I had been told that he was different.

Having been granted the honour of being deacon, and not only that but the deacon of the most well-known and visited cathedral in the country and, at least in my opinion, the most beautiful one in the world, he was bound to be special. But people who worked under me in the police force had expressed great reverence to his age of only thirty-two.

Despite him being six years younger than me, I had had a hard time imagining him as anything but an old priest. But he had surprised me, and I was not easily surprised.

"Please, sit down. Do you want coffee?" he asked. "Or Red Bull?"

"Red Bull, please", I said, surprising myself this time as I never accepted anything when on duty.

He gave one to me I cracked it open as I sat down at his wooden kitchen table in the small but clean kitchen, waiting for him to bring his own mug of coffee with him to sit down opposite me.

I liked the way he looked in my field of vision. Strong. Tall and broad. But still not as tall and broad and me, meaning he would still be very comfortable in my arms.

I had no idea where that thought had come from.

I took a sip of the slightly bitter bubblegum flavoured drink. It tasted strange seeing I had brushed my teeth not that long ago.

"What can I do for you?" the man asked me.

"My name is Tobirama Senju", I said. "I'm the police chief, head of all forces."

"Madara Uchiha. Deacon."

I couldn't help but notice how he wrinkled up his face as he said this, as if his own name and title causes him great discomfort.

"As you have no doubt figured out, we believe you might be in danger."

He frowned and went quiet.

"Actually, I haven't thought of that. Not really."

I smiled a crooked smile at him, not entirely sure if he was sarcastic or not. He didn't let go of my gaze. People usually did, and when they didn't, it was to challenge me. There was nothing challenging in the deacon's eyes. He seemed to be only looking, taking me in, drinking me and I hoped I was to his taste.

"Really?" I asked.

He shook his head. As he seemed to collect his thoughts, form them into sentences, I looked around me at the interior of his little cottage. My guess was that he had gotten it fully furnished; the contrast between the man and his home were just too great. The red-and-white checkered curtains, the copper kettles, the pine wood cupboards, the crème sofa visible from the kitchen through the opening into the living room... It was all accompanied by a scent of fresh wood and paint making me believe the place was maximum a few year's old. Then, I looked over at the man, so pale yet dark in a way that made him look very gothic. I had never met anyone who looked like him before. Never taken interest.

"I have been occupied thinking about the victims and my own blame", he said. "I have heard people whisper behind me, or thought I have, at least, but I've never thought myself to be in actual, physical danger."

"I see", I said, taking a sip. "What do you mean with your own blame?" I asked. When he turned to me with a frown, I couldn't help but chuckle. "Don't worry. This isn't an interrogation. I'm just curious. There are still some parts of this case we don't fully comprehend."

He kept looking at me, really thinking about his next move. He seemed to do that a lot and I liked that about him. It was rare. It was as if he felt he only had a limited amount of words being allowed to pass his lips over the course of his lifetime, and he wanted to make every one of them count.

"I could have said no", he said. "I could have said no to this job. Not to avoid criticism, but to prove my stance. Why should I help the catholic church when a crime so dire has been made possible within its walls?"

"And why did you?" I asked, taking another sip of Red Bull, looking at him over the silver and blue aluminium can with one eyebrow raised.

He went quiet on me again, looked at me as if trying to judge my character. I hoped he couldn't; he would find there were many things lacking if he could.

"I don't think I trust you with that information just yet."

I shrugged, but deep down. I couldn't help but feel hurt. What was happening to me? I never gave a fuck what people thought of me.

"Suit yourself. But you cannot have been able not to notice the danger you're in. Anyway, we want to make you an offer."

He put his mug down and looked at me suspiciously.

"I'm a man of God. What kind of offer are we talking about?"

I smiled a little at him.

"Don't worry, nothing dodgy. But we need to protect you."

A silence grew between us once more, but for once I felt it wasn't because he was thinking, but because I had rendered him speechless.

"What do you want?" he finally asked.

"A police in civil clothes with you at all times. Day and night."

"Watching me sleep?"

"Standing guard outside your door."

"Why?"

"As I said, we suspect you're in danger. The mob who broke into your church... We suspect what they really wanted was to get to you. To scare you off this job, and then anyone coming after to take it on."

He closed his eyes and frowned. For a moment, I thought tears were going to fall down his cheeks. They didn't.

I realised my heart was pounding, and I realised it was because I was afraid he would refuse. Because he could. And I knew that would make me be very worried about him, indeed.

"I'm not sure-" he began and I didn't let him finish because I had kind of had enough of him.

"Why not?" I asked, feeling my voice fill with anger. "Because you don't think you deserve it? Believe me, Deacon, we do not easily give up our staff for tasks like this. We are not offering you lightly, to be kind. We're offering you because we deem it to be absolutely necessary. We do not think this uproar will die down anytime soon. From the pattern so far, it will even enlighten other, more forceful reactions. So don't come with any form of nonsense about not being sure because it's my job to ensure the citizens of this city are not in danger and, by God, believe me when I say you are."

I felt breathless as I stopped. His face, however, did not change. He looked at me, his brows furrowed. Then, he chugged the rest of his coffee, stood up by letting the legs of the chair scrape against the floor boards with a sound that made me jerk, then went to the sink. There, he put the mug down with a clatter, and grabbed hold of the edge of the sink. I looked at him, and for a moment I wondered if he was crying. But when he spoke once more, his voice was absolutely steady.

"Fine. On one condition."

"Don't act as if you're making us a service instead of the other way around", I said darkly.

He turned around.

"On one condition", he repeated.

I squinted my eyes. My hands clenched the Red Bull can so harshly, the metal cracked as my fingers made indentations in it. I considered if I should just stand up and leave. Hell, it was what I would have done if it was anyone else. But for some reason, it didn't feel right now. Not with him.

"Tell me", I found myself saying instead.

"You escort me to the hospital right now. So I can visit those who were injured. I don't feel like going myself."

I hesitated. It wasn't I who would be on guarding duty. It would be an officer, maybe even a junior one. But I figured I could grant him this, seeing I had this entire morning locked for this meeting and we seemed to be done now, anyway, and it was only nine in the morning.

"Deal."

He didn't cry. He didn't say anything. He just stood there, tall and broad, looking down on the elderly, dying man in the hospital bed. 

I inspected him from the side, not making it a secret I was looking at him because I knew he didn't care; not in a moment like this.

I liked his profile. His slightly upwards-pointing nose. His chin rendered slightly dark by just the hint of a black stubble. His ragged, black hair, almost blue-tinted against his deep-black robes. The piercings in his ears; I didn't know their technical names but he had a lot of them. I liked that he was tall, but I found I also liked that I was taller. I wondered what he looked like beneath those robes. Was he soft? Strong? Skinny?

There was a wheezing breath from below us, and I looked down. Madara held the elderly man's hand.

"His wife died that same evening", he said. I already knew this because the nurse had told both of us. But I thought he felt a need to repeat it, to hear the words come out of his own mouth to believe them. "That same evening they were beaten up. But he... He was fine. He just didn't want to live anymore. Not without her."

I kept my eyes on the old man. He was still breathing, but in a way I knew was called paradoxical breathing, meaning his chest went in when he breathed in, and up when he breathed out. It meant a person was close to death.

"Him and his wife came to my services every week. And they were the only ones to come up to me to give me support when I started. They told me to not listen to a word anyone said that connected me to the old deacon. That I had nothing to do with it."

"Do you want me to leave you?" I asked softly.

Madara grabbed my arm, and when he looked at me he had worry in his eyes, as if afraid I would actually leave.

As if I would when I saw him in this state.

"Please, stay", he said.

And for the first time, I felt my heart well and truly soften for the man.

I didn't notice the tube of cream Madara stole as we left the room. If I had, I think many things could have been different.