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sennokami · 5 years ago

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Parallelism - Ch.2

Summary: Madara is not an easy man to have - or keep. Hashirama fights that in his own way.

In which Madara nearly enters an arranged marriage of his own.

In another lifetime, where their lives lined up better and the timing was right, maybe he could have reciprocated the truth of Madara’s secret – to love him as he deserved to be loved. But they’d still been at war when he married Mito. That was how it always went: like their friendship had a leak that couldn’t be fixed and any goodness they had just spilled out. Their relationship was just a series of closing doors. Word count: 3,583 AN: This is available on ao3 in its entirety under the same title under the pseud selwyn. I also have a twitter, selwynsalt.

Hashirama didn’t see Madara again after that. He didn’t even get a letter from him again. He didn’t know if he was disappointed or relieved.

His lips had healed within the night but not before a few drops of blood got on the sleeve of his haori. Instead of washing it or changing, Hashirama continued to wear it. It was in a discreet spot, only visible if the sleeve was straightened out, so no one but he noticed it. And he did. The two little spots of blood always winked at him throughout the day, reminding him of what happened.

Madara wanted him. The abstract had finally become physical. The truth that’d lingered on the outskirts of his awareness had blazed to the forefront and like Madara himself, it refused to be ignored. He thought about it when he walked down the village streets, when he sat at his desk, when he ate, when he breathed. He couldn’t stop himself. Every time he did, he looked down at those two blood spots and wondered.

Had the violence been for him or was that just Madara’s way? He suspected both. Wasn’t that just so typical?

It wasn’t the first time that someone wanted him. But the intensity of this was new.

The knocking on his door interrupted his reverie. “Come in.”

Toka entered and Hashirama immediately perked up. She’d gone out with Tobirama in a mission to court the Hyuuga in the north. If she was here then his brother wasn’t far behind. She knelt. “Hokage-sama.”

“Toka. My brother?”

“Tobirama-sama is on his way back to Konoha. He asked me to go ahead with his message so you can begin preparations immediately. The diplomatic envoy was successful but the Hyuuga have new demands."

“Go on.”

“They want to meet the founders of Konohagakure in person. And they want to be on neutral ground.”

He frowned. That wasn't how he'd imagined it. Konoha was willing to host everyone interested in joining, to let them have a taste of what was possible. Even the skittish Shimura had finally relented once they experienced it. “Their safety is guaranteed."

“We told them that. But bloodline clans have always been jumpy."

Hashirama sighed. Of course. The infamous jealousy of the two doujutsu clans in Fire was the one joke everyone else could agree on. Not that it wasn’t unwarranted. If one knew the right buyer, a single Sharingan eye could easily go for five hundred thousand ryo. God only knew how much a Byakugan went for.

“Is that it then? They want me and Madara to meet them on neutral territory before they’re willing to discuss this further?”

“Essentially.”

Well… it would be a welcome break from the drudgery of the office – an opportunity to go out, stretch his legs, and do what he was actually good at.

With Madara.

God. With Madara.

There it was again - the appearance of dread where there should've been none. Just a few months earlier, Hashirama would've been giddy at the prospect of traveling with Madara to negotiate the involvement of another clan. Now, he couldn't help but feel a brief flare of nervous anticipation. After weeks of complete non-communication and whatever that day was, they’d need to act as one team. He could already hear Tobirama in his ear: get your act together, you’re both leaders and you need to act like it.

Easy for him to say.

“- kage-sama? Are you listening?”

He blinked. “Ah, what?”

“I was saying that this should happen pretty soon,” Toka said. She stood up, grunting. “They’re jittery. They’ve been moving south lately. I think it’s because of that new village that’s supposed to be forming in Cloud. They want the Hyuuga. A lot.”

He gestured for her to elaborate.

“It’s unconfirmed but some of them might have been picked up. For their eyes. We don’t know a lot but when we offered to help, they said they already had it handled and the eyes were safe again.”

It wasn’t a lot of information to go on. The Hyuuga were as tight-lipped as the Uchiha were. At least Madara could offer some additional insight since he and his clan were in the same boat. Maybe they’d even get along - that was a nice thought.

“Then we should begin immediately,” Hashirama said, his mind made up. His inner Tobirama was right. Their duties as leaders came before the heart. He and Madara would just have to adapt.

Madara didn’t answer his summons until it was late. He appeared just as Hashirama was on his last candle and considering going home. The only sign of his arrival was the whoosh of hot air and the heaviness that he always carried around with him. Hashirama cupped his candle to protect the flickering flame and looked up.

“You came.” He sounded surprised to his own ears. A part of him had been nervously expecting silence. It would be bad. But it would be Madara.

From the window, Madara unfolded like a bird of prey. His eyes swept over the entire office before settling on Hashirama. It was the strangest thing – a part of him acknowledged him but the rest of him was firmly locked away. It was like being on the other side of a battlefield with him again. Being seen, but not accepted.

Greasy queasiness coiled inside Hashirama. It wasn’t his fault he didn’t know. But it felt like he should’ve known. Or that he should’ve handled it better. Or anything other than this.

“The Hyuuga are coming.” Madara slowly stepped closer. Hashirama made no moves. Madara stopped next to the corner of his desk. He looked ready to leave if anything happened. Hashirama could imagine what was going through his head. Probably the same thing he was thinking.

Do we talk about that?

“They are,” he confirmed. The Hyuuga were somewhat safe to talk about. And hey, when they were still fresh from the truce, Hashirama built his friendship with Madara back up using the village as their common goal. Maybe the Hyuuga could be that common goal this time.

“They want us to meet them.”

“They do.”

“I think it’s a bad idea,” Madara said. He slowly settled on the edge of the desk. It was subtle but it was his version of an olive branch. If he was still angry, he would’ve refused to come closer. “They’re not one of ours. We don’t know how they think. They could be planning something, maybe coordinating an attack with another clan.”

“Or maybe they are nervous about meeting us and want to feel more comfortable.”

“They should be nervous.”

“That’s not a good way to set up negotiations.”

“Do we even need the Hyuuga?” Madara questioned. He crossed his arms. “Their doujutsu is the weakest there is. Their clan is fractured. For the trouble we have to go to get them, it’s not worth it.”

“It’s not about worth,” Hashirama reminded him.

Madara’s face turned sour. Then smoothed out. “It’s not,” he begrudgingly agreed. “Alright, say we go to them. Say we agree to their ridiculous demands. What then?”

“We listen to what they have to say. Toka told me that they’re nervous about the clans in Lightning. If we offer them protection from them then they might be more pliant.”

“And who goes?”

The question caught Hashirama off-guard. It’d always been the two of them before. Why ask now? “...us?”

“Not Tobirama?”

He disliked the challenging glint in Madara’s eye. That always spelled trouble for someone. “Tobirama will be handling the village in our absence. Do you want to do that instead?”

“...no.” Madara slid off the desk with a thump. “I’ll come with you.” He headed for the door.

Hashirama had half a mind to call out to him. Ask him to stay. It felt like the right thing to do. They needed to resolve whatever thing they had before they met the Hyuuga, so it wouldn’t get in the way, so they could be a team again –

The look that Madara shot him as he stopped at the door made him freeze. It was a cutting look. A hungry look. It was a look that made Hashirama feel like prey.

With a flash of long black hair, Madara was gone. Hashirama stared after him as the door slammed shut, his thoughts scattered.

That wasn’t a fighting look, he was sure. But that hadn’t been a return to the days of easy friendship either. That… had been a challenge. A gauntlet thrown.

Traveling to the neutral location went in silence. With only the two of them, they made good time. That didn’t mean it was any easier to endure the pressing silence from Madara’s end. He was impossible to ignore too – leaves curled up from the heat of his passage and his footsteps left scorch marks on the wood. Hashirama registered every flash of heat with a shudder, like he was next to a fire that could easily catch him.

It was Madara who stopped first. Hashirama caught himself on a tree branch as soon as he did, turning his head in askance, and Madara jerked his head east. “People coming.”

Hashirama immediately got down. He kept his hands visible, his posture relaxed, and his chakra carefully pinched small, and after a moment’s hesitation, Madara followed suit. He was still a hot presence at his shoulder but he wasn’t nearly as searing now.

They didn’t have to wait long. Five white-clothed Hyuuga materialized from the forest, staring uncannily at the two of them, their faces blank and cautious. They were like the Uchiha in the sense that they all resembled each other, all of them dark-haired and white-eyed. Two Hyuuga stepped forward from the five-man squad, visibly older than the rest.

“Senju-sama, Uchiha-sama” one said, taking the lead. When he bowed, his scout followed suit. He was a tall man, maybe even taller than Hashirama, and his brown hair was swept back into a severe ponytail. As he watched, the bulging veins around his eyes relaxed and disappeared back under his skin. “I am Hyuuga Hotaru. Our scouts noticed you were coming and we were sent to escort you to our encampment.”

“Good to meet you, Hotaru-san.” Hashirama smiled. “Is Hitomi-san doing well?”

“Hyuuga-sama is well as can be expected. Will you follow us?”

“Lead the way.”

At Hotaru’s nod, the rest of the his squad went forth. Hashirama and Madara followed them at a more sedate pace, not speaking up when they were led in a few circles before they actually approached the encampment. Considering Madara’s sensory abilities – and the fact that they were in a forest – made this a fairly moot point, but Hashirama didn’t fault them for doing what they could. The Hyuuga were skittish. This was expected.

When they came upon the encampment, however, Hashirama frowned. It was… not what he expected. The Hyuuga were a big clan. An old clan. The Senju had even clashed with them in the long past. Their doujutsu bred strong and they usually had the numbers to keep their territory. What he saw here, however, wasn’t that clan. The encampment was still sizable, sure, but it was smaller than what the Uchiha and Senju encampments had been like in the early days of the village. There were more guards posted than was efficient and there were no children in sight.

This wasn’t a clan that’d traveled out of curiosity. These were people on the run.

Tobirama and Toka’s initial estimates looked to be depressingly accurate. Hotaru led them through the encampment quickly, towards a larger tent that’d been set up on the eastern edge. As they went, Madara suddenly pressed up close to him.

“Something’s off with the chakra in there,” he muttered into his ear, his voice so low that his words were barely there, and then he was gone, walking ahead in a dark flurry of hair and mantle, leaving Hashirama behind with warm, prickling ears. He shook himself a little, reminded himself to focus. This… thing… with Madara, that could be handled later. Right now, this took priority.

Hotaru came to a stop outside the tent. He glanced back at them briefly, bowing his head a little. “Please wait,” then he disappeared inside. Hashirama caught the low murmur of voices before Hotaru reappeared. “Please, come in. Hyuuga-sama is ready to see you.”

His curiosity about why Hitomi didn’t come out to greet them was quickly explained as soon as he entered. The smell of infection hit him like a wave, thick enough that his stomach turned briefly. He resisted the urge to press his sleeve against his nose.

Hyuuga Hitomi sat inside the tent, clothed in the white yukata of the sick and dying. She looked older than he remembered her, with thick lines of gray shot through her brown hair, and her eyes were obscured by a thick band of bandages.

She briefly dipped her head when they entered. From her side, a young Hyuuga clansman who must have been attending to her carefully edged out of sight. Next to her was another Hyuuga, another woman but much younger than Hitomi. She wasn’t anyone Hashirama recognized but she must’ve been important to be here.

“Senju. Uchiha. It’s been a while since our clans had a chance to meet outside of a battlefield.”

“Hitomi-san. You’re ill.”

“Thieves will be thieves,” she simply said. Hashirama grimaced.

It’s unconfirmed but some of them might have been picked up. For their eyes. We don’t know a lot but when we offered to help, they said they already had it handled and the eyes were safe again.

So this was the secret that the Hyuuga had been so nervous about. Their clan head lost her eyes to bloodline thieves. Who else had also lost their eyes? How many? When? To who? There were so many questions, so little time. Hashirama raised his hands a little. “I can heal you.”

“No need,” Hitomi said. She sat up laboriously. “Even when I had my eyes, I had a sickness of the bones. This is just speeding up the process. No, right now, let’s simply talk. Drink with me.”

The Hyuuga boy who’d been tending to her rose up and went to the corner. He pulled out a low table and sake cups, carefully and quietly arranging them. Once he was done, he retreated back to Hitomi’s side.

They shared a solemn drink first. Only when the last drop in their cups was drained did Madara finally speak.

“The Hyuuga are in danger.” Madara’s face was carefully blank. The lack of emotion made his stern face all the more severe. “I don’t think you would’ve come to us at all if you weren’t. It can’t just be thieves anymore. You know how to deal with those.”

For Hashirama, this was the first time that he saw this side of him. Oh, sure, they shared a few turns on the same side of the negotiating table – impossible not to when Konoha was their shared project. But even then, Madara had never been like this. He was completely expressionless, his chakra reigned in so tightly that the air around him was cold, as still as a hunting cat waiting for the right time to pounce. Seeing him like this, Hashirama could understand why even the allies of the Uchiha tread lightly. It was like looking into a cold fire.

“Blunt as ever, you Uchiha.” Hitomi chuckled. It was a sickly sound. “I assume you know that this isn’t the only village being made.”

“Clearly.”

“The clans in the north are building up. They have someone up there calling himself the Raikage or Kumokage or something similar. He wants to consolidate all the clans in Lightning, build a fighting force like there is in Fire. He also thinks that, since the Uchiha are already taken, his new village should also have a pet bloodline.”

Madara’s eyes narrowed dangerously. Hashirama put his hand on his before he said anything rash. Immediately, Madara went very still.

“We’re not recruiting with force. Every clan who comes to Konohagakure, comes willingly. If the Hyuuga need a place to go, they’re welcome with us.”

“Your first messengers were abundantly clear.” Hitomi gestured and the boy immediately refilled the cups again. “I won’t lie – we need allies. But that’s the word, isn’t it? Allies.”

Distrust was everywhere. Hashirama knew this intimately well. But sometimes, all that was necessary to dispel it was one gesture of good faith. “Not just allies,” he said. “A village. Somewhere where we’re not divided by clan lines anymore, but by common goals, shared beliefs. A place where shinobi don’t have to fight each anymore.”

“A lovely idea,” Hitomi replied. “Good words. Pretty thoughts. But ideas and words and thoughts aren’t good barter. Can’t eat them, can’t use them, and easy to forget. What I want to know is – what is Konoha willing to do for us?”

“There’s food, land, and safety,” Madara said. “What more can you need?”

“A guarantee.” Hitomi tilted her head a little. “Something that tells us you are earnest and this isn’t a trap.”

“What do the Hyuuga want?” Hashirama said baldly.

Hitomi was silent for a few moments. Even though she had no eyes, Hashirama had the peculiar feeling of being seen, something that reminded him of Madara or Tobirama whenever they read his chakra like a book. Was she a sensor too?

“...our clan has always been more traditional than most,” she said. “We believe stability. In solidity. When we want something, it has to be tangible. I understand that you, Senju-san, are married to the Uzumaki. A good clan. Powerful. Old. Good match. But you, Uchiha-san, you’re not.”

Hashirama blinked.

“You want me to marry into your clan?” Disbelief edged into Madara’s tone.

“Not marry in, no. That’d be unreasonable when you’re the clan head. But perhaps a marriage for alliance, where the children can be divided up between our clans – that is something that makes us feel safe.”

There was a long, perilous silence. Hashirama glanced at Madara and suppressed a wince. That stare could’ve squeezed blood from stone.

“...this is new,” Madara finally said. His previous disbelief was wiped clean again, leaving his face as unreadable as the mountainside. “I’ll need time to consider this before I decide.”

“Understandable.”

“Do you already a match in mind?”

“My daughter.” For the first time since they came here, Hitomi acknowledged the other woman in the room. “Hisae. She’s not set to inherit, her older brother, Hiroshige, will. But she’s a good match.”

Madara looked at Hisae. In return, she lifted her bowed head and made eye contact with him. To her credit, she didn’t flinch.

She bore a resemblance to her mother – they shared the same steady eyes, small mouth, and pointed nose – a pretty woman. Or maybe girl. Nothing about her could be divined from her face and Hashirama couldn’t stop himself from examining her in closer detail. What was she thinking, sitting there, looking at the face of the man her mother proposed to become her husband? Was she afraid? Nervous? Or was she eager? Did she maybe like what she saw in Madara? He was a good-looking man, a powerful man. A good man. The kind of man that any kunoichi would be pleased to call her husband.

“As I said, I’ll need time.” Madara looked entirely too long at Hisae, his dark eyes unreadable, before he looked back at Hitomi. “And a conversation with Hisae-san. That is all I will say now.”

That wasn’t the answer that Hashirama expected. He’d hoped for a cordial denial but had been prepared for a blunt no but not… not a careful evasion. It wasn’t that he had no faith in Madara’s negotiating skills, or else he wouldn’t have brought him along, but this was just so unlike Madara that his entire skull was left buzzing in the aftermath of that brief, cool exchange, suddenly more awake and upright than he had been this entire time.

In all the years that Hashirama had known him, Madara had never expressed any kind of interest towards a woman. Not even as boys, back when that was something they talked about, had Madara breathed a word about a girl he liked. Or even what kind of girl he liked.

During wartime, there’d been no time to discuss it and, after the peace, Hashirama had privately assumed that marriage wasn’t something Madara would ever do. There were some men like that, men who didn’t get married for any reason. They didn’t like marriage. Or they didn’t like women.

Sometimes, when he was alone and a little into his cups, Hashirama wondered if it was the latter; whether Madara specifically had no taste for women – or for people as a whole, in that way. Before, when they were talking, he could’ve asked. Now, after everything, it felt too fraught to risk.

Now, he would’ve gambled everything he owned just for a glimpse inside Madara’s head. When he looked at her, what was he thinking? Did he see just another shinobi with whom he might have to tie his life to? Or did he see someone he could like, someone he could even want? Someone to invite into his home, his bed, his life… someone who’d be allowed to learn his language.

Someone who would have a claim to him.

I’ll need time to consider this before I decide. That wasn’t a no. An answer like that – it left enough space for a yes.

#hashimada #madahashi #hashirama #madara #naruto #senju hashirama #uchiha madara #hashirama senju #madara uchiha #fanfic #parallelism ch2

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unquietwordssettledthoughts · 5 years ago

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There were certain feelings even Hashirama knew he shouldn’t talk about.

He stood in the doorway to his and his husband’s room, as pale in the face as the man currently sitting prime and proper and all but naked on his bed. Tobirama at least had the decency to look embarrassed by the situation, beat red blush spread all across his face, neck, and ears despite his clear attempt to ignore it.

A small noise escaped him as he felt something dragging his gaze down. He had to squeeze his eyes shut to keep them from something sinful, praying to whatever god might have mercy on his blasphemous soul.

Clearly, the answer was none. A clap to his shoulder had his eyes bugging open, hair whipping as he turned to face a rather irritated Madara - who’d taken the brunt of his hair attack.

“Is there a reason you’re blocking the whole hall up, oaf?”

Hashirama flapped his arms at the source of his current predicament, managing a few mumbled and choked syllables passed the blockage in his throat. As usual, Madara had no patience to see how dire his life had become, merely cocking his head for a second to completely and utterly judge him to the core as only he and Tobirama had ever been able to do so cuttingly.

Both of them were so cruel.

“Anija.”

Hashirama whipped around for the second time in as many minutes, nearly stumbling back as he came face to face with his bare bodied precious little brother. Who wasn’t wearing clothing.

Did he mention Tobirama was naked?

“Otouto, your clothes!”

“What of them?” Tobirama was pointedly looking at the top of the door frame, the lack of eye contact belying his blase tone. When Hashirama made another small noise as he tried desperately to not look down, Tobirama shifted his weight nervously, one hand coming up to scratch at the side of his neck. “I’m still wearing undergarments, Anija. No need to fret, I can just-”

“Oh no you don’t!” Madara shoved into the doorway next to him, effectively cutting off any potential escape route for the both of them (considering his arm was firmly behind him and not letting him so much as inch away from his own shame). “Do you have any idea how insufferable this idiot has been over the years? I’m done! Done I say! No more of this mutual pining bullshit.”

“Pining?” He gave an absolutely not at all nervous laugh, trying and entirely forgetting how to smile like a normal person. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Who’s pining? Is that even a real word- Madara, are you making up words again?”

He yelped as Madara pinched his side, much harder than he would ever think necessary. “Just because you haven’t heard something before doesn’t mean I’m making it up. And! You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Feeling the panic coming was a sort of surreal experience, as if Hashirama wasn’t quite in his body while it flooded through him. But he didn’t have very long to think on the funny feel of it, a cold hand coming to rest against his upper arm and distracting him from his husband’s words.

“Anija, how often have I told you that it’s all in the wording.” Tobirama’s scolding was gently given, his lower lip threatening to poke out in that adorable way that always sent Hashirama’s mind straight to where it shouldn’t be (was it really his fault that those lips looked so kissable?). “Madara said mutual pining. As in you’re not the only one who’s...hidden things.”

“Turns out your brother has next to no alcohol tolerance.” He turned his head just enough to see Madara, who was sending Tobirama a rather evil smirk while his little brother turned even redder. “Less than half a bottle of sake and he was spilling his heart and soul to me.”

“Forgetting who healed your hangover headache the next morning?” Tobirama’s embarrassed grumbling over the injustices of the world went ignored by the married couple, Hashirama feeling the panic subside just enough to let something very small and very very hopeful poke its head up and perk his shoulders back up with it.

Not that he should let any hope in here. As much as he loved to dream big and talk even bigger about them, this was different. This was something they couldn’t ever come back from, something that would ruin the lot of them if it ever went public.

Hashirama took a deep breath through his nose, preparing himself to explain as such in a very articulate manner to his dearest husband, who seemed to not quite understand how damning this situation was. “Dara, dear, you know I love you and otouto both, but, well. People. And social things. And-and think of the clans! The clans would be quite unhappy!”

Since his explanation nailed every single point of his argument against going such a route, it was clearly Madara’s own stubborn nature that kept him from understanding what he was on about. Instead of even trying to see his way either, all he did was give him The Look (one usually saved for his stupid moments, which came very rarely!) and promptly shoved him right into the bedroom and smack into his bare brother,

“Love is love, you absolute stump. Just kiss him so we can all fuck each other.”

“So we can wha-”

Whatever surprised exclamation he had was lost to the press of chapped lips against his own, his brother’s hands coming up to frame his face - and all else faded to the blissful flood of finally, finally. Finally, he could taste that tongue against his own, along with the heat of Madara’s body against his back, Tobirama’s cold hands moving to grip his shoulders as if he was all that grounded him to the earth.

Maybe some things were worth going against social customs for.

#hashimadatobi #hashitobi #lemony

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raendown · 6 years ago

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Pairing: HashiramaMadara Word count: 2487 Soulmate au: The one where you suffer from Hanahaki Disease if your soulmate does not love you back

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI link in the blog header!

Chapter 171: Hashirama/Madara

It was a hard thing in general for Hashirama to hide things. He was an open person in all respects, believed that trust was built on honesty and sharing, and lying to his loved ones had always made him uncomfortable. Considering that, it wasn’t all that surprising that hiding the fact that he was dying lasted for all of a couple days.

Tobirama found him sitting in the bath, the water long gone cold, and the surface dusted with blue petals. His brother stood in the doorway with a raised eyebrow and a cocked hip, irritated over how long he’d been denied his own soak.

“Setting a romantic mood for yourself?” he asked with sarcasm dripping from every syllable. Hashirama opened his mouth to answer but choked on several more petals instead. “Anija!”

The man was at his side in an instant, patting his back until his airways were clear and several more forget-me-nots littered the bathwater.

“I’m not really surprised,” Hashirama whispered. If he were honest, he’d been waiting for this for a while now.

“Let’s get you warmed up; this water is ice cold.”

Tobirama helped him out of the tub and coached him in to covering himself then marched him to his bedroom where he was swaddled in at least three blankets. Neither of them said anything as he puttered around the room, opening the curtains, pulling a few potted plants a bit closer, then settling at the far end of the mattress as though sitting too close might hurt the one curled up at the head of the bed.

“You had to know it would happen too,” Hashirama muttered with a sad, sad smile. His brother snarled.

“I’ll kill him.”

“No! Absolutely not! It isn’t his fault he doesn’t feel the same, Tobi.” He shook his head and patted the mattress until his brother cautiously moved up to settle down at his side and let him rest his head on a broad shoulder.

“He’s your soulmate,” Tobirama protested quietly. “He should love you.”

As much as he wanted to agree, Hashirama did not have the energy to point out how wrong that statement was.

From the moment they met he had been sure they were soulmates, destined for greatness of all sorts so long as they stayed by each other’s side. Even when they had been torn apart by their families he never stopped believing that someday they would come together again and accomplish everything their hearts had ever dreamed of. It was that belief which gave him the strength to reach out his hand again and again no matter how many times he was pushed away.

And now here they were with all their dreams realized around them – and Hashirama could hardly breathe around the gardenias in his throat. He had waited, given space, hinted and implied, anything and everything that he could think of. For all his efforts Madara had never once indicated that he felt at all the same, that he too might lie awake at night and wonder what it would be like to be one.

The petals were a bittersweet confirmation that he had been right, at least. Madara was the only man he loved. To have that love go unfulfilled and find himself laid low with the fabled Hanahaki Disease could only mean that they truly were soulmates.

Hashirama let his sibling fuss over him, shamelessly enjoying being on the opposite end of this for once, until Tobirama had worked himself up in to such a tither that he leapt up and stormed out of the house spouting something incomprehensible about fixing everything himself. It wasn’t very clear what he thought he could do to make the situation better but Hashirama was honestly just touched that he cared enough to try.

Spending time in bed in the middle of the day felt strange, though very relaxing – minus the terrible bouts of coughing, of course. If it weren’t for the garbage pail slowly filling up with bloodied flowers he might have said he enjoyed himself. Once it struck the symptoms of Hanahaki tended to progress quite fast so he might as well relax while he could.

Legend said that soulmates had not existed once, that Hanahaki had run rampant through a population with no guidance towards their proper mates and that many had died from yearning for ones they weren’t even meant to have. Hashirama felt he could sympathize since he was about to perish from yearning for even the one he was supposed to have. The fates had done what they could but there was simply no forcing some people to see the perfection that was right in front of them.

He was wondering if he could get away with taking a whole nap before anyone noticed he hadn’t returned to the office when the front door slammed open and two very familiar bickering voices drifted down the hall. Fear gripped him immediately, followed by betrayal. What on earth was Tobirama thinking that led him to go get Madara? Clearly Hashirama didn’t want the other seeing him like this!

Not that he was given any choice at all in the matter, not even a cursory head popped around the doorframe to ask if this was okay. Instead the two of them barged in to his bedroom and Hashirama winced at the way Madara fell utterly silent at first sight of him.

“Brother,” he rasped, “I’m going to haunt you from the grave for this.”

“Incorrect. You are going to thank me.” Tobirama rolled his eyes and clapped Madara on the back so hard he stumbled forward. Then he ducked out of the room to afford them some unwanted privacy.

Madara regained his feet within arm’s length of the bed and went right back to staring.

Fidgeting restlessly, Hashirama looked away and back several times before settling his gaze on the flowers in his lap. His fingers pulled restlessly at the flowers until he cursed his luck and doubled over for yet another coughing fit. White petals stuck to his lips and he was forced to claw them out from the back of his throat before he could take in a significant amount of air again. Madara thumped him awkwardly on the back and jabbered out meaningless encouragement while he was fighting for breath; he collapsed on to the mattress at his sick friend’s side as soon as the rush of panic was over.

Hashirama was sipping at a glass of water to soothe his throat when Madara plucked one of the flowers from his lap and twirled it, his brows furrowed so deep he looked almost angered by what he saw.

“Lotus blossoms. ‘Far from the one he loves’. I didn’t know you felt that way about someone outside the village.” The way he held himself was incredibly stiff. Hashirama sighed. Leave it to this man to not even notice that someone is desperately in love with him.

“I don’t think it’s meant literally. Just…emotionally.”

“Emotionally far from–? Sounds like hokum to me but whatever. Who are you emotionally far from, then?” He spoke as though every word offended him, though Hashirama couldn’t figure out why.

Tired and sore and figuring he might as well get it over with now, Hashirama sighed and reached out to tuck one of his forget-me-nots behind Madara’s ear, securing it in the waterfall of ink black hair that he had always dreamed of burying his fingers in. Would it be silky? Scratchy? Would Madara have let him brush it out for him at night? Useless questions but he had spent hours pondering them when he couldn’t’ sleep for the wanting.

“You,” he murmured simply. Madara stared at him again and Hashirama realized he would have to explain. “I understand that you don’t feel the same, my good friend, but I have loved you since the day we met.”

“Loved…?”

“It’s alright that you don’t too! Really it is!

“But...” Madara cut himself off with a frown and looked down at the flower in his hand again. “If you love me then why is this happening to you? I don’t understand.”

“Do I really have to explain? I’m no good at explaining things, you know that. And I know you know what causes Hanahaki Disease.” Hashirama shrugged, coughed a few times because his throat hurt. With one of his hands he traced the petals of the blossom in the other man’s hands just because they were soft and he had picked one that wasn’t too covered in blood to admire the color of it.

He didn’t really understand what was so confusing about this but he knew Madara had always needed a little more time than most to work through how he felt about something. Very likely he was trying to decide how to react to knowing someone had such feelings for him. It was sort of a miracle that he didn’t just start screaming like he usually did, although Hashirama was sort of grateful for that. He was going to be rejected either way but sitting on his deathbed felt like a good place to finally have a little caution between them.

Neither one of them was the type to be cautious, normally. Madara threw himself at the world like he was determined to bring the whole thing to its knees and Hashirama had too much enthusiasm in every emotion to bother with fettering himself. Love was the only thing he had ever held back but only because it was so clearly not returned.

“This doesn’t make sense,” Madara said after a while, frowning deeper in the way he did when he was frustrated with himself for not being able to solve a problem.

“What part?” Hashirama asked.

“All of it. Hanahaki is for if your soulmate doesn’t love you back.”

“Yes…” Now he was frowning too, confusion growing.

Madara’s frown turned down in to an outright scowl. “But you said you’re in…love with me.”

“I’m not sure what part of that doesn’t make sense.” Hashirama jerked in surprise when Madara threw both of his arms in to the air, noting peripherally that he made certain to keep a safe grip on the lotus blossom and not harm it in any way.

“Well if you love me then shouldn’t it be your soulmate dying from this shit?”

“Madara…” Pausing to catch the other man’s gaze first, he asked, “You get that you are my soulmate, right? I’m in love with you; you don’t feel the same; knowing that you don’t love me back has caused me to contract the ‘beautiful death’. What is it about this that confuses you?”

He must be spending a bit too much time with his brother, he realized then, because that came out rather snarky. Amazingly, Madara didn’t make so much as a single comment on his supposed attitude. The man was staring at him with eyes bugging out of his head and features gone totally slack with shock. Hashirama wondered if he should have phrased his words a little less bluntly.

“I’m your soulmate?”

“Um, yes?” Hashirama blinked. “That’s the part that surprises you?”

“How can you be dying of Hanahaki if I’m your soulmate? I’ve–! I’m–! But–! It just doesn’t make sense!”

“You’re the only one not making sense, my friend.”

Madara’s frustrated growl would have been really cute if he hadn’t also scrunched the fingers of his free hand in to angry claws that actually managed to look quite threatening even if one ignored the crazy person vibes currently rolling off of him. When he slammed his hand in to the wall behind Hashirama’s head there was enough tension in his expression to easily suggest incoming violence, not all that out of character for him and not truly an unexpected reaction. Violence was much more familiar from him than thoughtful silence.

Fingers cupped themselves around the back of his head and Hashirama briefly thought about dodging the incoming head butt. Then there was a pair of chapped lips pressed against his own, messy, passionate, the physical interpretation of nonverbal screaming, and it took a long handful of seconds before he realized he was being kissed. Madara was kissing him.

His body melted in to the embrace, leaning forward to take, take, take everything he could while the offer was there. Never let it be said that Hashirama was too dumb to recognize an opportunity when it was there. When they pulled apart he wanted to say something suave or really important but instead they both gaped at each other like fools.

“W-why did you kiss me?” He couldn’t help but ask. It was everything he wanted but Madara had shown no signs of sharing those desires in all the time they had known each other.

“You were dying!” came the defensive answer.

“Because I thought you didn’t love me!”

“I didn’t know that was an option!”

Hashirama paused. “You…what?” He watched Madara fluster, disappointed when he retracted his hands to wave them about in search of the words to explain himself.

“You’re friendly with everyone, I didn’t think I was anything special! Not like that!”

“Oh. Oh Madara, of course you’re special. You’ve always been so special to me in so many ways.” It didn’t take a mirror for him to notice the tears welling up in his eyes but for once his best friend said nothing derogatory about how easily he was prone to crying.

Clearly out of his element, Madara ducked his head to pout, trying to pass off his embarrassment as irritation the way he always did. “Shut up. Of course I’m special. And I guess you’re not…the worst person I know. You are my soulmate, apparently.”

For a moment he swayed as the weight of the situation finally hit him. Or that might have been the impact of Hashirama throwing himself in to the man’s arms and pulling his chin up for another kiss.

“This is amazing,” Hashirama breathed. “It’s so amazing. Oh Madara, I’ve dreamed about this!”

“Don’t be so grabby!” Despite his protests, he didn’t seem to be putting in much of an effort to escape the affections raining down on him like a fountain.

Hashirama grinned and ducked in for another kiss, pushing his luck as much as he dared.

In his lap the petals that he had been coughing up all morning turned to ash and inside his chest the roots that had begun to sprout were now withering away. The love that he had thought would kill him rushed through his veins and trilled with joy when he felt rough fingers cup the back of his head once more, winding in to his hair and holding fast as though Madara could not bear to let him go.

This, he decided, was the true meaning of a beautiful death: an ending of sorts that paved the way for a long-awaited beginning.

#rae writes #soulmate collection #hashimada #hashirama #madara #hanahaki #fanfiction

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silverfootstepswrites · 7 years ago

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title Bitters summary We’ll be alright. pairing itasaku, tobisaku, hot messes rating grandma, i’m sorry for the end

The street was slick with rain. The asphalt gleamed. Its various and tiny imperfections filling with water. Each groove and hole shimmering, reflecting upside down lights.

Sakura sat at the window, staring down her sullen reflection. Listening to the shriek of the espresso machine in the background. The scrape of metal chair legs against the tile. Closing her eyes, she let the emptiness pool inside her- like she was one of the ruts in the road.

“Ah, this was why you didn’t want to meet in the training hall,” said Rock, settling in the chair across from her. Eyes still closed, Sakura frowned.

“Rock, where are your manners?” she scolded.

“M’hou yi si, Aunt Cheng,” he replied. And she knew that he was humoring her. Could hear the smile in his voice. She opened her eyes, hand curled in front of her mouth. Rock’s eyes trailed from her face to the reddened skin peeking out from her chest. His thick eyebrows rose.

“May I?” he asked?

Sakura shrugged her coat off her left shoulder. Her newest tattoo was still raw and scabbed around the edges. But it was unmistakably a tiger crawling down her bicep. Its body wrapped over her left shoulder, the tip of its tail tracing her shoulder blade. It almost looked as if it was jumping off the back of the phoenix on her forearm.

After a while, she pulled her coat back on. She was by no means shy about her ink, but this was a nice cafe in the Mid-Levels. There was no need to draw attention to herself in a place like this. Although, from the looks the owner kept shooting her from behind the counter, she guessed that she had already been recognized.

“Feeling nervous, Aunt Cheng? Hoping that tiger’s going to protect you?” asked Rock, motioning for a waiter. The owner hissed something at one of the employees, sending him over with a smack to the back of the head. The boy stumbled over, menu trembling in his hands. Rock waved it away.

He pointed at the glass in front of Sakura. “That looks good.”

“It’s an espressotini. Coffee, vodka, and kahlua,” she listed, smirking, “Better not.” Rock chuckled.

“Green juice, then,” he ordered. Nodding too many times, the waiter hurried off. Ducking under the counter, he thrust his head into the back kitchen to put in the order. From the way he jerked his arms, it looked like he was expediting the order.

“Good service here,” remarked Rock, as cheerful as always.

“I was in Ginza for a bit, you know. Went in as a favor to Tenten- not Tommy Wong,” he then informed her, as if that was necessary. Sakura wasn’t even sure how far back Rock Lee and Tenten went. It was certainly before she had met the martial artist. And then Rock rapped his knuckles against the tabletop.

“And for you too, of course,” he amended. Sakura had to smile at that.

“Roughed up some guys. Helped Tenten with some interrogations- which I hate, by the way.” He pointed at her. The owner cringed from behind the espresso machine. Sakura pushed Rock’s finger down, ignoring the rudeness.

“And then I talked with some of my former students. None of the Chrysanthemum boys seemed to know what was going on. So I think Tobirama’s clean,” concluded Rock. And as soon as he had finished speaking, the waiter dropped off his drink. It had been made with disturbing speed. And the waiter made himself scarce, never daring to even glance at Sakura.

“You know, I still don’t like that you train anyone with the right ‘spirit of youth’. I’d reward you handsomely if you only trained Jade Gang boys,” Sakura reminded him. But Rock scowled as he took a big slurp of his drink. Sakura eyed what looked like grass clippings shooting up his straw.

“Sifu Might taught me that anyone with the spirit of youth can be a student of gong fu. I can’t turn away from any part of his teachings,” insisted Rock. But they had had the same discussion many times before. Sakura shook her head.

“You’re loyal to a fault, Rock,” she sighed.

“So are you, Aunt Cheng. You promised my sifu that you would look out for me. And here we are, so many years later,” Rock pointed out. Sakura watched him over the rim of her glass while she took a sip. Rock smiled.

“It hasn’t been that long,” replied Sakura in a quiet voice. The emptiness surged back up in the pit of her stomach as she remembered Gai. His blood pooling on the concrete like rain. The way both his legs twisted the wrong way. His lips turning purple, and then blue. She gulped down the rest of her drink.

“I’m sure Sifu would hate to know that his death has caused so much strife,” added Rock, his voice softening. Sakura turned away from him.

“There was bad blood between Kabuto and me long before he died, Rock. That was just the final straw,” snapped Sakura.

The only sound at their table was Rock slurping his drink through the clear straw.

After a while, the rain began to let up. It was strange enough for it to rain in Hong Kong in the winter anyway. Even stranger for her to be wearing such a heavy coat. She left money on the table. Getting to her feet, she hooked her purse over her forearm. Rock got up too.

“Do you need help getting anywhere, Sakura?” asked Rock, gesturing to her foot. She was wearing long pants, but the edge of her ankle wrapping peeked out. That, and the fact that she wasn’t wearing heels probably gave it away too.

“I’m good. Thanks, Lee. You’re a peach,” Sakura replied. She blew him a kiss. And he pretended to catch it, stowing it in his pocket. The old gag never failed to make her smile. And it didn’t fail this time either.

As she walked out of the cafe, her phone rang.

“He wasn’t followed. He seems okay, Aunt Cheng,” said Sai. Sakura looked around.

“Warmer,” Sai hinted.

And then Sakura spotted the telescope in the window of a building across the street. She glimpsed Sai dressed in all black, barely peering out behind the scope. Sakura waved.

“Damn, you’re good at this,” he grumbled, waving back for a second. Sakura laughed.

“I keep telling you, Sai. Rock Lee isn’t like us. He’s a civilian,” Sakura said as she began walking. There was a clatter from the other end. Probably Sai opening up his case to start disassembling his surveillance gear.

“Civilians scare easily. A couple death threats and they do anything. You know that,” replied Sai. Sakura waited at a crosswalk for the light to change. Her phone pinged. She swiped her finger across the notification.

“You know I’m right; that’s why you’re not saying anything. You’ve got a lot of enemies, Boss. Please be more careful,” Sai went on.

The light changed. Sakura surged forward with the crowd. She glanced down at her wristwatch. Sai caught on that she wasn’t really listening.

“You heading home, Boss?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Alright. I’ll head to Lucky’s. Call if you need me.”

“Sai,” she called. He hesitated.

“...Yes?”

“Even if Rock was betraying me, I wouldn’t want to know.”

She hung up, dropping her phone into her pocket. Even with that high-powered telescope, Sai wouldn’t be able to see this far. She let herself dissolve into the sea of faces. Pulling up the hood of her coat, she disappeared completely. Just another tired face milling around in the street.

The walk down to the Mid Level Escalators was short. In the usual parking garage, she found her car. She hadn’t driven it much since buying it last year. The inside still had the plastic, new car smell. It wasn’t one of the fancy sports cars that Hashirama loved so much. It was black, sleek. Unremarkable once it merged with the rest of the traffic on the freeway. And she liked it that way.

The traffic in this part of the city wasn’t so terrible this time of day. By the time she made it to her penthouse, it had stopped raining completely. The private elevator up to her place had been worth paying extra. She couldn’t imagine the awkward silence of going up with someone carrying groceries. Sakura watched the city shrink even more and more as the elevator climbed each floor. And when it arrived, she suddenly felt very tired. She scanned her key card, and then her thumbprint before slipping inside.

Her swollen ankle made it hard to kick off her shoes like she normally did. Instead, Sakura sat in the foyer, toeing off one shoe. And then she unlaced the other side. Coaxing her foot out, rubbing her thumbs into the tender underside. She limped to the kitchen. Now that there was no one watching, she didn’t have to act like it didn’t hurt. Because it ached like hell.

“Are you stupid?” Karin berated her when she had called two weeks ago from Tokyo.

Sakura blinked. Because there were few people who spoke to her that way anymore. She almost missed it.

“It’s not healing because you keep walking on it. Sit down!” the doctor scolded.

Sakura considered the knife in her hand. She held it up to the light, watching it glint off the blade. Frowning, she put it down and picked up another one. Stared at the point. Weighed it in her palm.

“Well, you see, that’s kind of a problem,” uttered Sakura as she raised her hand. She plunged the blade of the knife down. The man tied to the chair let out a muffled scream from behind his gag. Sakura lifted her bloodied finger in front of her lips, shushing him.

“I’m on the phone,” she whispered, pulling the receiver away from her mouth. He sobbed quietly as she resumed her conversation.

“You’re not Usain Bolt. I’m sure you can sit for just a week,” Karin snorted.

“I don’t exactly have an office job. You can’t go around extorting and shooting in a wheelie chair,” replied Sakura.

“I really wish you hadn’t told me that,” groaned Karin.

Sakura choose another knife. After examining it, she raised it. The man shrieked, writhing against his restraints. Sakura gave him a look.

“Hold on, Doc,” Sakura said. She pressed the mute button on her phone.

“Look, I’m trying to multitask here, okay? I’m really going to need you to work with me. And since you swore to me that you don’t know anything about Ghost-”

“Mmfmm! Mfmmm!” he gargled against the fabric stuffed into his mouth. Sakura turned to look at Tenten. Tenten, who had always been a little nicer, reached over to rip the tape and cloth from his face.

“I know him! Ghost! I know him, okay?” he sniveled, tears and snot streaming down his face. Sakura considered him. Stared him dead in the eyes, her expression blank. He trembled. Several seconds passed. And then Sakura smiled, so kindly that it was worse than her glare.

“See? We could’ve avoided all of this,” she said, gesturing with the knife, “if you had just told the truth.” But when she gripped the handle and raised it again, he shook his head.

“Wh-wha-what are you doing? I just said I’d talk!” he sputtered.

“Oh, I know. This one’s for lying,” Sakura replied. Tenten shoved the gag back into his mouth. And Sakura jammed the knife in deep into his thigh, twisting it against the heel of her hand. Sticking her finger in her ear, Sakura walked out of the room. She didn’t unmute the phone until the door shut behind her.

“Sorry about that,” Sakura said. She wiped her hand against her shirt as she spoke.

“Like I was saying, you need to give your body time to rest. Stop fucking up your ankle even more, Haruno!” Karin went right back to scolding. Sakura leaned against the door.

“Yeah, let me just roll into the room in a wheelchair. That’ll be intimidating. Or even better yet, let me have Sai carry me in on his back,” Sakura drawled. Karin let out a long, aggravated breath.

“Look. You’re bleeding, slap a bandage on it. You’re itchy, put some cream on it. You twist your ankle, let the ligaments heal,” said Karin.

And Sakura had proceeded to ignore this advice for the next two weeks.

She dumped ice into a plastic bag. Wrapped it in a towel. As she hobbled her way to the bedroom, her phone rang. She ignored it. She shed her coat, threw it over the back of the coral armchair. Sat on her bed and placed the ice on her throbbing ankle. As she waited for the pain to ebb, she throught back on the past several days.

Her interrogation while on the phone with Karin had been useless. Though the man had claimed to know about Ghost, really all he knew was that he sometimes hung out in Seoul. Before Sakura could get mad at all the time he had wasted, Tenten had grabbed the chair with him still in it. And with all her freakish strength, she’d shoved him through the fifth-story window. Onto the concrete docks below. Glass pattered against the pavement like sparkling hail.

“Oh my,” remarked Sakura. They peeked out the window together. His blood splattered out like a red Rorschach test.

“Sorry, Boss. That’ll be a headache for you later. He just pissed me off so much,” Tenten remarked.

“I understand. This is Yamanaka-kai territory, though. They can get pretty touchy,” Sakura thought out loud.

That had been the second most annoying phone call that week. The first had been neogitation with contractors to begin emergency repairs on the club. After a while, she had lost her temper and barged into an office with a steel pipe in one hand and her gun in the other. Just to remind them of why she was requesting such fast work.

“Just like old times,” Tenten had chuckled in the car later.

With some help from the Sarutobi-gumi, who were suspiciously chummy with the local police, they had managed to get the shoot-out written off as stunt-work for a movie shoot gone awry in the local news. Tommy had gone around offering hush-money and threats to the civilians who had gotten hurt. And overall, the entire affair wasn’t as much of as hassle as she had expected.

So now, here she was. In Hong Kong again.

The cold seeped into her skin. Her foot began to feel a little numb, tingling in places. Just as she relaxed a little, her phone ran again.

“Diu lan lei! Who keeps fucking calling me? she swore. She grabbed the phone from the pocket of her coat. Held it up to her ear.

“Wei,” she snapped.

“I’m sorry. Did I catch you at a bad time?” asked Itachi. He sounded genuinely apologetic. And that made her regret her tone.

“Not really,” she replied.

“Well I’m sorry anyway. I stopped by Twilight Dreams today. I’m surprised how good it looks already,” Itachi went on. Sakura raised an eyebrow.

“You must be bored if that’s what you’re doing lately, Kumicho,” she observed. Itachi chuckled. It sounded richer over the phone, somehow.

“I actually went to see you, but you weren’t there. Deidara told me you were back in Hong Kong,” he explained. She leaned back on her hand.

“Oh? What for?” she pressed. Actually somewhat curious. His answer surprised her.

“I brought you lavender. I feel like you like purple flowers the most.”

She tried not to laugh. “You’re still doing that?”

“Am I wrong?” he asked in turn.

Sakura bit her lower lip. She looked down at her bedspread. It was light purple.

“...No. I don’t hate purple,” she admitted.

“But you’re right. That’s not all. I did want to ask you something.”

“Oh.” The stab of disappointment startled her.

“I actually wanted to ask how your ankle was doing. I’m still sorry that I didn’t notice it,” Itachi confessed.

Sakura laid down on her bed. Flexing her injured foot a little. Just to test it. It still hurt.

“Not too well. The swelling isn’t going down much,” she reported.

“I assume you’re walking around on it every day like it’s fine,” he stated.

“Yes,” she replied. He laughed, the sound full against her ear. She closed her eyes.

“Then obviously it won’t get better. Are you icing it?”

“I am now.”

The conversation petered off into more mundane things. A new restaurant he had eaten at for breakfast that day. How his little brother kept asking if she would come to play again soon. In the middle of another story, Sakura’s eyes flew open. She bolted upright.

“Wait. What the hell are you doing?” she demanded.

“Pardon?”

“What’re you getting at- talking to me like this?”

“Ah,” was all he said. She waited, hand clenching into the comforter. Listening. And then Itachi chuckled again. The sound like warm water over aching muscles.

“I just wanted to hear your voice, Jing-Mei.”

“Pok gaai, don’t waste my time,” she snapped, hanging up. She put her phone on silent, tossing it aside. But she worried for nothing. Because Itachi didn’t call again that day. And she couldn’t help but find her eyes wandering to the screen every once in a while. Waiting for it to light up with his name again.

Sakura woke the following day in a foul mood. She couldn’t quite explain why. But her gaze alone was a weapon. One of the receptionists burst into tears when she met Sakura’s eyes- prompting the other to apologize too many times. So Sakura put on her sunglasses, ignoring the odd looks she got from Tenten for doing so.

She sat in the conference room of Lucky’s. It was one of the Jade Gang’s many fronts in Hong Kong. Although, this one was special because it served as their headquarters. Lucky’s was a small shipping company. It had been a pain in the ass to get through all the paperwork. In the end, it had made life so much easier.

Gambling dens and massage parlors were all obvious choices. Any half-sober moron could bust into one and find something dirty happening in the back room. But in the offices of a startup company with a cartoon rabbit for a mascot? Who would think to look for a criminal organization?

“What do we know?” she demanded, feet up on the table. A cold compress draped over her ankle. It was slightly less purple today. Her cream-colored blazer hung over her shoulders, the empty sleeves dangling. She lifted her sunglasses to rest on top of her head.

“About this quarter?” asked one of the newer recruits. Sakura picked up a stapler off the table and threw it at his head. He just barely managed to duck in time. It smacked against the wall, falling to the floor with a thud.

“Ham ga chaan! Obviously, not the fucking quarterlies!” she exclaimed. He cowered, hands still over his head.

“Sorry, B-boss,” he squeaked.

“I mean over who the fuck shot up my club, lan yeung,” Sakura clarified, still glowering. He bowed his head, stuttered out another apology.

“Well, like you said, the Chrysanthemum Gang seems clean,” Sai interrupted before she could throw something heavier. He exchanged a pointed look with Tenten. She cleared her throat.

“I grabbed Charlie Lau after he helped Tobirama find York Ng. We even looked into my old connections from Kobe. Seems like they’re just as lost about this as we are,” Tenten reported.

“What about the Red Arrow boys, Sai?” questioned Sakura. Sai rubbed the back of his neck, squinting.

“Well, there’s no point in telling you not to get mad, I guess. I’ve been looking into it. Looks like Kabuto’s boys have been hitting the nightclubs with Yamanaka Inoichi,” he stated. Sakura watched him, hand under her chin.

“It makes sense. Since they couldn’t get a deal with us. They’re trying to make a Hong Kong connect elsewhere,” she answered, remarkably calm. Thinking for a moment, she held her hand out. Tenten handed her a thick folder. Sakura thumbed through it until she found the right file.

“Word is that ever since Red Arrow fucked up and blew up Belcher Bay last year, it’s been crawling with cops. They’re desperate to ship their drugs out, so I’m guessing that they’re trying to get the Yamanaka-kai to do their work for them,” Sakura surmised, skimming through the notes. It was really convenient to have a HK police officer under her thumb. Their case files were so organized.

“It’s definitely that sleaze Kabuto, then. He’s always trying to start shit with you, Aunt Cheng,” grumbled Tenten. Sakura cracked a smile at that.

“What do you suggest, Tenten?” she queried.

“Burn his house down with him still inside,” Tenten immediately said.

“Rip his organs out and string him from the Tsing Ma Bridge,” Sai chimed in. Tenten looked at him.

“We can’t even see the Tsing Ma Bridge from here,” she pointed out. Sai smiled.

“Exactly. I don’t want to have to look at him,” he replied. He and Tenten snickered. Tenten dodged when Sakura threw her cold compress. It smacked Sai in the stomach instead, knocking the breath out of him.

“We’re still good with the Chrysanthemum Gang, so we can use Repulse Bay, right?” Tenten suddenly asked. Sakura glanced at her, eyebrows rising.

“Of course. Why?” she queried in return.

Tenten put her hands on her hips, face scrunching up. “I don’t know. Tobirama gives me the creeps. I don’t know how you deal with him at all, Boss.”

“Quite easily,” Sakura said out loud.

“What?” asked Tobirama, one eye squinting open. His hands tightened on her hips.

“Don’t worry about it,” she replied, bending over to kiss the tattoo on his chin. And then she leaned back on her palms, grinding against him. He grit his teeth, breaths shaky. Hands sliding down to grip the backs of her thighs. She wrapped her arms around him, pressing his face against her chest. Fingers sliding into his sweaty hair. Eyes squeezing shut to listen to skin slapping against skin.

“Did you shoot up my club?” she suddenly questioned. Tobirama’s hands stilled, and so did his hips.

“What?” His voice went flat.

Sakura tried to resume rocking against him. But Tobirama held her there, arms unyielding. They both sat there, panting quietly in the dark.

“Nothing. Forget it,” she sighed.

“Jing-Mei, why the hell would I do that?” demanded Tobirama. Sakura shrugged.

“Because you’re an asshole?” she suggested.

“Pok gaai,” Tobirama growled. He wrapped his arms around her, slamming her down into his lap. She cried out, half in surprise and half in pleasure.

“You’re the fucking worst,” he muttered against her shirt. Sakura pulled away just enough to see his face by the light of the city. His expression lit up all fluorescent blue. She smiled.

“So are you.”

#eastern suns #writing #itasaku #triad!sakura x yakuza!itachi #tobisaku #dysfunctional af #triad!au

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fineillsignup · 7 years ago

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the Defective Uzumaki - Ch. 2

You can start from the beginning here on AO3 if you missed it. Brief catch-up: in this AU, Madara and Hashirama have started Konoha as teenagers due to their fathers’ deaths, Izuna is still alive, and Madara and Hashirama formed arranged political alliance marriages with the Uzumaki sisters--Mito and Sakura. Sakura is only a tween when they start their “marriage”, so while the age gap isn’t that big, it is definitely still a marriage in name only.

@yomi-gaeru allowed me to use her art to illustrate this story which is a good thing because this story is completely inspired by her beautiful art. She is amazing! There is a scene which is based on this comic specifically.

@madasakuweek prompt: get away

Ch. 2: Rabbits and Foxes

Madara thought he had been saddled with a timid little rabbit as a wife. It didn’t take long for him to figure out that was wrong.

The only rabbit-like thing about Sakura was her frequent choice of big red hair bow. She quickly became best friends with two cousins of his about her age and the three of them—two dark heads and one pink one—were soon scrambling all over the nascent Konoha and its environs, sometimes joined by other Uchiha girls of varying ages or even Senju ones. Madara treated Sakura with benign neglect. He was often away, performing missions for funding, while the more diplomatic Hashirama attempted to entice other clans to join their new experiment of a ninja village. Even when he was in the village, he generally only saw her at meals and bedtime, when she would talk his ear off about her training and adventures. He generally only half-listened.

Nobody was more surprised than Madara when he began to miss her chatter when he was away on missions.

She was bossy, and she had a temper, but these were faults he shared and probably indulged in more than she did.

Keeping a wife got more aggravating as she got older.

“I think somebody has a crush.” Izuna’s sing-song voice was pitched irritatingly high.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Madara grunted. “Are we ready to head out?”

“Oh come on, at least give her a little wave. It’s adorable.” Izuna gestured with his eyebrows and a slight shift of the head, and Madara glanced at what he had been avoiding looking at: Sakura, practically radiating hearts and rainbows at them.

She squealed when she noticed she had been noticed. “Danna-sama! Izuna-nii-san! Goodbye! Have a good mission!”

The two girls with her giggled. “Madara-sama! Izuna-sama! Have a safe mission!”

The redness in his ears was due to the heat of the day. Not embarrassment.

———

Time passed. The village prospered. On the surface, all was peaceful.

But in prosperity, some looked to gather weapons for the future. And no weapon could compare to the Uchiha eyes.

This had always been a danger. But there had never been something so orchestrated as the fake mission where the supposed client had used a ruse to separate Madara and Izuna from each other. Two huge forces were waiting to ambush them both. That… had not ended well for the attackers, or for the forest that the ambush had taken place in, or for the neighbouring town that had caught fire from the forest and burnt to cinders—fortunately with enough warning from the forest fire that the townspeople were able to evacuate with vital possessions.

Hashirama took them in, of course, although it was Tobirama who had to handle setting them up in the unused, fertile farmlands surrounding the village. Not without a lot of snide comments about fire jutsu either.

Neither Madara nor his brother received more than minor injuries, but it had been an exhausting fight from the sheer number of attackers and he had expended a lot of chakra, so he decided to stick close to the village for a while and deal with clan business.

“Danna-sama! I’m going to pick berries with Hinoka-chan and the others!”

Madara rubbed at the bags under his eyes but managed a small wave. He smiled down at his tea cup as the girls laughter could be heard getting fainter as they left the compound. Such a carefree excursion would have been unimaginable ten years ago. Maybe this world will be alright…

When he finished his breakfast, he went to sit with his council for a meeting to discuss the situation. It was obvious that Madara and Izuna, with their Mangekyo Sharingan, would be the biggest target to have their doujutsu stolen, but after giving such a demonstration of their power, enemies might move on to target clan members with regular Sharingan.

Madara had no idea just how unscrupulous their enemies truly were.

A flare of chakra and his brother Izuna was there in the open window. “Madara! There’s been an attack on the girls!”

———

Even chakra exhuasted, they left the other council members in the dust as Madara followed Izuna to the scene.

“I don’t know everything,” Izuna called over his shoulder, “I don’t think they got away with any of the girls, but most of them are hurt, some of them badly. It was Tobirama who sensed the battle and raised the alarm.”

Having to be grateful to Tobirama for anything was going to be a real bitch, but he somehow didn’t care. “What about Sakura?”

Izuna didn’t answer for a moment, but then he said, “I know she’s hurt, nii-san, so that’s why I came to get you…”

They ended up in the makeshift hospital area of Konoha. Madara weaved through crying girls clinging to their parents to where a healer was applying a bandage to Sakura’s face, an armoured Senju standing silent guard nearby.

She turned her face up to him silently. It was swollen as if she had been smacked in the face, and though the healers had cleaned the wounds, there was still dirt in her clothes as if she had been thrown into the ground. Her once waist-length hair had been cut very short and jaggedly—by a sword? And tears were falling from her eyes—only one was open, the other perhaps forced shut by the swelling.

Without thinking about it, he tenderly wiped the tears from her open eye, and then took her into a gentle embrace. Rage was swirling in his heart, but he would not show even one particle of it to her.

“You can take her home now, Madara-sama,” said the healer. “All she really needs now is rest.”

“Aa.” Madara lifted Sakura into his arms.

“I can walk—” she whispered.

“Rest,” he commanded, but not harshly.

She fell asleep before they made it back to the main house of the compound, so he simply laid her into their bed. He put up the amado storm shutters around that part of the house, making the inside very dark, with only a little light filtering through cracks. Then he laid down next to her sleeping form and placed a hand protectively on her while his sharingan activated with the force of his rage.

They will pay.

———

Madara didn’t ask his wife a single question about the attack—she needed her rest—but he did not afford the same consideration to the rest of his kinswomen. He needed facts quickly to go after them.

Maddeningly, the girls mostly wanted to talk about Sakura.

“She could have gotten away, Madara-sama!” said Hinoka. Her leg was elevated for her shattered ankle and the pain medications she was on made her repeat herself a lot. “Sakura-sama… they said ‘let the pink one go, she’s not an Uchiha,’ but she just said, ‘Shannaro! I am too!’ and she punched one of them—wham! And then we all started fighting back too…”

“Were they wearing forehead protectors?” Madara pursued, attempting to keep his patience.

“And one of them grabbed Sakura-sama by her hair!” Hinoka continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “And he started yelling that if the rest of us didn’t give in he was going to slit her throat—” The image made Madara’s sharingan activate, but Hinoka wasn’t paying attention. “—but Sakura-sama had a kunai she had wrestled away from one of them and she cut off her own hair to get free! Sakura-sama is amazing!”

“Hinoka!” Madara barked. He didn’t have time for this. When Hinoka looked at his sharingan, he helped himself to her memories.

———

When will you come back, nii-san? It’s been a year. We all miss you. I can’t rule the clan like you can. Surely our enemies have learned they can’t hope to escape you by now?

Madara blew a katon over the letter when he finished reading it, then smiled. Yes, it was indeed time to go back.

Utterly destroying those who had dared to think they could kidnap innocent Uchiha girls and kill his matriarch as if she were common trash was the work of only a few weeks. That was not the main problem.

He needed a weapon beyond the Sharingan, something so frightening that no one would ever dare to think of attacking Konoha ever again.

And now he had it.

“You’re docile now, aren’t you, my pet?” Madara chuckled, laying a hand on the massive snout of the Nine Tails. “I will ride you home.”

#madasaku #madasaku weekend #my fanfic #naruto #arranged marriage au #founders era au

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unquietwordssettledthoughts · 6 years ago

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Naruto Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Senju Hashirama/Senju Tobirama Characters: Senju Hashirama, Senju Tobirama, Senju Itama, Senju Kawarama Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff Summary:

Their brothers come home for the holidays, and Tobirama laments their loss of personal time together - until he finds he doesn't have to anymore.

Click the link or continue below the line to read.

The snow had come late this year. Hardly a single flake had drifted their way throughout the whole first month of winter, though the creeping chill had been warning enough that it was on its way. It hung heavy about their garden now, glowing in the dim porch light that send their shadows reaching towards where the koi pond used to be.

Their shadow, rather. It was impossible to distinguish one from the next, pressed as they were to each other’s sides, a comforter pulled around them more for Hashirama’s sake than his own. He was still shivering despite it, one arm wrapped around him while the other hand gripped a thermos as if it alone could stave off winter.

They were playing with fire, of course. But playing brothers as of late had left Tobirama fidgety, and he couldn’t imagine how antsy the same had left Hashirama. His brother had always been the more tactile of the two of them, something that came across heavily in their love life. He could hardly go an hour without some form of physical contact, whether it be as simple as a brushed hand, or his more usual habit of leaning against him like his little brother was all that held him up from the ground.

Having their brothers over for the holiday had been both a delight and a test of patience. Especially so considering they’d spent the whole weekend in the now-guest room.

And if the lack of personal time during the day hadn’t been bad enough, Tobirama had had to relocate to his childhood bedroom to keep up the facade.

Only platonic interactions during the day, and alone in separate futons at night. Tobirama wrapped an arm around his brother’s waist to tug him closer, keeping an ear on the bustle in the kitchen while leaning in, brushing his lips against the skin just under his brother’s ear.

They couldn’t do anything, of course. Not out here in the open, not with their brothers just inside the house. That didn’t mean he couldn’t have fun, didn’t stop him from nibbling on his brother’s ear just to feel him shiver from something other than the cold.

Hashirama’s hand was warm when it landed on his own, though he couldn’t quite tell if it was to stop him from moving it across his thigh or to encourage him. Either way, he didn’t seem ready to complain when he ghosted his fingers over his lap, excitement like electricity in his spine at the near inaudible gasp it earned him.

It was only harmless teasing. Light touches. Something to take the edge off while they could, while Kawarama busied himself baking away in their kitchen with Itama’s enlisted help - brotherly instincts told Tobirama he should’ve questioned further why he’d shooed the two of them off so forcefully. Now, however, he couldn’t see a single downside to the situation, watching Hashirama bite his lower lip, watching his eyes flutter closed when he pressed just a little firmer into him.

For most of his life, Tobirama hadn’t understood the appeal of sex. Getting himself off had been more of a chore than anything else, more something he had to do than wanted to. Sexual encounters with others had been few and far in-between, most of which ending before they’d really begun since he had so little interest in them. Even with Hashirama the first year had been rather dry, their couplings not at all unwanted but still something he found little actual need for.

He wasn’t entirely sure what had changed that. They had both been shocked the first time he’d pounced his brother for a change, Hashirama fresh out of the shower with his fuzzy pink robe and bunny slippers, a floral towel wrapped around his hair to keep it from trailing water all over the hardwood flooring. He had looked absolutely ridiculous and every bit the fool that he was, and Tobirama had found him irresistible in that moment and many since.

Whatever had changed, it seemed to be worse as of late, leaving him insatiable. Dignity kept him in check most of the time, but he found it mattered less and less as his patience wore thin. And it was certainly thin now, with Hashirama squirming next to him, a hand running down his back to palm at his rear.

“Tobira.”

In a not-so-rare moment of cruelty, he decided to fully grip him then, hiding his smirk in the crook of his neck when it made him jump.

“Didn’t feel like wearing undergarments today, Anija?” Sweats were hardly a fashion statement, but they definitely made some things a lot more obvious. He lifted his head to raise stare in mock exasperation.

Really, only Hashirama could manage to pout so pitifully with someone stroking him. “I didn’t wanna do laundry...”

He could help but roll his eyes, giving his cheek a quick peck as he nuzzled up close, easing his grip to feather-light once more. “They’ll be gone tomorrow evening. Think you can wait til then?”

“No.”

As much as he understood the sentiment, it was hardly the time or place for such things. One of them had to be the responsible one, no matter how they both wanted to continue, and no amount of light tugging on his wrist would make him change his mind.

He brought his hand up to cup his brother’s cheek, pulling him down to rest their foreheads together. “Have patience, Anija.”

“I should have patience?” The wide-eyed look was near comical, made all the better by his terrible stage whispering. “You touched me!”

“I did.” He probably shouldn’t have been so smug about that. But it was hard not to be, knowing how easily he could rile his brother up with a simple touch.

“Otouto, you’re such a tease.” Hashirama sulked even as he was pulled into a brief kiss, only stopping when Tobirama nipped at his jutting lip. He’d make it up to him, of course. Thoroughly. It would simply have to wait until their brothers went home themselves.

As if the thought alone summoned them, heavy footfalls coming their way cut their private moment short. They scrambled into a more socially acceptable position, and as Itama slid the door open to join them, Tobirama could only think of how glad he was his hand hadn’t been down his brother’s pants.

“How can you two even stand it out here?” Itama flopped himself down between the two of them with his usual lack of grace, his pointy elbows jabbing into the both of them before he manage to situate himself into a comfortable position under the comforter. He was quick to snatch both of their arms up to tug them closer, his violent shivering more exaggeration than anything else.

It earned him little more than a sharp pinch to his side, his yelp and subsequent puppy eyes gaining no sympathy either. “If I recall, it was you who threw us out here in the first place.”

“It’s not my fault Kawa’s oven broke, you know.”

That only earned him a flat-look, though Hashirama was much more forgiving, assuring their little brother he had nothing to worry about - he had always been weak to big watery eyes and non-sincere pouts. Tobirama himself was less easily swayed, and now that he was less occupied his suspicions on why they were kicked out were left to run wild.

“Exactly what were you two baking in there anyway?”

“Aaaaahahaha, right, about that...” Itama scratched at the back of his head, making Tobirama squint even further in suspicion, watching his brother’s mix-matched eyes flicker around the garden before they snapped over to their eldest brother. “I should warn you, Kawa’s already drank most of the cider.”

The distraction worked for one of them at least. Hashirama was up in an instant, scrambling into the house and nearly falling flat on his face as he did so, a wailing plea to their youngest brother to save some cider echoing behind him.

After the door slammed and left them alone, Itama glanced back over at him, seeming to chew over some thought or another. In the end he slumped over with a sigh, dropped his head on his brother’s shoulder.

“You’re not gonna let it go, are you?”

“What were you two doing?”

Itama sniffed, his nose stuck up in the air as he answered with a short “Nothing that shouldn’t be illegal” before latching further onto his brother’s arm, determined to sap the heat from him.

Tobirama’s put-upon sigh was more for show than anything else, and they both knew it.

For a while there was a pleasant silence between them, both content to watch the next layer of snow coat the already laden tree branches, Itama sipping on Hashirama’s abandoned cocoa and occasionally snickering at the bickering that drifted from the house. Tobirama was happy enough to soak in the precious little time he had with his brother - as much as he wanted to complain about the intrusion on his love life, the truth was he had missed his little brothers something fierce. What with Kawarama’s recently discovered wanderlust and Itama’s studies, they hadn’t truly spent time together for far too long.

“I never understood why you liked the cold.” Itama drew the comforter tighter around them, pulling up his feet and scrunching his nose at the snow. “You and Mom both. Weird.”

He only hummed in response, hardly paying attention to Itama’s grumbling about his apparently inherited craziness. It was once he started to fidget that Tobirama started to pay closer attention, watching the way his brother was worrying at the frayed edges of one corner of the comforter.

“Spit it out.” His demand was accompanied by another sharp pinch, which earned him a slap and a rather nasty glare in return.

“Would you stop pinching me? You’re such a child.”

“Stop fidgeting and spit it out. You’re worse than Anija.” Really, he was. Even Hashirama could manage to not be so obvious about wanting to say something. Which was sad, considering he had a habit of blurting out whatever came to his mind at any given moment.

For a minute, it didn’t look like he would. He just sat there with one cheek puffed out, scowling out at the garden and clearly debating whether it was worth saying or not. When he did finally speak up, his words were tinted with hesitation, eyes focusing back on the frayed edges he was once again worrying between his fingertips. “I know it’s none of my business, but... You know we’re happy for you, right? For both of you.”

“For what?” Tobirama couldn’t think of anything he’d done that would merit any special thought. At least not recently, anyway. It was odd that Itama would be so vague about wanting to congratulate him, too, which only furthered his confusion.

“Well, you know...” His brother fidgeted some more, keeping his eyes firmly away from his sibling. “You and Anija.”

That couldn’t be what it sounded like, but it still hit Tobirama’s gut hard. He forced his breathing to remain steady, his voice as impassive as ever despite the fear tickling at the back of his mind. “I’m not sure what you mean, otouto.”

“Kawa knows too, you know.” He felt himself pale at the words, hands clenching as his brother continued. “Not that you two haven’t been subtle or anything. It’s just... You’re our brothers. It’s not like we wouldn’t notice eventually.”

His heart didn’t seem to know whether to stop or beat frantically against his rib cage. They knew. Every touch calculated, every gesture purposely platonic and accounted for and they had still found out.

And what was he supposed to do? Deny it? Act disgusted by the thought, spit venom and vitriol as if that would erase the truth from existence? Pretend like it didn’t tear at his insides even thinking about denying his love for the man who happened to be his brother?

They knew. And he had no idea what he was supposed to do about it.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Itama’s voice cut through the white noise threatening to overtake his thoughts, letting him focus on something other than the panic flooding his system. “I said that we’re happy for you. Everyone deserves someone, nii-san. It’s clear you love him, and he loves you, so...”

He trailed off with a shrug of his shoulders. As if his words had little bearing on the situation, like it was common to simply accept one’s siblings were in an intimate relationship with each other. Tobirama found he could only gape at him, jaw open like a dumbstruck idiot, his throat and chest tight and mind drawing a blank. He didn’t even notice the tears prickling at the edges of his eyes until Itama peeked back up at him, his little brother’s face scrunching up with sympathetic emotions.

“Oh god, you’re not gonna cry on me, are you?” He probably meant to sound more appalled, but the tone meant little with him sniffing.

“Shut up.” Sparing them both the embarrassment of watching the other cry, Tobirama held his brother close to his chest, taking a minute to relax his breathing. The snow had picked up, white creeping onto the porch, the old koi pond now filled and level with the garden. Soon the cold would drive even him inside, back to the bustle of holiday celebration and nosy little brothers, though perhaps now he wouldn’t have to hide how endearing his Anija’s antics really were to him.

#HashiTobi #hashirama #tobirama #fanfiction #mywriting

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raendown · 6 years ago

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Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 5540 Summary: Protostellar - the earliest phase in the evolution of a new star. It begins with self collapse. And it ends by exploding outward in to light, a new beginning.

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Chapter 2

Being aware of Tobirama was strange is more ways than one. It was like finally taking notice of a massive creature which had been standing next to him for years, silent and unobtrusive, and only just realizing how much he had been missing right in front of his own eyes.

Part of it was the physical awareness of him, of course. Madara had already fought and lost against the raw attraction he felt and at least mostly succeeded in packing it away inside his mind in a dark box labelled ‘dangerous’. It was no more difficult to ignore than if he had found anyone else in the world attractive, pleasant to contemplate but not enough to distract his every waking thought. He was far from the only eye candy in the village, though he was unique in his particular brand of looks.

Another part of it was an intellectual awareness. In his lack of care for Tobirama’s existence Madara had failed to truly contemplate was an amazing resource he was in so many areas. Although he had peripherally been aware before that Tobirama had his fingers on the pulse of the village’s inner workings, he’d never truly realized just how many projects and committees and developments he was actually a part of. It seemed as though there was nothing that happened in the village without at least brief input from the younger Senju brother. Tentative questions, carefully phrased to be casual and bland, revealed a gold mine of information floating inside that pretty head of his.

The next time Madara needed gossip he was sending Hikaku straight to Tobirama. For some reason the two of them got along extremely well and he was not above threatening his cousin in to gathering information for him.

Probably the least surprising thing, however, was the influx of pitfalls in the emotional roller coaster Madara had been riding every day of his entire life. He was already volatile and prone to mood swings. Adding the impossibility of trying to decide what to do with the information that Tobirama might be his soulmate was an extra stress he really didn’t needed.

Some days it wasn’t so bad. He frequently circled back to reminding himself that nothing really had to change if he didn’t want it to – and that it never would if he just kept his mouth shut and said nothing about this to Tobirama. On those days he was calm.

But then there were other days when this unwanted knowledge played through his head like a song on repeat and he found himself staring, analyzing, judging every move Tobirama made and comparing it to himself. Even the insignificant details were viciously picked apart. How could all-knowing fate have paired him with a man who preferred early mornings to late nights? Would he really get along with someone who lacked an appreciation for fried foods? Even their favorite colors differed and on the days he spiraled downwards it felt like a sign that they were simply not meant to be a part of each other’s lives, not even as friends.

It took several weeks for the universe to drop an opportunity in his lap, weeks in which the Yamanaka, Nara, and Akimichi clans slowly began their immigration to Konoha. High tensions were skillfully avoided by having only a handful of families make the move at a time rather than descending as one like an invading force. The existing citizens got used to their new neighbors at a gradual rate and over time came to accept that they would need to share their playground with a few more kids.

And there were indeed a lot of kids. Madara had never seen so many children all in one place. He had been one of the many to scoff when Tobirama suggested that building a playground should be prioritized over other more important structures but after seeing how it was swarmed by tiny feet even before completion he retracted his former scorn, replacing it instead with a sense of wonder. Children, younger siblings, they had been the cornerstone of the dream he shared with Hashirama. Everything they accomplished together had all been in the hopes that future generations would be safer and have the opportunity to enjoy something his own generation never had: a childhood.

Madara had only just barely grown used to seeing a handful of tiny new faces dashing along the streets of the Uchiha district when one of his own came to him with a request which took him entirely off guard.

“You want to what?”

Standing on his front doorstep and digging the toes of one foot in to the ground, Uchiha Kagami looked up at him with wide innocent eyes and the same brilliant smile which seemed to get him in to trouble about as often as it weaseled him back out. He was only twelve years old, a fatherless bastard of a woman who had retired from active duty when she discovered she was pregnant, but Madara could already see many qualities in the boy that made him a true son of their clan.

It was a pity that the circumstances of his birth prevented most others from seeing the same.

“Please, Madara-sama?” the child wheedled. “We asked him but he said he won’t do it unless we have permission from our clan Heads. Torifu already got his uncle to say yes! Please!”

��And did he seem…amenable to this request?” Madara crossed his arms and leaned his shoulder against the door frame, hoping it wasn’t obvious he was using it to hold himself up. Ever since that old Yamanaka hag had interfered with his life and turned his world upside down, it felt like the universe was shoving Tobirama in his face at every given opportunity.

“Tobirama-sama said he would love to train us. He said we looked like bright kids!” Kagami beamed up at him, clearly pleased with what to him was a rare compliment. “But you need to say yes. Please say yes! I want to be strong like Tobirama-sama so I can awaken my Sharingan and be super famous like he is!”

“Why him? You aren’t likely to find any help learning fire jutsu from someone with a water nature.”

Kagami danced on the spot, his short body practically vibrating with childish impatience. “He says it won’t be a problem and he has lots to teach me.”

“Hm.” Madara frowned, lifting his gaze to stare unseeing in to the middle distance and disappearing in to his own head while he considered his options.

Allowing someone outside of the clan to teach one of their own could be taken as an incredible insult to his own people. On the other hand it could also be spun as a gesture of peace, proving that the Uchiha had trust in the Senju, and if he played his cards right he might even tuck this away to use as leverage should he need a favor at some point down the road. Being owed a favor was never a bad thing, in his experience.

It would also, he realized, give him a perfect excuse to take a closer look at who Senju Tobirama really was without making it obvious that he had a personal interest in the matter. Five weeks had yet to dull the curiosity no matter how much he tried to tamp it down. Really the only other option was to give in to it and he would be a fool not to take the opportunity being handed to him, practically gift wrapped and free of charge. If Tobirama wished to take on the responsibility of training a child whose own clan had subtly rejected him then Madara would still be well within his rights to insist upon overseeing their training. Should he happen to learn more about the man and put his own wild thoughts to rest, well, it could only be considered a bonus.

“We may be able to come to an agreement,” he said aloud, pausing for a moment while Kagami gave vent to a triumphant howl. “Is he expecting an answer right away?”

“I don’t know! But we can go see him now! Can we? Please? You said yes, right? That sounded like a yes.”

“Ugh, I will retract that yes if you don’t calm down and stop acting like a sugar-high puppy.”

“Right!”

Grumbling to make a show of his reluctance – seeming eager simply wouldn’t do – Madara stepped out and closed the front door, following along while Kagami dashed off down the street.

It wasn’t the first time he had accompanied someone in to the heart of the Senju district, although it was the first time he had gone with anyone other than Hashirama. He was more surprised than he would have liked to admit when their path diverged from his familiar route to take them in the completely opposite direction. Apparently Tobirama had taken the opportunity to put some distance between himself and his brother when the residential areas were being built.

Actually, Madara couldn’t really fault him for that. Friends or not, he wouldn’t want to live in the same house as Hashirama either. Much too noisy; way too much enthusiasm before the sun had risen. He was incredibly close to his own brother but even being related to Hashirama couldn’t make him less overwhelming.

Tobirama’s house was tucked away in a corner, visibly no different from those surrounding it except for the weeds growing up in the front yard where most of his neighbors had planted small vegetable gardens. It was a good idea in a village still trying to find a balance to provide for its ever growing population. Making a note to suggest the same to a few members of his own clan, Madara watched Kagami bounce up the wooden steps and thunder his tiny fists against the front door. Evidently Tobirama must have felt them coming because he stepped out only moments later, closing the door behind himself and looking down at his tiny guest with a hint of amusement.

“Back so soon?” he rumbled. Kagami danced in a circle out of sheer excitement.

“He said yes! Well, sort of yes. He said we needed an agreement but that’s almost like a yes so YES!”

“A shinobi should remain calm in all situations,” Tobirama told him in a demure tone. Kagami went rigid and Madara just barely caught the light of laughter in Tobirama’s eye as he leaned down to murmur, “And you’re very close to dancing on my toes.”

The boy’s face went red but he giggled unrepentantly as he leapt backwards to the bottom of the stairs and raced back to wriggle at Madara’s feet, too full of energy and overloaded with happiness.

“You have conditions, I assume?” Tobirama addressed him directly. Madara nodded.

“Cross-clan training has never been done before and there’s bound to be a lot of people questioning the situation. You may teach him only if you agree that I may oversee his training sessions whenever I wish and ask whichever relevant questions I see fit.”

“Reasonable,” Tobirama admitted. “Although we may come to disagreements over what either of us deems a relevant question.”

“That’s a problem for future me,” Madara drawled. He watched Tobirama’s cheeks twitch as the man tried not to smile and was promptly forced to smother an odd feeling of triumph which bubbled up in his gut. Just because seeing a smile on that face lately had become as rare as a warm day in winter, there was no need for him to feel all smug about it; it was hardly a groundbreaking accomplishment.

Between them, Kagami did his best to remain calm as he had been asked but it lasted no more than a half a minute, then he was bouncing back over to his new teacher with a golden smile and taking the startled man’s hand between both of his own.

“Come on sensei! Let’s go find Torifu and you can teach us something now!” Before he’d even finished talking he was pulling and tugging to lead them away.

“Sensei…?” Tobirama followed where he was lead with a slightly dazed expression.

Madara watched them go until they were both out of sight only to realize that he was now standing alone in a part of the Senju district where he had no business being. Not wanting to rouse the suspicions of anyone passing by, he took to the rooftops and bounded away to where he could feel Hashirama’s chakra humming along in the marketplace. Since he was already here, he might as well drop by for a visit and possibly wheedle out a free dinner.

It was hardly the first time he had shown up unannounced at odd hours of the day and when he swung in through the kitchen window Mito didn’t even bother to look up from her needlework as she tilted her head towards the door leading to the next room. She did look up when he made to walk across her immaculately clean floors without first removing his sandals and Madara felt no less a man for admitting that he was just a tiny bit afraid of what she might do if he hadn’t immediately hopped over to leave them at the back door.

On his way by he peeked over her shoulder to see what it was she was working on, confused to see nothing more than a series of concentric circles with lines woven through like a spider’s web. Even more strangely, she was stitching it on to a knitted cap that was much too big for the creature growing inside her barely rounded stomach.

“What on earth are you doing?”

“Stitching seals,” she said. “If my husband refuses to dress fashionably then he will at least be dressed warmly. These seals will draw from his chakra reserves to keep his head at a proper temperature even in the coldest weather.”

“Huh. Alright.”

It seemed like a lot of effort to go to when he himself had never heard Hashirama complain of cold ears but Madara figured that it wasn’t worth his life to point that out and risk offending her. Instead he merely shrugged and carried on in to the living room, not at all surprised to find his friend tangled up in several different colored balls of yarn. Nor was he surprised by the massive smile which greeted him upon entering the room. Hashirama never changed.

“Your brother wants to teach a child from my clan,” he said as he stepped around the tangled man without offering to help. Hashirama wriggled in a happy sort of way, lending him a disturbing similarity to Kagami.

“That’s amazing news! And you said yes? That makes two children from the other clans who have asked to train with him! I’m so happy I could just cry!”

“Please don’t.”

“Oh lighten up.” Hashirama chuckled at him as he carefully extracted one of his arms and began to pick at the strings looped around the rest of his body.

Madara watched him resignedly. “Do I want to know how you got like that?”

“Nope!”

“Alright.”

“This is what we always dreamed of, Madara. Right? Isn’t it? People from all different clans living together in harmony and peace and prosperity.” Pausing in his movements, he leveled Madara with an intense look more serious than was usually found in his repertoire. “Thank you, my friend. None of this would have been possible without both of us working together. And, I have to say, I’m proud of you for agreeing to let my brother care for one of your clan children. Usually I have to tear up on at least one of you just to get you to play nice.”

Madara was disgustingly touched to have someone tell him that they were proud of him for something – but the sentiment was drowned out by the hot wave of indignation he was much more familiar with. “We’re not children!”

His friend laughed and went back to pulling on yarn.

Allowing Tobirama to train Kagami was a decision he came to regret as soon as the Uchiha elders caught wind of it. He never seemed to remember just how annoying they could be until suddenly they were breathing down his neck and cornering him for yet another meeting full of boredom and irritation.

Their first few objections were at least semi-reasonable. It was rather in character for them to take insult to Kagami by-passing his entire clan in order to seek training with an outsider but Madara was quick to remind them that up until now they had done nothing to hide their contempt for the unknown half of Kagami’s parentage, openly calling him a bastard and doing very little to ensure he was given the same advantages as his pure-blooded cousins.

When they questioned his judgment in trusting anyone outside their clan with the care of any child he reminded them very pointedly that they were now a part of Konoha and that the point of peace was to trust your allies. Traditionalists to a man, they didn’t take that reminder very well but Madara cared little for hurting their precious, delicate feelings. Times were changing all around them and the Uchiha needed to be able to adjust just the same as the other clans did or else they would be swallowed – or worse, cast away like a broken part to let the rest of the machinery run on.

Beyond that their objections grew less and less sensible until one of the elders was grumbling under her breath that she had never approved of tattoos anyway and how could her own clan leader approve training from a tattooed upstart like Tobirama? It was at that point that Madara very firmly ended the meeting by stating that he had already made his decision. As they very clearly had no good reasons for him to overturn that decision, they were just going to have to live with it.

The only thing which seemed to appease them in any way was the agreement Madara had already come to which gave him the right to check in on his young clansman to make sure he was being treated well. As obvious as it was that they were only interested in sticking their overlarge noses in to Senju Tobirama’s business, perhaps to find a little dirt on the most reticent of their ancient enemies, Madara was just glad to have double the excuse for his own nosiness.

It was with the excuse of appeasing his elders that he followed Kagami to the training fields less than two weeks later and jutted his chin defiantly under the raised eyebrow his presence received.

“That took longer than I thought it would,” Tobirama murmured, crossing his arms.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Only that I expected you to come nosing around several days ago. My congratulations on holding out for this long. Could it be that you trust me?” Tobirama sent him a dry smirk before turning around to dismiss him entirely.

Madara fumed, both at the dismissal and for being so predictable. He had indeed been fighting with his patience in an effort not to seem too eager. His scowl went unnoticed as Kagami bounded forward and skidded to a halt, offering his sensei a quick bow before springing back up with way too much energy for how early in the morning it was.

“What are we doing today?” he demanded. “Are you gonna teach me how to throw a shuriken? Or maybe run like you do!? I can be fast too sensei!”

“Slow down, nugget,” Tobirama chastised him.

From where he was standing beside the man, Madara whipped his head around to stare at him. “Nugget?” He was bare moments away from snickering when Kagami shot him the happiest smile he had ever seen the boy wear.

“Because! Because sensei says I’m like a nugget of gold in a field of coal!”

Madara stared some more. That was surprisingly touching and sweet if he ignored the implied insult to his clan. Strangely, when he looked to the side to find Tobirama clearing his throat uncomfortably, his instinctive urge to jeer and make fun simply wasn’t there. Instead of trying to look inside himself to figure out why, Madara allowed the opportunity to slip him by just this once in favor of a simple grunt as he settled in to watch without comment.

Visibly grateful for the opportunity to sidestep his own embarrassment, Tobirama moved quickly in to demonstrating the proper stance for a set up warm katas. The two of them went through the exercises several times while Tobirama explained why each of them were beneficial to flexibility, muscle gain, or even chakra control. Madara was slightly ashamed to admit that he’d never bothered to learn the reasons behind his favorite kata. All he knew was that they seemed to work best for him; it had never even occurred to him to wonder why.

It was the surprise of learning something he hadn’t even realized he should know already which encouraged him to follow Kagami to another lesson the next week. When he showed up again a mere two days later Madara had no excuse and so offered no explanation, only raised his eyebrow at Tobirama’s questioning look, daring the other man to tell him he wasn’t welcome.

Truthfully he found it strangely pleasant to see the way Tobirama acted around his two little students. Normally stoic and devoid of much expression, Tobirama seemed to blossom like a flower whenever he had the chance to spend a bit of time instructing Kagami and Torifu, answering their questions patiently and smiling ever so slightly when he was pleased with their progress. Madara also noted that Tobirama’s smiles were the single most potent motivation for either of the children and they tended to double their efforts after being graced with one.

Sitting in on their sessions had other, more unexpected benefits that Madara noticed over time as well. It turned out that wherever Tobirama happened to be was very likely to best hiding spot in the village whenever Hashirama was looking for him and fairly soon Madara began to bring some of his work with him, settling himself in a nearby tree and using the peaceful atmosphere to his advantage. It was also the only place he was guaranteed not to be bothered by his clan elders and that alone would have made spending so much of his time here worth it even if he weren’t finding some other enjoyment from it.

He became so much of a permanent fixture that he wasn’t sure any of the ragtag little trio even remembered he was there on the day a young girl who looked to be the same age as Kagami came crashing through the bushes with tears streaming down her face and a blank, lost expression that Madara knew better than he wished he did.

“Koharu!” Being the closest, Kagami hurried over to flutter uselessly in front of the girl. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Sensei is she hurt!?”

“Give her some room to breathe, nugget.” Tobirama gently guided his student away and knelt down before the girl, his eyes already scanning her form for obvious injuries. She didn’t seem to realize where she was or how she had got here but there were no obvious signs of blood. He had only just opened his mouth to ask if she was alright when she cast herself forward without warning, wrapping her arms about his neck and sobbing in to his fur collar, making him glad that he had worn it today on a whim.

Torifu hovered anxiously to the side, reaching out a hand to pat the newcomer on the back every so often while Kagami danced around the three of them in an effort to peek at her from all angles. Although it took a very long time, eventually the storm abated and Tobirama was able to extract himself to hold the child at length. He gave her another once over just to confirm the diagnosis that she was not actually injured before using his thumbs to wipe the tears from under her eyes. More fell to take their place.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Oh! Koharu! It’s Koharu!” Kagami skidded to a halt when his sensei turned a stern look at him.

“I did not ask you,” Tobirama scolded him before turning back to the girl. “Koharu is it? Will you tell me what’s wrong?”

Her small body shuddered with a fresh wave of sobs. “They’re dead! They’re both dead!”

“Who is?”

“My parents!”

As his two students immediately dissolved in to sympathetic babbles, Tobirama’s face twisted in to an expression of silent empathy. He said nothing when Koharu collapsed back in to his embrace, stroking her hair but offering no empty platitudes. Very likely she would hear enough of those in the days ahead.

“Koharu, that’s awful,” Kagami murmured, trying to stroke her hair too. “I don’t have a dad so…I know how much it sucks.” The poor boy didn’t seem to realize he’d said anything wrong until his friend tore herself away from the adult comforting her and spun around to punch him solidly in the nose.

“You don’t know anything! You’ve never had a dad! It’s different! I had a mom and a dad and I loved them but now they’re gone and they – they’re n-never coming back! Don’t pretend that you understand how I feel!”

“But Koharu–!”

“Stuff it, you idiot!”

“I was just trying to make it better!” Kagami lifted the hand not holding his nose in a helpless gesture but, although he did mean well – Kagami was incapable of meaning anything but well – his friend was clearly not in a state to appreciate his efforts.

With a face twisted by the horrible feelings welling up inside her, Koharu used both hands to shove Kagami away from herself as she screamed, “Nothing will ever be better again! Never!”

As quickly as she came, the girl turned and fled in to the forest, disappearing between the foliage until all that remained of her was the echo of her tears and the blood streaming down Kagami’s face. For a few moments there was utter silence, both of the children doing their best to process all that had happened while both of the adults kept quiet and allowed them to make of it what they would. Death was a topic that all shinobi must eventually become familiar with and, no matter that they had built an entire village just to keep the next generations safe, it still could not be afforded to coddle them. It was a lesson they needed to learn.

Surprisingly it was Torifu who spoke up first.

“Maybe we should go after her?” he suggested hesitantly. Madara snorted, glad that he was too far away for the child to hear his derision.

“That would not be a good idea right now, I’m afraid.” Tobirama beckoned Kagami to him as he spoke, lifting one hand and coating it with a weak glow of healing chakra. Madara had seen him heal bruises and scrapes, although most other injuries appeared to be beyond his skill. Likely all he could do now was numb the pain.

As he’d thought, Kagami came away from his treatment with his facial muscles more relaxed but with blood still trickling down. Tobirama offered him a gauze bandage to hold to the injury and urged him to head towards the hospital for treatment.

“Why can’t we go after her though?” he murmured, not leaving but for once in his life standing completely still.

“Because your friend has lost someone important to her and it would be best to give her some space for now. She will not be as she was before and it may take some time before she can accept what has happened, let alone accept offers of sympathy from her friends.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You’ve never truly experienced loss, Kagami, so you cannot possibly be expected to understand what she is going through right now. Grief is a monster of its own class.”

“But I want to help! Can’t you explain it to me sensei? You can explain everything.”

Tobirama furrowed his brows in a look that was serious even for him, although he couldn’t be said to look displeased, only very deep in thought. After a few moments he very carefully knelt back down before his student, unclasping the collar of fur he had tied around his neck.

“Greif is like this collar,” he said.

Before either of his students or their forgotten spectator could ask what he meant, he settled the fur around Kagami’s shoulders and fastened it so that it would not fall off. Kagami stumbled back a step with a look of naked surprise on his face.

“Sensei, this is heavy! I never thought it would weigh so much.”

“Yes.” Tobirama sighed. “No one ever expects it to be as heavy as it is until they wear it themselves. Greif is a weight that presses down on you until you are forced to bow or to bear up under it. Over time you grow accustomed to how heavy it is and there are days when you almost forget that the weight is there until someone helps to lift it from your shoulders unexpectedly.”

Kagami watched him with rapt attention. Across the clearing, so did Madara.

“Sometimes you forget what it was like to live without grief and you think surely this means that you have healed, surely you are back to what you once were. And that”-Tobirama reached out to stroke the fur, causing the ends of a few strands to tickle Kagami’s skin-“is when the memories brush against you once more and you remember that you will never heal. Not fully.”

“Then…does that mean she’ll never get better?”

“No. She will get better. There will be days when she will fool the whole world in to thinking that everything is okay; there will even be days when everything is okay. But there will also be the days, all the way up until she is old and wrinkled, that she will remember what she once had and she will not be okay. That is what it feels like to live with grief, to lose someone close to you.”

While the young ones tried to process their lesson and Tobirama took his collar back, fastening it around his shoulders with a passive face, Madara crossed his arms tightly across his chest and tried to surreptitiously squeeze out the dark shadows gathering within. Visions of the brothers he had lost danced before his eyes, the mother who disappeared and never returned crowding his memory.

If he were given a month to prepare he was certain he would not have found a better way to explain grief to a child. If he were given a year he wasn’t certain he could have come up with anything to explain what Tobirama had so easily demonstrated: the dark and heavy weight of losing someone precious.

They’d had two other brothers, he remembered suddenly. As clear as though it had been yesterday, he recalled the way Hashirama had been crying on the day they met, mourning the death of a younger sibling, and Madara looked across the clearing now to furrow his brows at Tobirama. The younger man had never struck him as the type to mourn someone so long gone, to linger on his grief. He seemed more the type to bury his memories with the dead and move on.

It appeared he still had a lot to learn about Senju Tobirama.

Seeing as no one would be in the mood to concentrate on their training now, Tobirama sighed and rose to his feet, laying a hand on both of his students’ heads.

“Come. We’ll pass by the tower and ask my brother to fix up your nose, Kagami, and then I think we would all feel better which a bit of lunch in our bellies.” After a moment of hesitation he looked over his shoulder to where Madara was perched. “Open offer.”

Nearly falling from his branch in shock, Madara covered it by slipping down and trailing after the sad little parade Tobirama and his students made.

Lunch was mostly quiet but despite the morbid scene they had all just witnessed Madara took an odd sort of comfort from sitting beside Tobirama in something close to resembling comradery. He resolved never to let Hashirama find out about this, however; he didn’t want to have to listen to his friend cry over it as he surely would. Three and a half years after their two clans had come together and only now were the two of them finally learning to get along properly.

Madara eyed the man beside him and before he could stop the thought he found himself wondering about the mark on his own skin and the tattoos which covered Tobirama’s.

He wondered why he cared that he might never have the chance to see if he could truly find himself hidden among twisting red lines.

#rae writes #madatobi #madara #tobirama #kagami #koharu #hashirama #fanfiction #naruto shippuden

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