madara once you were done. He took it and stretched his arm to the side to put it on his bedside table, then locked your restless limbs down with the weight of his thigh, beginning a circular motion against your skin, his thumb catching a stray tear before it could soak into the pillow.

"Breathe," he commanded too softly even for him, his lips brushing the crown of your head. "Stop bracing against the pain. I am right here with you."

Time dilated in the quiet dark. The worst of the migraine pain eventually dulled under the influence of the medicine, leaving a deadened ache in its wake. Madara did not move from his position until he felt the fitful twitching in your muscles subside. Only then did he carefully untangle himself from your frame in bed, stepping out into the hallway to retrieve the ramen he had left outside a while ago.

He returned with the bowl, ensuring the sliding door did not make any loud noises as it clicked shut behind him, before he settled back onto the mattress. The broth was lukewarm now, the spices thankfully muted, but the mere concept of food made your insides heave. You clamped your mouth shut and turned your face away, pressing your cheek stubbornly against his strong chest.

Now, to fight against your nausea.

"I don't want it," you rasped, holding a weak tremor in your voice.

"You need to eat," Madara replied. He didn't raise his voice; he would never with you, but the finality in his tone left no room for debate. He hooked an arm under your waist, propping you up against his side too effortlessly.

"Madara, no," you whimpered, your jaw locking as he brought the chopsticks closer. "I'll be sick."

"You will not," he countered with a certain infuriating calm. "The medicine will shred your stomach lining if it remains empty. Just two bites."

Madara didn't force the food into your mouth. His thumb stroked a rather comforting pattern against your arm as if he were imposing an immovable wall of support until your resistance crumbled under his iron will. He was a patient man when it came to you and your well-being, and because of that, he wouldn't rush the process, especially a healing one.

So he waited.

He waited until the waves of nausea crested and fell, his strong hand still holding you against his chest until your tense shoulders drooped in exhausted relief and you felt more at ease by the smell.

He then proceeded to bring the chopsticks forward, pressing the edge gently against your lower lip just enough to leave a drop of the warm broth on your skin. The savory taste bypassed your queasiness, and you let out a defeated sigh, your resistance crumbling as you parted your lips. 

Madara smiled, a victory smile, waiting for you to take the small bite before withdrawing the chopsticks to repeat the process over and over. He watched you intently, his eyes tracking the tight swallow of your throat after every bite, assessing it as he waited to see if your stomach would rebel.

Once you signaled that you were satisfied, he set the half-empty bowl aside and adjusted the pillows against the headboard. He leaned back, pulling you into his embrace for the hundredth time. His arm wrapped around your shoulders, tucking your head right over the steady thud of his heart. His free hand drifted up to your face, his rough-hewn thumb tracing the line of your cheekbone. You could fall asleep right there just by feeling his touch.

The room stayed quiet for a few minutes before Madara opened his mouth. "You do know that I could put you under a genjutsu to cleanly sever the pain receptors, right?" he murmured, a glimpse of his signature arrogance bleeding into the quiet room. There he is! That's the not-so-soft Madara ready to come out.

You let out an exhausted breath against his collarbone, your eyes almost fully closed. "Madara, my love, please don't start."

Nyx says: Do you guys know how intimidating it is to write for Madara? Or any Uchihas for that matter? I feel like they're watching over my shoulder to ensure I'm writing them appropriately 😭 anyways, I hope you enjoyed this one, tho 🤍 On a completely unrelated side note, boy am I LOVING making my own dividers for my fics!