The Golden Ghost
I

.

The first time news reaches them, Madara has just seen the passing of his sixteenth birthday, and is nursing the consequences. A man now.

Well, the civilians think so.

The sound of his cousins snickering in his ears follows him as Madara makes his way to the innermost room of their compound, his head threatening to split open at the seams and send his brain swilling from his ears.

Those precious older cousins had taken him out on the town that night; he woke up butt naked before the compound entrance, a bottle cradled under one arm, dead chicken in the other and with a breath that smelt of a brewery.

He still can't remember what happened last night, it all gets fuzzy after the second tankard. He remembers Shuji ebbing him on to down that second drink -the bastard- and Yosai laughing in the background.

He remembers watching the waitresses go by, their eyes cautious as they land on their male forms. Men are big enough threats for civilian girls, but ninja were the worst. In their eyes of course.

Uchihas aren't like the other low life clans. They couldn't afford any bastard children, not one's they couldn't keep track of. It'd only take one Uchiha born on the wrong side of the bed, one Uchiha to slip through the cracks, and if they got picked up by another clan- game over. No one could know how the Sharingan worked.

No one but the clan using it anyway.

Which meant that all Uchiha men had to be careful. The women, well, obviously it wasn't encouraged, but they lived in the compound; pregnancy was pretty damn easy to notice when you saw one another on a daily basis.

No, the Uchihas could not afford any bastard children.

Which was why Madara was, well, not quite worried over his missing memories, but maybe a bit uneased.

He walks on silent steps into the hall his father often holds court in, and almost does a double take upon noticing the numbers.

His head is still threatening to split open, and he worries for a second that such a thing is just about to happen when the pain increases threefold.

Luckily enough, Izuna is on hand to pull him over to a quiet corner, his younger brother's lower lip working back and forth between his teeth as his eyes dart over their many clansmen.

Dear lord, there had to be every active ninja present here that wasn't already out on a mission. Hell, he could even spot the three elders -the three Uchiha that had the skill and power to make it to such an elderly age- crowding his father and muttering harshly beneath their breaths.

"Izuna, what's going on?"

Talking hurts.

Groaning, Madara presses the plump flesh of his palms into the sockets of his eyes, praying feverishly that the pressure would lessen the pain. It doesn't make the slightest bit of difference.

"I don't know," Izuna, bless his heart, gets the unspoken message to be as near-silent as possible, "Tou-san just called everybody here."

Whatever had happened, it had to be big for everyone to have been called in.

Eyes narrowing, Madara forces himself to stand tall and straight at the back of the crowd when their father steps forwards, glorious silence falling across the hall. Then, his father begins to speak.

"Three hours ago, I received information on a new threat- no, there is no potential about it," he snapped when one of the elder's goes to open their mouths, "there is no way this ninja is not a threat. Kei, step forwards."

Kei does step forwards, of course he does. Nobody disagrees with the clan head.

Madara watches in fascination as the man brings his hands together and performs a henge, leaving a small blond boy in his place, no taller than Tajima's shoulder.

Bright blue eyes, face devoured of the masculine jaw that puberty would bring, but Madara swears he's seen those features before. It's a niggling feeling at the back of his mind, like an insect fluttering against skin.

"This, is our best estimation at the face of the 'Golden Ghost'. This boy," Tajima spits the word as if it were a curse, "stopped the Kyūbi from attacking a village not a day's travel from here by sealing it into his own body. This happened two months ago, and this is the first we have heard of it. I am sure at least one of you has seen a golden flash in the last two months? Well, understand this. I want this boy's head. The one to bring it to me, will go down in history as the slayer of the Nine Tailed Fox."

No one dares to speak, and Madara cannot blame them.

He's a little preoccupied though, because he remembers where he's seen that face before.

.

It is not a boy's face at all, but that of a young woman.

Shuji's laughing as he coughs over the last of the second tankard, the unfamiliar liquid burning his throat on the way down. But, Madara supposes, that's what liquor was. A flame-like substance to burn away a lifetime of memories, for those who hit it hard enough.

He's onto his fifth drink when he notices that, while he's not alone, his previous company has long since abandoned him for the brigade of pretty girls that've just come into the bar.

Instead, a tanned blonde girl is sat at the table with him, though if it weren't for her female clothes he'd have mistaken her for a young boy. Well, if she bound that chest anyway.

"You look a little young to be drinking," she murmurs, as if she herself doesn't look like a twelve year old bratling come to try his luck with the pretty ladies.

But something in her eyes has Madara forcing himself to focus through the haze of liquor, to not lose track of this woman. Even under the thrall of his first bout with intoxication, his instincts treat him well.

"I'm sixteen," he grumbles, just a bit on the defensive side, especially at the twitch of her woman's lips, "I'm old enough. Question is, are you?"

She laughs at that, and nothing like the rattling little giggles the painted girls give. No, this is a full belly, deeply amused, laugh.

Only the strong laugh that loud, a small voice reminds Madara, and he carefully sets down his tankard, noting that it's once again empty.

"I'm seventeen, have been since October," the girl admits with a carefree ease, waving away his question with one dainty hand. It's smaller than his, but there's the lightest scattering of scars around her fingertips.

Kunai scars.

As if she's practiced until her hands have bled raw, until the edge of the steel had bit further into her palm than was reasonable.

As if she'd followed the training regime of a ninja.

"When I came over to talk to you, I don't know what I was expecting," the girl once again addresses him, her blue eyes wide but eyebrows furrowed, almost as if she's confused. Over what, Madara cannot even begin to guess, nor does he care to.

"But you're just like everyone else."

She gets to her feet while his brain is trying to process this statement, wondering if it was a taunt, a statement or an insult.

His eyes go wide when she ruffles his hair, grinning down at him and Madara flushes upon realizing his face is at level with her breasts.

"See you around, Madara."

.

He never told that woman his name. This woman that apparently housed the Kyūbi within her body.

If they were to cut her down, the beast would be dead, now that it was trapped within human form.

Madara knew two things for certain though.

One, he would be seeing the woman again, she had promised him as much. And two?

He wouldn't have his brain dribbling out of his ears as a result of drinking far too much alcohol.

No, next time, he would be on top of his game when they came face to face. And then, he'd run her through, Nine Tailed Fox an all.

This is gonna be six short chapters long, and I'm writing it because I made a mistake and read another good Madara fanfiction.

Two quick points, in my Headcanon for Clan Wars era;
- Women were only taught defencively until the Leaf Village; Children come from women and thus, women weren't allowed on the frontlines. Even the Uzumaki didn't allow them on the frontlines, but they taught them Fūinjutsu to defend.
-They believe cutting down Naruto kills the fox, because they've never heard of Jinchuriki before. They don't know Kyūbi will just reform.

Tsume
xxx