Dying for a Place to Fall Apart

Madara had become very familiar with the smell of Konoha’s hospital. 

The cream colored rooms smelled of mild soap and clean cotton, a sharp sting of distilled alcohol drifting just beneath. Between the patient rooms, Madara could catch the earthy scent of ground herbs and medicine wafting from where they made pills and chakra supplements. 

Ever faintly, too, he could smell seal ink and old paper. Incorporating seal work into iryo practices had been entirely unfamiliar to the Uchiha, as well as the greater population of Konoha. But it had greatly helped the advancement of patient care.

If you’d have asked Madara anything about healing techniques not even a year ago, there wouldn’t be much he could have answered. He was too busy, too swamped by his duties to the Uchiha and his attention to the war. But now, even buried with paperwork as they all were in an ever expanding village, he made constant effort to volunteer at the hospital. 

There wasn’t much he could do. He didn’t have the fine control or know-how for most of it, but if someone needed a chakra transplant then he was a ready doner. He could heat water to sterilize equipment and for washing bed linens, he could bring meals to patients, he could file paperwork.

If you’d have asked Madara a year ago if he ever thought he’d work in a hospital, he would have laughed in your face. 

But now here he was, the clan head of the Uchiha, holding a cup of water to a patient’s mouth, coaxing them slowly to drink.

“Easy, easy,” he said, tipping only a trickle into the injured Yamanaka’s mouth. The man had been injured on a high ranked mission and came back with burn scars across his entire body. He could hardly move. 

Madara had never had to treat burns this bad. They weren’t uncommon in the Uchiha, but only among children first learning to wield fire. Uchiha didn’t burn past that. Fire was their sword and shield, their birthright to wield, their gift from amaterasu. It could never hurt them, only protect.

It was disheartening to see the other end of that fire. 

A man too blistered to even drink water on his own. Covered head to toe in clean bandages.

Unbidden, Madara began to think again of his soulmate. He was certainly not Uchiha. Had he, as a medic, seen men rendered to ashes before? Had he feared fire too? had he peeled bandages away from blistered and leaking skin? Had the enemy then been the Uchiha…

It was an open secret that the Uchiha Clan head had a soulmate.

Madara made no move to hide it. His marks stood out plainly on his face, stark red against his pale skin. Nobody ever mentioned them. In a way, it was treated as if he was grey-marked, since even though his marks were vibrant rose red, he had nobody standing by his side. He was alone. 

So Madara foolishly kept volunteering at the hospital. Each doctor he spoke to, each nurse he worked with, each patient passing through the halls - he glanced down at their fingertips hoping please please please. 

The water in the cup finished off, and Madara removed it from the man’s lips.

“Feeling any better?” he asked.

He realized a second later that was probably a dumb thing to say. He stared down at the bandaged man, too stiff to even move.

He cringed, “Sorry.”

“...s’…alright,” a rough voice from beyond the bandages replied, “...thank…you…”

Is this what his soulmate saw everyday? Is this what he treated and fixed?

Madara excused himself and walked out of the room.  

“Working late again, Madara?”

Madara resisted the urge to groan and failed. 

“Leave me alone, witch.” he grumbled. 

To his disgruntlement, Senju Touka only smiled brighter, clapping him across the back heavily. Even Madara stumbled forward, noting to himself that Touka did not have an off switch for that earth shattering Taijutsu he had seen on the battlefield. 

“Oh you know you love me.” she replied cheerily.

Touka volunteered at the hospital frequently enough, though Madara wasn’t exactly sure what she did. He never caught her ever doing anything productive, but she carried such an air of purpose and authority that no one really questioned it.

“Any luck with that errant soulmate of yours?” she asked.

Madara exploded, “not since the last time you asked, which, if remember correctly, was a fucking hour ago!”

Touka held up her hands in lazy surrender, “woah-ho! Cool it fire boy! I was just curious!”

“Why do you even care?” Madara snapped, “Or all Senju this tone deaf? No, even Tobirama doesn’t torment me this much!”

Something tormented flitted across Touka’s face, but she recovered quickly.

“It must be a main branch thing!” Hashirama has it worst out of all of us!”

Madara rubbed at his temples, his eyelid twitching, “I am beginning to wonder if that’s truly so.”

“I’m actually surprised Hashirama hasn't pestered you about this,” Touka commented.

“He tried, but Mito shut him down immediately. He’s been too afraid to bring it up since.”

“Thank the heavens for Mito,” Touka said solemnly.

Privately Madara could not help but agree. Mito was truly a godsend. Hashirama's chatter, much like Touka's strength, did not come in with a built-in off switch, and Mito was the closest thing they all had to one. Without her, Madara imagined he would be truly unmanageable. 

Madara felt a pair of eyes on him and glanced over his shoulder to see Hyuuga Meiko watching him. He turned his attention back to Touka quickly.

Touka whistled lowly, “is that your stalker?”

“She’s not my stalker.”

“She sure watched you an awful lot for someone who’s not a stalker.”

“I’m a fucking spectacle, thats why,” Madara answered, “a clan head doing servants work in a hospital. Anyone would stare.”

“Yeah but she does so with a certain…” Touka searched for the word, “stalker-iness”

Madara sighed, “She’s not hurting anyone.”

“She’s not really helping anyone either,” Touka countered, “I mean, it’s clear she’s much better at diagnosis, real encyclopedia brain type, but first thing she did was transfer into the trauma unit. I mean she’s good but I wouldn’t have put her there.”

“Hyuuga are adept at eye treatment. Maybe even more so than the Uchiha, since the byakugan is present from birth. It's a good place for her.”

Touka grinned, “Never thought you’d admit a Hyuuga had more talent than an Uchiha.”

“It’s just a theory. Don’t fucking tell anybody,” he stressed. 

“Yes yes.” Touka waved off serenely, “all I’m saying is that the woman could do with a little less intense staring and a little less devotion to her job. I mean, I get its standard procedure to wear gloves when working, especially in the trauma unit, but I’ve never seen her take hers off. I don’t know if it’s dedication or obsession.”

Madara did not know, nor did he particularly care. He shot Touka a look which conveyed such. 

Touka made a big show of backing off, to the point Madara felt his eyelid twitch again. 

Tobirama might infuriate him, but Touka could annoy him in a way that even the white demon could not match, no matter how much Madara knew he tried. 

Madara felt a prickle on his back again, and he glanced back once more to see Meiko still staring at him. A shiver went down his spine. Maybe Touka had a point. 

He moved to say as such to her, but she was already halfway down the hall bounding off to whatever it was she did next. He seriously had no fucking clue what she even did in the hospital. 

He let out another sigh.

—-

“Tobirama!”

He heard a loud bang as his front door was thrown open. Forcibly. He sighed to himself, he was going to have to replace the lock. Again - just like every other time Touka visited. 

He walked down the stairs, and found Touka already making herself at home, rifling through his cabinet. He saw her pull a face as she searched the drawers.

“Seriously? Don’t you have anything good? One bag of roasted soybeans. What are you, ninety?”

“I like to stay simple,” he replied, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, and boring.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s sad is what it is,” She rolled his eyes, “You used to complain that konpeito was too sweet when we were younger.”

“They’re literally made out of pure sugar.”

“That’s what happiness tastes like.”

“You sound like Hashirama.”

“Ew, don’t compare me to my weird tree cousin,” she plopped herself down at his dining table, taking the soybeans with her and happily munching on them.

“For someone who doesn’t like my selection in food you seem awfully content to eat it anyway.”

“Uh-huh. And that's a problem, how? Last time I checked you don’t pay me to do all these extra jobs, so your house is my house, and your food is my food.”

He sighed and sat down. 

“ Wo~ow” she drawled, “You’re not even going to offer me tea? Gosh, I do all your evil bidding and get nothing except stale roasted soybeans and the cold shoulder. Goes to show how much you care! I don’t know why I even like you anymore.”

A somewhat mangy cat hopped up onto the table, letting out a broken chitter.

Touka surged forward, smiling. 

“Awww, little Masayoshi! Who wants pets? You do!”

Her hands descended on the poor creature, petting him with a fierceness that made Tobirama reminisce to when he had been smaller and Touka had done the same thing to him. Pulling at his cheeks and throwing him around however she wanted, cooing all the while. That had ended rather abruptly the moment Tobirama learned how to throw a punch, and then it had just devolved into impromptu spars at any time in the day. However, unlike him, Masayoshi seemed to enjoy Touka’s assault, meowing happily. 

Tobirama sighed, “you know he’s not supposed to be on the table.”

“What place does a servant have to tell her lord where the edge of his land resides?”

“Masayoshi isn’t a lord.”

Touka smiled, “and this is why he likes me more than you.”

Tobirama reached out to run a hand across the cat’s rough back, to which Masayoshi preened into appreciatively, before hd deftly pickied up the creature and set him promptly back on the floor.

“Run along,” he instructed as Touka whined.

“I don’t understand why you must be so stiff about everything!”

“I am not stiff,” he protested.

“Tobirama, all you have in your house is some roasted soybeans, furniture that came with the place, and a cat that you named like an old man.”

“It is a perfectly respectable name.”

Tokua looked dubiously at him, “sure.”

“Touka…” he rubbed his temples.

“Fine fine, I’ll get on with it or whatever” she huffed dramatically, “The hospital is running smoothly. Some of the doctors have a serious stick up their ass and use improper technique out of pride, but Shizuki is doubling down on them. Oh! And the Uchiha medical leader, Nozomi. She’s one kick ass lady, I’ll tell you that much. She and Shizuki are like two peas in a pod.”

“Thank you,” he said, taking in the info. He would have to pass more legislation for strict medical rules. Some clans still practiced techniques that were harmful than helpful, and if Tobirama heard about one more Hyuuga bloodletting he would seriously strangle somebody. If Shizuki didn’t get to them first.

“You wouldn’t have to thank me if you just did the inspection yourself,” Touka pointed out.

Tobirama paused, only for a brief moment. 

“You know I can’t be seen around the hospital.”

“Your reasons are bullshit.

“Touka, nobody wants to see the person who killed their cousin in a place that is supposed to be about healing.”

Touka frowned, “Tobirama, you don’t have to isolate yourself because of what you did during the war, we have all killed before. Even the medics.”

“I wasn't just a foot soldier,” he glanced away, “I was the one leading it.”

“And the one who stopped it.”

“That has never mattered to anybody.”

“Then make it matter!” Touka exploded, “So you’re fine using all of your time and energy to carefully manipulate everyone into putting aside their ancient feuds, but can’t spare the moment it would take to let everyone know you’re not some sort of monster! Tobirama, you control the narrative! You know you do!”

“Exactly,” he replied sharply, “I use my status as it is, Touka. People fear me, and when it’s right, I use it. I’m not some sort of tree hugging pacifist, that has never been my job. Hashirama plays that role. Hokage - kind, considerate, uniting, selfless. We need both the carrot or the stick, and I am fine being what people are afraid of. I don’t need to be revered, I just need to be effective.”

He sighed, rubbing again at his forehead, “That’s why I left the hospital after I established it. I needed them to associate our healing with me, as a weapon. They needed to see us giving up our arms, and look, now they’re slowly sharing theirs. But that was all I needed. I don’t need to be there any longer… disturbing people.”

Touka scowled, “Why are you so resigned to unhappiness.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he returned, “I’m getting everything I want.”

“Well I’m not!” Touka shot back, standing angrily. Her chair clattered to the ground and she slammed her hands down on the table.  She looked down at him, fuming. 

“Do you have any idea why I ever wanted peace?” she demanded.

He frowned, “You enjoy it just fine.”

“That is not the point Tobirama!” she shouted, “I don’t care how I feel right now! That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about why I even considered it back in the first place, all those months ago when nobody thought peace was even possible, back when we didn’t even entertain the idea at all. Back when you were wearing those stupid gloves and starting planning for all this! So go on, ask me why.”

Tobirama sighed, folding his hands neatly across each other and not looking at his older cousin. He was a strong man, but he wasn’t strong enough. Touka had never let him be. She found the faults in his armor and drove a chisel firmly into them. She never let him know peace - or rather never let him resign himself to war.

Didn’t she understand he was doing it for her. For her, for Hashirama, for everyone. He was one person. If one person couldn't be happy where everyone else could, then what did it matter? That was practically statistical perfection. He could ration that imperfection out by rounding up the smallest of decimals.  

Who cared, at that point. The math checked out all the same. 

“Why?” he relented.

Touka looked at him heartbroken.

“Because I knew it was the only chance for you to be happy, Tobi.”

“I am fine, Touka.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I have everything I need. I have you, I have Hashirama,” sort of, some part of him whispered. Whenever Hashirama remembered Tobirama existed and galavanted away from his sparkling job and checked in on his little brother, “I have what I set out to do. Work I care about. I have enough.”

“You could have more.”

Tobirama could not live in a world where that was true. It would destroy the thing he had forced himself to be, and he had spent far too long crafting the machine he was to destroy it for nothing. For having more. Who needed more - there was enough, and enough was all Tobirama had ever known his entire life. If he ever experienced more, then he did not doubt it would kill him. 

“That would just be selfish.” 

“It would be human.”

He tried to make a joke, laughing, “Then we are in agreement that it is wholly unnecessary.”

It didn’t land. Touka frowned. He felt cold, somehow, under her intense gaze. Not the good kind of cold that left you numb and wanting nothing, but the kind of cold that dug its claws deep into you and reminded you just how wonderful it had been to once be warm. Tobirama felt the fake smile on his face slip off slowly. 

“He loves you, you know.” She said suddenly.

Tobirama felt as if the floor had been swept out from underneath his feet. He carefully kept his breath from hitching. He did not flinch or tear his eyes away from Touka. He looked at her steadily and did not let himself feel anything anymore. Banished the cold, banished the warmth. Banished the thought of more. More was carcinogenic, corrupting him slowly from the inside.

Touka smiled, knowing she had hooked him. She continued on, leaning forward with gleaming eyes. Hope - she wore it like an armor. 

“He’s looking for you. He walks around the hospital like an idiot, doing menial, stupid tasks in the hope he’ll find you there. You should see him! He boils water to clean bed linens! The Uchiha Clan head helps empty bedpans, who would believe it? Nozomi and Shizuki have bets on how long he’ll keep lurking around. Both of their guesses are in the double digits - and not in months, in years. He’s looking for you, Tobirama. He’s relying on you.”

Defenseless, he replied, “He hates me.”

Touka’s eyes softened, “He loves you.”

“He loves his soulmate,” Tobirama doubled down, “he loves someone he doesn’t understand. Everything I’ve done to him, Touka, that’s the real me. I saved him because I thought I could manipulate him. I manipulated him because I knew we could have peace. He thinks his soulmate saved him while I’ve only bound him to the yolk.”

“He could love you.”

“I don’t deal in dreams, Touka.”

“You brought peace,” she shot back, “and I remember a time where that was only a dream in the minds of idiots.”

“You really don’t understand,” he stressed, “he hates me. He’d rather see me dead than alive.”

There was a reason Madara had agreed to their deal, and it was not the kind of requirement demanded between lovers. 

“He’s an idiot,” Touka rolled her eyes, “He loves his soulmate. But he loves this peace. He loves the hospital. He loves the academy. He loves Konoha. Those are all things Tobirama, not his imaginary idea of his soulmate, did. He loves you, and he can learn to love Tobirama too. If only you’d let him, kiddo-”

“Touka, please…” he cut in, “drop this. I don’t want to hear it.”

“What? The truth?”

“Stop it. It's your truth. It’s maybe even his, but I wouldn’t care if it was. It’s not mine. I don’t care if he can love me. I don’t care if he does. I don’t give a damn about him.” 

He spoke with measured, cold calmness.“I don’t give a shit about being somebody he likes. I’d sooner ram a blade through my own heart than hand myself over to him - what does he know about me? Who cares if he's in love? He’s chasing phantoms. I’m not stupid enough to think I can ever fit the caricature he’s invented. I’m not pathetic enough to want to.”

“Tobirama that’s not what I was implying-”
“I don’t want to hear it.” He repeated, “Touka, I don’t love him. It’s as simple as that.”

“He’s your soulmate.”

Tobirama sighed.

“And have I ever wanted one?”

“You’re destined to be together.”

He shook his head, “So what of my mother? All she got was a brush of skin, and that man was dead shortly after. Some destiny . What me and Madara share is nothing resembling love. Perhaps in that way, I resemble my mother. Their love went nowhere.”

“But they tried.”
“Then they were fools.”

Touka was silent for a second. Eyes wide and sad, face slack. Senju did not grieve the same way the Uchiha did, impassioned and fiery. They grieved long and lasting. They grieved like they rationed out every ounce of pain and evenly distributed it across the rest of their days. Touka had been grieving for him for a long time. Perhaps since the very first day he drew breath. 

Quietly, like a whisper to herself only, she repeated, “he could love you.”

Again, Tobirama sighed. 

“I love you, Touka. I don’t take your love for granted either. But Madara and I don’t love each other. We never will. And the only tragedy that could be derived from this is if I were foolish enough to believe we could. So I will not. I will not love him, and he will not love me. I was built for this, Touka. Now,” he continued, “The hospital. Tell me more. And leave Madara out of it.”

And she did. They sat and talked quietly into the night. About logistics and numbers, about cold, clinical things. Like that, Tobirama held himself together. Fortified the walls Touka had almost broke down. Took that cold, creeping loneliness and turned it into a blizzard. Into something so cold you forgot what warmth was. So you couldn’t dream it, let alone desire it. 

Touka bid goodbye hours later. 

Then Tobirama was finally alone, and left to his empty home. He did not cry. He did not allow himself to feel. He could live on little, he knew that. But even the practiced kind of starved could not live on nothing. Slowly emaciating himself until he was withered into nothingness.

And when nothingness consumed him, he imagined it would feel like that endless, furious blizzard. One he could get lost in, where nobody would find him, where he would find nobody, and he would never again have to think about too little, or enough, or god forbid more.

Grey, and cold, and alone. 

Behind his shut eyelids, he could see his father again, as he did every time he closed his eyes. His father with his snarling face, and his heavy fists. He saw them hit his mother, crack quickly across her face and send her to the ground. He saw himself, learning how to heal just to be able to fix his mother again and again. In the dark he was there again, welding back together a fractured orbital, hands glowing green over spans of purple bleeding skin. There as his mother stared at him with empty eyes, seeing a man who supposedly looked like him. There as his mother stood above an unmarked grave she had built in secret. There again, as his father hit him, for not being what he should. There as his mother hid from him, for being too similar to what he shouldn’t. 

There, again, standing in the darkness before all the promises unfulfilled.

Then he slid his eyes open, and looked down at his bloody hands, where beneath the seals he knew marked skin rested.

Looking at what he had looked at his whole life - another promise that would never fruit.

Terrified of less, terrified of enough, terrified of more. Scared of it all. 

In a way, Tobirama hoped Madara would cut his neck, even if he succeeded. Konoha would live on but well…

Tobirama liked to think of it as wiping down the tables, putting the chairs up and flipping the open sign to closed. Packing up shop. Going home. Finishing, finally finishing, his job. Blowing out the lights and locking the door shut for the next person to pick up. 

But first peace. First work. First, Tobirama had to give everything he had so that one day, he would have nothing. Only then, would he fulfill a promise. Peace. And maybe, if he could dare to wish for something beyond nothing - something that didn’t scare him, he could wish for an unmarked grave of his own, where maybe Hashirama would visit when he had the time or when he remembered his once little brother. And he would think fondly back to someone who sacrificed their everything for him. 

And that could be enough.

—

“Are you okay, Sensei?”

Tobirama shook himself out of his daydreaming, looking back at Kagami. The boy had paused his katas, now staring at him with a concerned look.

“I’m fine, Kagami. Why?”

“You haven’t corrected my form in the past five minutes.”

Tobirama raked a cursory eye over the kid. He hummed and realized that he had indeed been negligent. It wasn’t like him to space out, much less during a lesson. He would have to work on that.

“Shift your back leg up about two inches. Your center of balance is off.”

“It feels fine.”

Tobirama walked over to him, and pushed lightly on the kid’s shoulder. Kagami toppled over in an ungainly heap. He blinked up at Tobirama, bewildered. 

“Huh.” the boy said. 

“Do you see what I mean?”

“I apologize, Sensei.”

Tobirama chuckled lightly, “don’t apologize, just fix it.”

Kagami scrambled up and got back in stance, shifting his foot into the proper position this time. Tobirama gave him a light shove again, and this time the kid stayed upright.

“See? Much stronger.”

“Thank you.”

“How is your lightning release progressing?” Tobirama asked. 

“Okay, sometimes I lose focus and zap myself.”

“Focus overall is something you must work on.”

Kagami groaned, “I know…”

Tobirama huffed and ruffled his hair, “it will come Kagami. It just takes time.”

“I wish it didn’t.”

“Then it wouldn’t feel as rewarding when you do finally get it.” he reasoned.

“Yeah,” Kagami whined, “but I would also be able to do a perfect lightning release.”

He laughed, “You make a fair point, Kagami.”

He smiled down at his student, feeling pride well in his chest. Kagami had progressed at such a rapid rate, solely due to his hard work and excitement to learn. Tobirama could not help feel immense joy at seeing the boy grow. 

“Now,” he said, “show me that lighting release. Let’s see if we can hack it.”

—-

“So you're creating what’s essentially an assassination corps.”

Tobirama glanced behind him at Madara, who was following him close behind through the halls of the Hokage tower. 

“Well that’s now how I’m marketing it” he replied dully, “and the ANBU will do more than just assassination. But in essence, yes.”

Madara let out a bark of taunting laughter, “and what happened to not killing your way to peace?”

Tobirama resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“I will not feign ignorance and assume the ANBU will never be put into use, but there is some truth in the idea that their mere presence will discourage any insidious behavior. It is as much a bloodless measure of prevention as it is a clean way to dispose of those who did not heed my warnings.”

Madara looked disgusted.

Tobirama raised a single brow, “Really? The ANBU, out of all I’ve done, is what distresses you? You’re really grasping at straws. There are many things about me to dislike, Madara, you don’t need to invent reasons.”

Madara’s frown somehow grew increasingly deeper.

“You know people would like you more if you weren’t such an asshole.”

“I know. Believe me Madara, the image I curate of myself is deliberate.”

Madara made an incredulous face, “You want to be an asshole?”

“Feared is preferable but I can’t control how people process their emotions.”

“And you’re just okay with being hated?”

Tobirama shrugged, “I’ve lived long enough to grow used to it. And besides, would you not benefit from the ANBU as well?”

Madara’s face paled, before it turned dark with fury. 

“You have no right to bring that night into this.”

“Don’t I? You were the one who came here to provoke me ” Tobirama shot back, “And if I recall correctly, I helped you then. I don’t require a thank you, just that you could attempt to see eye to eye with me. I’m not going to kill my way to peace, honestly, I’m not stupid enough to go on the warpath after working so hard to get off of it. But peace requires discipline and back up plans. The ANBU are just another aspect of that. They are assassins, yes, but they are bodyguards, informants, and protectors.”

“And what if they get out of your control?”

Tobirama actually had the audacity to laugh.

“They will be anonymous agents, Madara!” he shook his head, “How much political power do you think they will have? And besides, I will be keeping close watch over them, they will need a captain after all.”

Madara scowled.

“What happened to anonymous agents?”

Tobirama smirked.

“When have I ever bothered to hide anything from you? You’re in on all my dirty little secrets.”

For a brief moment, Madara felt himself flush hot. Perhaps it was just his rising anger, but Tobirama’s teasing voice, those lips curling into a sly smile, and the sparkling glint of mischief in his eyes did something to him. Suddenly, the distance between them felt much too far, and much too close. Madara couldn’t tell if he wanted to run away or to close the gap. With what, he didn’t know. He just knew he wanted to knock that expression off the white bastard’s face. 

Suddenly, the image of his own lips across Tobirama’s own struck him. Biting harshly on that soft lower lip and drawing a cry of pain from the other man - his face shifting from that mocking tease into something surprised and desperate. Something where Madara finally had the control. 

Madara changed from flushed, to sheet white, to tomato red all in a matter of seconds.

What on earth was he thinking!

To do that-! With Tobirama of all people? 

Madara had a soulmate.

Slowly, noticing Madara’s expression, Tobirama’s face fell back into seriousness. Eyebrow’s lilting up with what was almost concern. 

“Are you alright?”

“W-Why do you care!” he barked back, disappearing into his anger as a refuge. 

“Wouldn’t want my co-conspirator to die from an aneurysm. I have more use to get out of you yet.”

Madara bristled, momentary embarrassment forgotten. 

“Honestly, how do you get anything done when being such a blatant asshole?”

“Oh Madara,” - and Madara could not stand the way his name rested so frequently on Tobirama’s tongue. The way he languidly moved through each syllable as if savoring the way it made Madara grow redder and redder with anger - “I only do this to you.”

And well, Madara supposed that was true. 

He had seen Tobirama actually doing work. He was calm, collected, poised and perfect. Utterly terrifying and cut through people when needed, but he knew where to smile, who to butter up and just how much honey to use when needed. Tobirama used his reputation like a well honed sword, used terror when it was necessary and was stone cold even when charming someone. But that's where it stopped. He never took a step further. Never did more than was necessary. 

Never accounted for pride, never cared for his perception beyond how he could use it. 

When people whispered “demon” or “monster” where they thought Tobirama couldn’t hear, he did not make any effort to correct them. Madara was certain Tobirama knew how many people scorned him behind closed doors. There was no way someone as meticulous as him wouldn’t. 

But Tobirama never did anything about it. He let them see what they wanted to. He let them call him what they wanted to. He let them do whatever they wanted so long as it furthered his goals.

Madara did not doubt that if it was advantageous for Tobirama to die, it would not be Madara or Izuna, or anyone who would give anything to kill him lining up first to do the honors, but Tobirama himself. 

Madara’s face slackened as what almost felt like dread dripped through him.

That was what Tobirama had agreed to, no? Wagered his life on peace. Tobirama had already put his life on the line for this. 

“Why do you care so much?” Madara’s voice sounded small, even to him. 

Tobirama blinked in surprise, taken aback.

“What?” he asked. 

“I mean, why are you doing this? You didn’t have to, you could have very well killed Izuna but you didn’t. You could have used that to eradicate the Uchiha. But you didn’t. I just… don’t understand you…”

Tobirama frowned, “You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

How quickly he responded shocked himself. Shocked Tobirama too, even though it could only be seen in the slightest movement of his eyes. But Madara had spent enough time with him to notice. 

Tobirama chuckled lightly, “You really must not listen, I’ve told you a million times: I want peace.”

“That's not what I’m talking about,” Madara cut in, “I know that. It’s like your fucking mantra. I want to know why you care so much. And don’t you god damn lie to me. I deserve this much.”

Tobirama looked at him blankly for a moment. A beat passed. Two. Tobirama’s eyes flicked to the ground, then back up at Madara. Another second. His mouth thinned into a line. He drew a breath. Swallowed it. Said nothing. Silence stretched like an eternity. 

Madara had never seen Tobirama hesitate this long. 

Madara sighed. 

“Nevermind.” he waved off, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I… Whatever. What did I expect-”

“My brothers died.”

Madara looked back up, shocked. Tobirama was not meeting his gaze. Staring off into a nearby wall, face visibly uncomfortable. 

“What?” 

“I had two younger brothers…ah, once...  Kawarama and Itama.” Tobirama explained carefully, “They both died on courier missions before they even came of age. Kawarama was seven, he was long dead before we even found out. Itama was six. An Uchiha squad got him, but he managed to escape with a fatal wound. Held on for an hour before I got to him. He died in my arms.”

“If I had to guess,” Tobirama’s voice turned sardonic and cold suddenly, “I would say it started there.”

Madara was speechless. He didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t expected Tobirama to actually answer. He had expected something cryptic or noncommittal again, or more likely nothing at all. Not that. 

His first instinct was to comfort him, but that would be inappropriate. Those were Uchiha shinobi. Those were his family who killed Tobirama’s. His next instinct was to apologize. But he couldn’t. It was a war, and the Senju had killed just as many Uchiha. Even if he did either, he imagined Tobirama would not care, nor be comforted. 

Instead, all he could manage was.

“How do you not hate us?”

How on earth did that push a man to peace instead of vengeance? If Tobirama had killed Izuna, Madara would have stopped at nothing to ensure Tobirama and his clan would be razed to the ground. He knew he would. It was madness, but Madara knew with certainty that if Izuna was dead he would welcome insanity with open arms. 

And yet Tobirama, a man long dubbed as a warmonger, chose peace. 

Tobirama shrugged, an action that seemed all to light for the topic at hand, but it was all he had to offer.

“If we had been at war with any other clan, my brothers would have died just the same. I have had years to separate my pain from my anger. War was what killed them, the Uchiha were only the vessel.”

The perfect saneness of it almost made Madara think of insanity. To detach yourself that much from pain to look at it logically.  

Tobirama looked back at him and huffed quietly at the look on his face.

“I’m not a saint, Madara. I have not forgiven, nor forgotten. But Kawarama and Itama are dead. They have been dead for years. Nothing will - and no power can - change that. Vengeance only leads to more dead. And I am smart enough to avoid that irony.”

Tobirama shook his head, “I have not moved on in the slightest - only moved forward. That’s all.”

Again, Madara was left speechless. Silence returned, Tobirama looked back at him expectantly. Waited for him to find his words. Madara waited for that too. 

“I couldn’t do that,” he managed. 

“I know.” was all Tobirama replied. .

And that was the truth of it, wasn’t it? Tobirama knew him like no other. 

Then Tobirama turned on his heel and walked off, as if their conversation had never happened, and disappeared into the halls of the Hokage tower without Madara.

And Madara was yet again alone.

—

“Do you think you would be able to kill them?” 

“Thats a fucking cruel question to ask.”

Tobirama hummed, eyes skimming across the training field where Izuna’s students were sparring. The two Senju girls were sparring while Uchiha Yuko was cooling down in the shade after her last match. Tomoko and Kazumi traded quick jabs, working on what Izuna claimed was a severe lacking in their taijutsu. 

“I think it is a fair one,” Tobirama responded, “They’re gennin now, aren't they? They should be going on their first missions soon.”

Izuna nodded slowly, “they finished their first D-rank yesterday. A rabid dog in the market. They’ll be facing some actual combat in I estimate one or two months.”

“If war were to restart, they’d be seeing the battlefield then.”

Izuna scowled, “You’re an asshole.”

“So I've been told.” Tobirama slid his eyes closed, buried himself a little deeper in his fur collar “do you think you could do it?”

A voice called from the other end of the field.

“Sensei! Tomoko used jutsu!”

Izuna called back, “Tomoko, this is taijutsu practice. Didn’t you tell me you wanted to show off how far you’ve progressed to Tobirama?”

Tobirama raised a brow.

Izuna shrugged.

“She told me you used to teach her and wanted to impress you. I’ve gotta say, from what I saw of her skills when I took her in, you’re not very good at this whole sensei thing.”

“I was not her primary teacher. Only supplementary when I had the time. Which was not often.”

“You were busy back then, weren’t you?”

Tobirama did not feel like humoring him.

“Of course I was.”

Izuna rolled his eyes, then focused back on his students, “Kazumi! Fix your fist, you’re gonna break a finger like that. And Yuko! Stop throwing rocks at those birds, you should be watching your teammates spar!”

Tobirama chuckled lightly.

“Don’t laugh” Izuna snapped, “They’re doing this on purpose. I told them to put their best foot forward today so I could brag. They like to embarass me.”

“You’ve done well with them Izuna.”

“Yeah yeah, laugh it up.”

“I’m not.”

“I’ve fought you for long enough to know what amusement sounds like in your voice.”

A genuine smile quirked on his lips. 

“I see.”

Izuna looked at him from the corner of his eye. Privately, he couldn’t help admitting that when Tobirama wasn’t trying to be, he was actually half decent. Since taking on his squad of gennin, Izuna had been more involved with the academy and shinobi system of Konoha than he had even considered being previously. Though he hated to see it, they were good. Those things were more than good. And Tobirama had no small part in their establishment. 

“How about one more rivalry?” Izuna suggested, out of the blue.

Tobirama tilted his head, “oh?”

“You bring Kagami over here one day and have him spar against my students. It could help them learn better than just working with me and each other. And then we can see who’s finally the best teacher and who is a massive wimp.”

Tobirama sighed deeply. 

“So you know about Kagami?”

“I know that someone has been teaching him,” Izuna replied in lieu of answer, “and I can recognize your fighting style anywhere. Don’t worry, nobody else knows, and I won’t tell. Especially not Madara.”

“Why?” he replied, genuinely shocked.

“Because my brother has more than enough reasons to hate you.”

“I would never have pegged you as the type to defend my honor.”

“Don’t get it twisted,” Izuna scoffed, “I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for him. I still don’t trust you Tobirama, but that’s my job, okay? It’s always been my job to figure out your latest scheme and protect my people from it. And it will continue to be. My job is to distrust you, to hate you, and to complain about you. Got it? Madara’s job is to do whatever he thinks is best for the Uchiha, and we both know he thinks that's peace.”

Izuna frowned, and sadness crept - only for a moment - into his features.

“And it might be ironic for me of all people to say this, but he hates you so much he can’t even be happy in peace. I mean, I never thought it could happen, in any capacity. I still don’t know if it will last. But he did. He does - maybe. But even now that he has it, instead of enjoying it he’s just miserable. And hell I know I’m part of the problem, I know that all too well… but I just wish he could be happy. I mean, his dreams - at least briefly! - came true. That's what anybody wants for their family…”

Tobirama felt that he had heard those words somewhere else before, but did not care to think about it too deeply. He couldn’t do that, because then he would start thinking about more, when he had committed himself to enough and to nothing at all. 

And for the first time since they made their deal, Tobirama felt truly bad for what he had done to Madara. That maybe he had been too harsh… he didn’t know. He didn’t like the uncertainty of that. He felt… regretful that he may have pushed Madara too far. 

Breaking the silence, he said “I’ll bring Kagami over sometime.”

Izuna smiled slightly but it looked forced, pained. 

“That’s good.”

They turned their attention back to the field. Yuko had subbed back into spar, and now Kazumi was collapsed in the shade of the nearby alder tree. She said something which made Yuko and Tomoko laugh. Then joined in herself, laughing right along.

“I’d do it, you know,” Izuna said.

Tobirama looked over at him, and saw Izuna staring at his students with his sharingan activated and an expression of absentminded horror on his face. 

“If war started back up again.” he continued, “For my clan. I’d do it…”

Then Izuna turned to Tobirama and his eyes returned back to dark and searching. He locked gaze with Tobirama, and Tobirama did not dare look away. Izuna, when he spoke, wore grief like a shackle. 

“..but I would hesitate.”

—

It was about the fifth time Izuna had come home covered in bruises. 

Madara knew that no matter what, he would be pissed off about this. There was nothing Izuna could really do, sans stopping, that would ever calm him down. And that was never going to happen, he knew that. It wasn't entirely Izuna's fault. However, his little brother certainly didn’t help . He didn’t even try to hide it, striding in through the front door sporting a fresh shiner and a smug grin. He practically peacocked his injuries, strutting around with split lips and bleeding knuckles and locking eyes with Madara with the clear challenge: what are you going to do about it? 

Izuna was doing that just now, smiling at him from across the dinner table. Blood was dried on his upper lip from what had clearly been a hard hit to the nose. The brat hadn’t even bothered to wipe it away.

Madara sighed and set down Izuna’s portion in front of him before doing the same on his side of the table, sitting down also. 

“You could at least act less smug.”

Izuna tilted his head like a panther gauging the distance for its pounce. 

“About what?” he asked. 

Madara sent him a withering look, not wanting to entertain him. He turned his attention down to his food, letting his chopsticks pick through the fish he had prepared them. Madara had never cared for servants making his food, despite how strange that was for a clan head. Instead, he liked the repetition and structure of doing it. It felt good to provide something like that for his family. It brought him closer to them. 

He wondered when he had begun to start hating it. 

Realising he wasn’t going to take the bait, Izuna took it another step further. 

“Tobirama’s still as ruthless as ever. You would think being allies would make him tone it down a bit in a spar but no. Hell he almost took my head off today-”

“Izuna!” Madara shouted.

Izuna faked reproach, “I’m terribly sorry. I shouldn’t have reminded you of your trauma. My apologies.”

Madara looked at his brother searchingly, finding not much besides contempt and smug satisfaction from getting a rise out of him.

“I don’t get it Izuna,” his voice turned hard and mean, “You get mad when I fuss about you. You get mad when I don’t. What on earth do you fucking want from me?”

Izuna leaned forward over the table. His hand haphazardly knocked his chopsticks over, though Madara didn’t think he cared. Izuna wasn’t going to eat anything Madara made anyway. Not tonight.

“I want you to get the fuck over yourself already.”

Madara scoffed, “Oh? I’m the one who has to get over myself. I’m not the one who goes out and purposefully gets injured to flaunt it. I’m not the god damn one running around like an idiot parading how much of a hit he can take! You’ve made your point Izuna!”

“Then why don’t you fucking trust me!” Izuna hissed.

“I do!”

“No you still don’t!” Izuna shot back, “When I used to return from sparring with Hikaku messed up just like this you would fucking laugh. You’d push me around and tease me. You’d treat it like it was no big deal! Now you look at me like I already have one foot in the grave!”

“Hikaku was different,” he pointed out, “he’s our cousin. Not the man who has spent years trying to kill you! If it's truly a spar, then why must he be so cruel with it?”

“So you're insinuating Tobirama is a traitor to the peace?”

Madara balked, “no of course not!”

“Then why on earth do you think he’s still trying to kill me!”

“I don’t-”

“You act like it! And if it's not because if it’s not Tobirama, it must be me then.”

“That's not what I’m saying either-”

“Then what is it?”

Madara shot up, snapping, “I’m just trying to protect you! Why can’t you be okay with that!”

Izuna scowled, “Because I’m not a child, Madara. You can’t seem to get over that. Can’t seem to get over your stupid fucking fear. Do you know how much Hashirama trusts Tobirama? He practically entrusted this entire village to him. Name any major project in this fucking place and I guarantee he had a hand in it! Meanwhile you have to fucking fight me over taking a simple assassination mission! Do you know how many of the like I did during the war! I’d lost count!”

“That's ” he bit out, “not the same thing.”

Izuna raised a brow at him, “And how exactly.”

He didn’t know. It just was.

At his lack of an answer, Izuna scoffed. 

“Yknow, for as cruel as Tobirama can be, at least he takes me seriously.”

—

When Madara reached the scene, there was so much going on that even an activated Sharingan struggled to catch it all. 

He had been at the Hokage tower working when he was alerted to a growing scuffle in the heart of Konoha and had raced down as fast as he could. Should it have been a normal conflict, he would have left it alone to somebody else. But as soon as the assistant who alerted him had mentioned it was a conflict between a Senju and Uchiha, he leapt from his desk like blades were already drawn.

And knowing Uchiha and Senju, they very well could be. 

Now here, he skid to a stop in the middle of the growing commotion, feet digging deep lines into the hard dirt ground. 

A crowd had gathered and writhed in different tones of fury, confusion, and fear. In the center of the crowd, a Senju shinobi was clutching a hand to her cheek, while an Uchiha shinobi raged at her, screaming and attempting to get to her while three other people held him back. 

“You killed him, you Senju bitch! You killed him!” screamed Uchiha Juro. Three tomoe spun in his eye, and he struggled against the hands restraining him.

The Senju shinobi, young woman of budding adolescence, had tears slip down her cheeks. There was blood on her skin, blood on her armor, blood on her hands. Madara did not know her.

“Please, listen to me, I did not kill him!” she sobbed back, her tears cutting a path through the blood on her flushed cheeks. 

“He’s dead because of you! You killed him!”

“I didn’t- please!”

“You fucking bitch!”

Madara’s voice roared over the chaos, “Silence!”

The crowd in an instant quieted, and the Senju girl and Juro turned to him. He saw now that there were tears in Juro’s eyes as well, leaking from behind a darkened brow and a murderous face.

“Lord Madara!” he snarled, leveraging a finger at the girl on the ground, “Tomio is dead because of this witch!”

Madara stiffened, but before he could get in a word edgewise, the girl cried out.

“Lord Madara, please believe me! I did no such thing!”

Madara quelled his rising fury, and set it aside. Anger would do him no good. 

“Tell me what happened, Senju.”

She hiccoughed a sob, “I was assigned on a mis-mission with Uchiha Tomio. We were ambushed by Wind shinobi, please, I did not kill him! He died fighting alongside me, not against me. Please, Lord Madara, I am no traitor!”

“Liar!” accused Juro, “You let him die! You killed him!”

“I did not!” she sobbed, “Please, I did not. I didn’t…” her frame shivered with gasped sobs, and she could no longer speak.

“Kill her Lord Madara!” Juro implored, “She killed our kin. She killed my cousin!”

At this point another Senju shinobi stepped forward with death in his eyes.

“How dare you!” he spat, and the ground cracked as his chakra grew. 

“She deserves death!” Juro screamed, teeth bared and spittle flying from his mouth. A fourth person had to jump in to stop him from breaking loose as he yet again tried to lurch forward.

“Fukcing Uchiha dogs,” the Senju man hissed, “you can’t even control your own clan members. I knew we should have never agreed to peace with these mutts!”

“What did you call us!”

“We should have wiped your clan from the earth when we had the chance!”

“I’ll rip your fucking throat out!”

“Uchiha vermin!”

“Senju rats!”

The rest of the crowd soon began to join in, screaming at eachother and hurling all manner of insults. They were at each other’s throats, all a hair's breadth away from violence. Madara was used to being engulfed in violence, but not so much as being set apart from it. 

There were, of course, other clans in the crowd beyond the Senju and the Uchiha, but fire country had long been consumed in their blood feud. Few clans had not been involved in some way. There were alliances centuries old, all divided by the constant war between the Uchiha and Senju. 

Now, Madara registered the two sides beginning to separate and scream with a sort of numb horror. It became very clear for the first time, how quick peace could turn to war. How delicately it balanced on a blade’s edge. 

How had he ever believed this could work, all those years ago?

How did Hashirama still? 

The anger he saw before him roared like a great beast, rippling with muscles and bearing its teeth. This was not something a human could kill, this was not something that could die at all. It breathed in shuddered breaths and cried out with a mangled howl of thousands of voices. It burned with hellfire and all evil that had ever been - each jealous eye, each callous voice, each blade ever forged, each person ever killed. This beast seemed to look at Madara now, stood before him as a raging crowd and screaming voices, as a Senju shoving an Uchiha and an Uchiha about to strike them back. 

Madara could feel its sulfur breath across his face, and could see the monster clearly now. From his maw dripped the blood of thousands of generations, and in its eyes Madara saw himself, he saw Izuna, he saw every human that had ever been. 

How could Tobirama ever think he could overcome this?

Madara felt a great fear build in his chest, staring down that beast. He had never felt smaller. For fucks sake, he was a clan head. He could level mountains, he could defeat any foe. He had survived years of war, of mutilation and death and torture. But then, his hands had been on the reins, he had been using the anger, had been guiding it. The beast had been on his leash, and it had also been on the Senju’s.

In accepting peace, he let go of that leash. It was not his tool to use anymore.

For the first time ever, Madara stood face to face with hatred as his enemy. And he saw how easily it could consume him. 

But amidst the chaos, his eyes fell on the crying Senju girl. She was a spot of glowing white and red in the center of darkened hatred. Her face in her hands, all alone in the dirt. She alone stood apart from The Beast. 

As if in a dream, Madara moved through the crowd until he was kneeling at her side.

Her voice, drowned out by the roar of the crowd, was just barely audible.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered into her hands. 

Madara held back the part of him that was inclined to side with his clan. The part that would willingly brand this crying girl a murderer and never think twice.

“Why?” he asked instead.

Her eye’s emerged from her lowering hands, red rimmed, and a beautiful blue. 

“If I had been stronger,” she said, not really seeing him, “if I had only been stronger. He wouldn’t have died.”

Those were not the words of a murderer.

“Why care?” he replied apathetically, “You are Senju, he was Uchiha.”

Now she looked at him, “I was supposed to be his comrade. I’m only alive because he died. If I had been stronger, if I had only been stronger…”

She repeated those words to herself like a mantra, rocking back and forth on her shins, apologizing again and again.

And somehow, the crowd began to quiet.

Eyes began to turn to her, and restless hands began to still. Voices quieted, and people looked to the Senju girl.

“If I had only been stronger…” she sobbed.

Her voice was quiet and small, but as the other voices faded away, she could be heard by more and more. Madara watched in still amazement as the screaming subsided, and he - along with the rest of the crowd - looked on at this girl with amazement. 

“If I had only been stronger…”

The crowd seemed to register it, as Madara had.

Those were not the words of a murderer.

Where had The Beast gone? Madara did not know, but it had bowed its head slowly, and shrunk from that girl like a wildcat shrunk from fire. 

“Go home everybody,” Madara’s voice sounded foreign to his own ears, croaked out as it came. 

Eyes turned to him.

“Go home,” he repeated, “You have already done enough damage. She did not kill Uchiha Tomio, that much is clear…”

He glanced up briefly, and saw The Beast still in them, but now it was hesitant. Even this could not kill it, even this… He shook his head.

“Just go.”

He did not know how long he remained knelt there in the dirt, only that everyone soon did as he said. By the time he looked up, even the girl was gone. The sun was beginning to set.

Across the now desolate street, a man with red eyes watched him.

“You couldn’t have stepped in?” he asked roughly.

Tobirama’s mouth was flat, “I cannot be everywhere at once.”

Madara hummed.

“You will fail. This peace will fail.”

Tobirama did not waver. He never seemed to. Steadfast, always.

“At least I will have tried.”

“And what does that matter in the end? My blade will meet your neck by the spring,” Madara promised, “nobody can tame hatred that deep.”

Tobirama only looked at him like he knew something Madara didn’t. For the first time, he smiled at Madara. Not scornful or sarcastic, but a genuine smile. Small, and warm, reaching his eyes. Without an ounce of hatred, that dark beast banished from the expression entirely. 

It was almost pity. Pity that Madara could not see what those clear eyes could. 

Most confusingly, it was almost fondness. A sort of pride. Tobirama, the man Madara would kill by the end of the year, looked at Madara like there was hope. 

Hope Madara was somehow blind to, but that Tobirama was not.

He smiled down at him, from where hatred and hopelessness consumed his broken form, collapsed on the ground.

And he laughed.

“We’ll see, Madara.”

—

Madara thought about that smile for a while. 

He realized that it disturbed him. To a shinobi, knowledge was survival. When you couldn’t spot the hidden blade, you died. When your opponent knew your moves, and you didn’t know theirs, that was it. Madara himself had never been a spymaster. He was too volatile and blunt for that, but he knew even that much. 

He knew how much Tobirama hid. Anyone with half a brain knew Tobirama liked to keep his cards close to chest and didn’t let anyone see them.

Since their deal, Tobirama liked to bleed his hand to Madara. To smirk over his shoulder and flash the cards he had lined up, fully aware that Madara couldn’t do anything to stop him from raking in the chips. In some cases, Madara even helped him. Actually, he was sure that in all situations, Madara somehow helped Tobirama. He wasn’t sure how, but Tobirama never did anything without purpose. 

But through all of it - what he knew and what he didn’t, he knew that Tobirama was dangerous. It was a constant as universal as gravity. The secrets Tobirama kept were sharp edged and dangerous - each one more deadly than a senbon to the throat. 

Madara had always known that - had even grown used to it. 

Now Tobirama had a secret that was soft-edged as a smile. 

Ever time Madara thought back to that moment, he noticed something different. 

The way the setting sun filtered through Tobirama’s snow white hair. The way his red eyes, which Madara always thought so cold, glowed like light streaming through an autumn forest. The way that smile softened Tobirama’s imperious face. The way his cheeks pulled up his geometric tattoos until they took on organic shape.

The way Tobirama thawed, if only for a second.

Madara kept revisiting the image. Trying to find some fault - the hidden dagger. The darkness. The danger. 

And each time he failed. 

It disturbed him. Or, rather, it left him off kilter. Like everything he knew about Tobirama was wrong. 

The next day, he arrived at work early in the morning. He shook the fall chill off him as he entered the Hokage Tower. Winter was coming on soon. Releasing his chakra just the slightest bit, he rubbed warmth back into his hands.

In a way, he was excited for the winter. He looked forward to the first snow. Madara would never be the biggest fan of the cold, but he was excited to see clans children playing in the snow and to drink kanzake. 

He finished warming himself back up and headed up to his office. He rose through a section of stairs and into the dimly lit hall on the top floor. Morning twilight had just begun to pour through the windows. As he shuffled through the hall, he noticed a light on in one of the offices. The door was just slightly ajar, letting out a sliver of warm candle light into the otherwise blue shadowed hall. 

It was Tobirama’s office, though he knew Tobirama would never forget to blow out a candle. He was very cautious of fire.

Madara walked to the other end of the hall to peer into the office. 

Unsurprisingly, he saw a head of white hair bent over the desk, hands working diligently through a intimidatingly large stack of paper. 

Madara rapped his knuckles against the side of the door. 

Tobirama looked up. He was not wearing his happuri, Madara noted. In fact, even his fur collar was discarded and hung across the back of his chair. Candlelight played warmly off his skin, glittering in his eyes. 

Madara was hit with the memory of that smile again. What on earth had Tobirama been thinking back then? 

“Madara, did you need something?”

Madara startled back into the present. 

“Ah,” he said dully, “no. Good morning.”

“You’re here early than normal,” Tobirama noted. He reached for his happuri and fixed it into place. Giving it a tug, Tobirama’s fur slithered off the back of his chair and into his hands. Almost not even knowing he was doing it, the Senju snapped the clasps of the collar closed around his shoulders. 

Madara could not help but notice how much the fur bulked Tobirama out. The other man was by no means skinny. He was a well muscled shinobi, tall and broad. Less built out than Madara, but not quite as lithe as Izuna. Not really big , but not even in the realms of being considered small.

But with his fur and face armor, Tobirama looked larger than life. Even just sitting there in the soft candlelight, he looked intimidating - or just that he commanded attention. That he was guarded.

Unbidden, Madara could not help but mourn the Tobirama who was there just a few seconds ago. He seemed easier to talk to.

“What are you working on?” he decided to ask instead of answering. 

Tobirama sent him a brief look that Madara could not discern, then replied.

“I’m finishing up some logistic elements about the ANBU. We have a meeting about finalizing their establishment today and I want to make sure everything is done by then.”

Madara made a noise of acknowledgement, then picked up a few papers to glance through them. It was the pretty typical stuff, procedure, filing, budget. All that. He flipped through the pages, skimming the text. He came to a pause.

“You’ve already been approved as the commander?”

Tobirama had gone back to working in the meantime and did not look back up to answer. 

“You know, those are classified documents. Hokage and involved party eyes only.”

“I’m your co-conspirator. Surely I deserve to know.”

He could have been imagining it but he saw Tobirama’s lips tick up ever so. 

Madara’s eyes traced lazily over the document, “I’m just surprised it was so cut and dry. Was there no one else to consider?”

“I’m good at this sort of thing. Why leave the sea if you’re looking for fish? Besides, I’m one of the top shinobi in Konoha, and Izuna is busy with his new team.”

Madara’s eyebrows raised.

“You know about them?”

“I set it up,” Tobirama responded, “and even if I didn’t. I deal with all the paperwork whenever he and his trio of terrors rampage through Konoha. It would be impossible not to know.”

Madara leaned his weight against Tobirama’s desk. He sat there considering. 

“He’s been a lot more tame once he started working with them, you know.”

Tobirama glanced up at him with a deadpan expression, “of course I know. Why do you think I did it?”

Madara couldn’t help but chuckle, “Yeah, you fucking narcissist. Of course that's it.”

“I never do anything unless it has a purpose.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Madara admitted, “otherwise you wouldn’t put so much effort into mocking me.”

Tobirama was silent for a second.

Madara didn’t wait for him to answer, shrugging, “I suppose we all need fun from time to time.”

“...you’re being awfully amicable this morning.”

“Maybe I’m just too tired to be angry right now.”

“Then I will have to look into ways to wear you out.”

Madara barked a laugh, “Was that a joke?”

Tobirama made that face he did whenever he thought Madara was being stupid. His face scrunching up ever so slightly. It was a genuine emotion that Madara realized he never saw Tobirama express with anyone else. 

It made him wonder, who else did Tobirama let see behind the act? He knew that he was one of the few, but for the life of him he couldn’t name another. Not even Hashirama seemed to crack that iron mask Tobirama always wore. 

“You’ve heard me make jokes before.”

“They’re usually more cutting,” Madara teased, “what? Did you run out of material?”

Tobirama let his unimpressed gaze rake over Madara, “as if you would ever cease providing ammunition.”

“Yeah, fuck you too.”

They fell into a tolerable silence. The sound of Tobirama’s pen scratching across the paper was the only thing to fill the room. Madara watched him out of the corner of his eye, and he held no doubts Tobirama knew. In the dim light, Tobirama’s tattooed hands looked almost black except in the very crux of the candlelight. There they shone as red as his mother’s roses. 

He wondered why he created another weapon like seal storage when Tobirama must have known peace was coming. There didn’t seem to be any point. 

“I hear you’ve been speaking more with Izuna,” Madara mentioned.

“I have,” Tobirama confirmed.

“About what?”

“His gennin squad primarily. But I help him get set up with some missions as well so he doesn't get bored.”

“Why do you care?”

Tobirama made that scrunched expression again.

“You know why.”

Madara rolled his eyes, “yeah yeah, everything you do is for peace. But you didn’t have to go that far. I think… he's fine now. Hell, I think that I’m the angry one half of the time now, and that was never how it used to be.”

“I apologize.”

“Don’t,” Madara cut him off, “You don’t mean it. And I don’t regret it either. It's hard to talk with you because it seems like every time we do, it’s because I sought you out for something you did. I start every conversation already angry. We’re always at odds. In fact, I think this might be the only fully civil conversation we’ve ever had. I think this will fail, Tobirama… But for now, I am glad it has happened.”

Tobirama regarded him silently, considering. Whatever gears were turning behind his eyes, Madara wasn’t privy to. In the face of Tobirama’s calmness, he smiled gently.

“Bet that’s something you never expected to hear from me.”

“No, at least not out loud,” Tobirama agreed.

“Because you drive me fucking insane, Tobirama. You make me mad like no other. And you do it on purpose. ” Madara reamed, then drew a breath, “but I know that you’re on the side of peace. And… and so am I. But you already knew that - that I believed in peace, or at least would be willing to try.” 

Madara muttered the last part almost to himself,  “Yeah. You knew that. Maybe before I did.”

“What inspired this sudden goodwill?” Tobirama asked. 

That smile back then. What did it mean?

Madara frowned, “I don’t know, it won’t last.”

Tobirama dipped his pen into the inkwell, “Well I suppose that is a typical mindset for you to have.”

“Don’t say you disagree.”

“You may have a point, but only in this case,” Tobirama’s pen touched down on the paper. The ink blotted out in a large spot and Tobirama wrinkled his nose. He dabbed the extra ink up with his knuckle and continued with a slightly miffed expression. 

“Peace won’t last.” Madara said, “You're a pragmatist, you must know that.”

“I do not wish to repeat myself.”

Madara sighed, “at the very least you’ve managed to get Izuna to settle down somehow. You never answered my question, by the way. Why on earth would you go so far for him?”

Madara could nearly see Tobirama think through different dialogue options before settling on his choice. Everything he did - planned. 

“It would be a waste for someone as capable as Izuna to never see the battlefield again.”

Madara felt sparks of anger snap at the challenge. 

“Don’t treat my brother like a fucking commodity.”

“I’m not,” Tobirama glared at him cuttingly, “I’m treating him like a person.”

“Quite the lofty accusation,” Madara returned, “Out of all you have implied about me, I must say this takes the cake. I care for Izuna. You know that, otherwise we wouldn’t be here right now.”

“Of course you care for him. That’s obvious. But what you don’t do is trust him,” Tobirama’s voice was very monotone, like a professor might drone through an especially boring lesson, “He’s a capable shinobi. We both know the only reason I was able to get the jump on him last time was in exception to his skill. Not because of a lack of it. Anyone would have lost to that jutsu the first time around, even me, even you. And now, you baby him.. You treat him like he might trip and fall on his own blade. Like a child. ”

Madara bristled, “My being worried for him is not me babying him.”

“Madara,” Tobirama set down his pen, shooting him a withering look, “why on earth do you think I’m telling you this?”

Tobirama never does anything without a purpose. The golden rule Madara lived by in order to survive him. 

When he didn’t respond, Tobirama huffed. 

“You care about him. Stop letting that be a wedge between you two. One man’s shield is another’s cage. You should think about what he wants. That's why you fail, Madara. Because you can't dare to imagine a world different from your own - or you have simply forgotten how to.”

Madara didn’t have a retort, just building pressure behind his ribs. 

The sun had continued to rise as they had talked, and now the first rays of morning slipped through the window in Tobirama’s office. Beyond the glass, Madara could see lights in the village begin to flicker on as the sleeping city awoke. 

He almost felt mournful. 

He and Tobirama could only be like this when the rest of the world was away. He didn’t know why it was. Maybe it was something in their blood. Something about them that had to repel against each other so fiercely. Privately, Madara knew he had a large part of the fault in it. He started most arguments, he was temperamental and impassioned. But Tobirama bit back with the sharpness of a winter gale. Madara knew it was intentional, how upset Tobirama made him - the man had even confessed it once.

Though Tobirama had mentioned, softly as one would whisper a conspiracy against one’s self, that it was not all he was intent to do. 

Why Tobirama did anything was a mystery Madara could never hope to uncover - but he wished he could. If not only to finally demask the man, but to understand him. To sate his sudden need to know that always out of reach why.

Madara had caught glimpses of the real Tobirama before. The man without his armor and without his fur. The man who looked with an untold fondness towards children. The man who grinned wryly when he teased Madara. The man who had looked shocked when Madara had once apologized to him. The man who had smiled. 

Madara exited the office briskly. 

When he returned a minute later with an extra chair and writing set, Tobirama looked at him with a question left unsaid.  

Madara sat down and pulled a portion of papers off the massive stack Tobirama was working through. He did not say anything. He had found that between them, words only cut. And Madara knew sometime in the future, they would cut again, but he could not bear that moment to be now. 

So together as the sun rose, they worked. 

—

The ANBU meeting proceeded without much fanfare. Tobirama had worked too hard and planned too long for any other outcome to have occurred. They mostly sat around the table approving things and making minor adjustments here and there. Nothing of actual substance. Soon enough, they were filing out of the meeting room with a satisfied air like they had done anything at all. 

Madara watched Tobirama leave and wondered what project he was leaving to complete next while everyone went home and congratulated themselves on a job well done. 

He almost moved to follow him, but a hand grabbed his arm before he could.

“Madara, can I talk to you for a minute?” Hashirama asked

He cast one glance back at Tobirama, then returned to Hashirama.

“What is it?” he asked.

Hashirama watched warily as the rest of the council left the room. Only when the door finally shut with a soft click did the Senju clan head let out a sign of relief and turn back to Madara with a lopsided smile.

“Sorry about that. It’s just something that I can’t have unwanted ears being privy to.”

Instantly, Madara was on guard. Hashirama wasn’t exactly the conspiratorial, plotting type. He had all the subtlety of a bull in a china shop. 

“What is it?”

“It’s about the ANBU,” Hashirama admitted, “I just wanted to run some things by you… privately.”

Madara felt some of that tension seep out of him, replaced by a bone deep tiredness. 

“Hashirama I have already spent the last few hours making my opinion on the ANBU perfectly clear. I voted in their favor, did I not? Between Tobirama’s frankly obsessive plans and the inane levels of detail we insist on arguing over during these meetings, I would say there is little left to be said at all.”

Hashirama made a pained expression, and Madara suddenly felt with some pride that despite how much Izuna had teased him about his lack of a poker face, he would always be better than his friend. 

“I know, I just…” Hashirama let out a breath, “I just wanted to make sure you were absolutely honest, you know? Like, listen I understand that something is going on between Tobirama and you. I see you two arguing far too much for it to be simple work acquaintances, but don’t let him bully you into his ideas if you don’t agree.”

Madara blanched.

When Hashirama didn’t get an answer, he sighed.

“I don’t want to speak ill of my own brother, but that's what he does, you know? There’s no way to say it nicely. He can be so cruel to get his way. I am aware of it, Madara. It’s why he’s hated so much.”

Stupefied, Madara managed, “...he does that for you.” 

Hashirama’s face fell into something heartbroken.

“I know.”

Tobirama had made Madara feel a lot of things before. Anger primarily; Fear as well; hatred and loathing; wariness and paranoia; frustration. Each one carefully massed and measured by Tobirama himself before delivered promptly to Madara’s hands. Furious and terrified, yes, but calculated and controlled.

Tobirama had never made him feel sad. And sad in his place at that.

Stiffly, Madara replied, “is that all?”

Not catching the hint, Hashirama barreled on. 

“No. Another thing. Because I know you two are at odds so much I wanted to ask your opinion on something. My current appointment for the ANBU commander, well, it’s Tobirama.”

It wasn’t anything Madara didn’t already know, but he still felt himself go cold. Shockily though, it was not at the mention of Tobirama’s name, but because Hashirama had said it. 

“Why are you telling me this?” he asked, “Isn’t this classified? What input am I supposed to have here?”

“I just wanted to see if you wanted someone else. If there would be someone more suited and less… well you understand.”

Madara did understand. He didn’t understand why Hashirama was agreeing though. Madara could hate Tobirama - that was fine. It made sense. But Tobirama had given everything for Hashirama. For his dream. For peace. 

And what he was repaid with was scorn. 

Distantly, old words echoed through his mind. 

“Nobody will ever forgive Senju Tobirama.” ‘And no one will ever thank him’

Not even his own brother. 

“You want my honest opinion?” Madara started, suddenly angry, “That position is going to fucking destroy him. Maybe not on it’s own, but with everything else he does it will. He cannot live fourty fucking lives, Hashirama. He cannot be your support in the council, your advisor in the war room, your boots on the ground, your structure, your plan, your goddamn sword and shield. He will destroy himself. Nobody, not even Senju fucking Tobirama can do all that and survice.”

Hashirama physically jerked back in surprise, both at Madara’s tone and his words. 

“Since when do you care so much about Tobirama?” Hashirama challenged. 

Good question. 

“Since when have you stopped?”

Hashirama looked like someone had gutted him. 

“Don’t say that to me. I have never stopped-”

Madara cut him off, “Then why are you so intent to let him destroy himself?!”

The other man didn’t reply for a long time, staring at Madara with hard eyes but a tightly cinched mouth, clearly lacking the words. 

After two long breaths of time, Madara snapped.

“Well?”

Hashirama finally unwound slightly, just enough where he could speak, but with tension still thick in his voice. As if every single word took considerable effort to say.

“And what am I supposed to do Madara? It’s what he wants. It’s what he had always done.”

“What kind of a question is that? You stop him!”

“Nobody can stop Tobirama!” Hashirama screamed back. He gupled a breath, calmed himself, and continued, “Madara, he will let people tear him to shreds far sooner than he would ever consider stopping. It’s who he is, and god knows if I could go back in time and somehow stop whatever made him like this I would. God knows if I could make him stop right now I would do it in a heartbeat. But I can’t. Because it’s what he wants to do.”

Hashirama scowled, an unwelcome expression on his normally bright face.

“Do you know what he said to me the night after he almost killed Izuna? He said it was fine because you wouldn’t be angry at me, you would only be angry at him.”

Somehow, that seemed entirely in character for Tobirama and at the same time upheaved everything Madara thought he knew about him. 

Hashirama sighed, face still dark.

“It’s what he wants, Madara. I can’t do anything about that.”

Madara stared unrecognizably at his friend. In the entire time he had known Hashirama, he had never seen the other man give up. From skipping rocks, to holding on to the dream of peace through years of bloodshed. Hashirama persevered. He kept hope that he could somehow change the world. 

And yet he stood entirely unconvinced he could do anything for his brother.

“This,” Madara hissed darkly, “is what I hate about Senju. You always fucking give up.”

Before Hashirama could respond, Madara began to storm out of the council room. He heard Hashirama shouting his name, but Madara did not care. He wrenched the door open and strode past. 

As he slammed the door shut behind him a dark thought crossed his mind.

And I have given up too. 

—

Tobirama caught Madara about a minute after he rather explosively left the council room, catching briskly up to Madara’s stomping pace.

“Mind telling me what that was about?” he demanded.

“No.” Madara replied gruffly.

“I think I deserve to know why you stormed out on Hashirama like he killed your dog. This is a partnership. And when somebody flies off the rails in a way I can’t predict, I need to know why.”

Madara threw a disbelieving, angry look back at him.

“Do my ears deceive me, or did I do something that Senju Tobirama could not predict? I think I would revel in this more if I didn’t give a shit about humoring you right now.”

“What did he say to you, Madara?”

“I don’t have to tell you. Shouldn’t you be off to the next little project anyway? Don’t you have a village to create?”

“I stayed behind because I was worried-”

Madara whirled around on him, “Worried about what Hashirama might do or worried about what I might!”

Tobirama stared hard back at him, “Surely I am not obliged to answer.”

“You have never refused before. What’s different now? Isn’t this a partnership?”

Tobirama scowled, disbelieving that he even had to explain this. Honestly, working with Madara made him want to tear his hair out on occasion. He was just so volatile! He took a calming breath and started again. 

“I tell you everything because I know I can trust you Madara. Because I understand you. So forgive me if I don’t want to share now that you are acting erratic.”

Madara laughed breathlessly, but in a way that did anything but imply good humor. 

“Erratic? We want to talk about erratic? What about you? What on earth is fucking wrong with you. I just don’t understand! Why are you so okay with everybody just fucking using you? Why don’t you have any god damn pride? Why are you okay with everyone hating you? Why do you incite it? And I swear to god, Tobirama, if you answer ‘peace’ then our deal is over! Damn the consequences!”

Tobirama staggered back, for once giving up ground that he usually held on to with an iron grip. He opened his mouth, but a soft voice cut him off.

“Ah, excuse me…”

The pair looked over. Well, Tobirama looked over, Madara more whipped around with murder on his mind. 

A small Hyuuga woman was standing in front of them. Her hair was long and tidy, gloves covering her delicate hands. Tobirama thinks he had heard about her, from Touka’s reports of the hospital. She was one of the medical shinobi working in the ward. From what Touka had offhandedly mentioned she was a good learner and very talented, if not a little strange. He tried to recall her name, but failed. 

Madara, meanwhile, had no such problem.

“Miss Meiko,” he said tersely, clearly forcing his tone to be gentler than he would like it to be at the moment, “me and Lord Tobirama are currently discussing something.” Some tension left his shoulders as he forced himself to regain a modicum of civility. 

“I know!” she rushed to explain, panicked, reaching out one gloved hand towards him before retracting it nervously, “I just…I finally built up the confidence and I would like to talk to you.” She shot a suddenly venomous glance at Tobirama, then specified, “alone.”

Well, Tobirama didn’t exactly want the conversation to go on anyway. Taking the exit, he began to excuse himself, “I will leave him to you then.”

“No,” Madara snapped, “You stay. We will finish this conversation after Ms. Meiko has finished her piece.”

Meiko jumped in, “I really think it would be better if-”

“He will stay.” Madara said firmly.

Tobirama resisted the urge to sigh, turning expectantly towards Meiko, who had begun to frown. He hoped in some part, it was communicated that he did not wish for this outcome either. Meiko did not seem to share any sympathy. 

“Very well then,” she conceded delicately. She cleared her throat and turned her expectant gaze up to Madara, “Lord Madara I have something to confess. I was too shy for a long time, and it has weighed down on me heavily, but I think it is time for me to finally come clean...”

Tobirama raised his eyebrows as the Hyuuga woman grabbed the edge of her gloves. There could be no way… Ha, surely not! As if to answer in the contrary, she began to pull her gloves off. 

“Please understand, I didn't mean to deceive you.” she continued, “I simply needed time to gather confidence.”

Sick horror lanced through Tobirama as Hyuuga Mieko finally pulled her hands free, letting the gloves fall to the ground and holding them proudly forward for Madara to see.

On her forefinger and thumb, her pale skin was stained red.

Tobirama suddenly felt cold terror in a way he had not felt in almost a year. That same, ice-blooded fear as when he had first washed his hands free of blood and found marks he could not smudge out. 

He had known, for a very long time, that what he was doing to Madara was unkind. It had become evident, as Konoha began to grow, that Madara cared for his soulmate with a ferocity anyone could see. And anyone could see just how painful Madara was to be alone, just how much it destroyed him to be without one who supposedly completed him.

Tobirama knew that keeping it from him, even if he did not reciprocate, was a spiteful thing to do.

However, this was just cruel.

Hastily, he turned to look at Madara and froze as soon as he did so.

He had expected stupefied awe, shock, some heart melting, gushy in-love look. He found none of that. 

Madara looked furious.

—-

In retrospect, it was bound to happen eventually. 

Madara was a powerful figure. He knew that. His status carried with it a lot of privileges and a lot of burdens. As a clan head, and not only that, but an Uchiha clan head, his power was rivaled only by the Senju clan head and the Daimyo himself. It was a throne full of prestige, respect, power. 

It made sense that people would take any opportunity to try and seize that. Madara knew that. He knew to expect that. It was par for the course. 

Still, he could not help the way pure, unadulterated fury crashed over him like a tidal wave. 

Madara had been mad before. He had killed in fits of anger before. Killed the enemy, killed allies, killed his own kin. But never, in his entire life, had he felt anger as he did now. He felt his skin flush hot and then blizzard like cold. A deep pit formed in his stomach and his body grew heavy with intent that built and built. 

The Hyuuga was saying something, but he didn’t care to hear. 

He didn’t even realize his sharingan was on until he realized she had not moved in what felt like minutes. He stared unblinkingly at her fingers for what seemed an eternity. It was nothing so simple as grease paint or a henge, those things the Sharingan could see through with ease. It was something deeper, more properly embedded in the flesh. If Madara didn’t have any memory of that night in the blizzard, he might have even been inclined to have believed her for a moment. 

But he did remember. And if he didn’t, that belief would only last a minute.

He had spent enough time observing the marks on his face with absolute clarity, and could pick apart the mistakes in her disguise by the hundreds. The stain too hard in some areas, to soft in others. So close to what was real but wrong just enough to make him feel disgusted.

It was a pitiful imitation. 

Glacier slow, he slid his gaze up to her face to see what rested there. 

She was looking up at him with poorly veiled greed and admiration. Between that, in the slight crease of her brow and clench of her reddened fingers, fear. 

It made Madara sick: this mockery. 

Distantly, he registered Tobirama looking at him. He didn’t even bother to look back. 

He was going to kill her. 

But before he could do anything of the sort, a hand shot out and grabbed the Hyuuga’s wrist firmly in it, wrenching her forward without any pretense of gentleness. 

Tobirama leaned forward, an anger Madara had very rarely seen decorating his face.

“Seal work,” he remarked tersely, “Clean as well. Who helped you do this, was it an Uzumaki?”

Meiko tried to jerk back, but she could not manage to free herself from Tobirama’s grasp.

“M-Madara!” she cried, “Make him stop!”

Madara couldn’t move. Couldn’t even dare to breathe in that moment. 

“Miss Hyuuga,” Tobirama said coldly, “You have no right to ask for the help of a man you are trying to trick.”

“I’m not trying to trick him!” she shouted, “Madara! Get him off me! He’s hurting me. He’s hurting your soulmate!”

Robotically, Madara loosened the muscles in his jaw until he could finally form words again.

“You are nothing of the sort.” he whispered.

Tobirama glanced unreadably back at him, then continued, “Good eye. Well done seal work is remarkably good at mimicking a soul mark.”

“Don’t believe him Madara! I’m your soulmate! I swear! What reason do I have to lie-”

“Miss Hyuuga,” Tobirama reminded sternly, “You have committed a crime and caused great offence to a clan head. If I were you, I would stay silent and try to preserve as much dignity as I could. Make no mistake, there will be consequences.”

She snapped to Tobirama, face twisted in fury, “You can't prove anything! I’m his soulmate! Just because you don’t believe me doesn't mean it’s not true. You can’t prove it-!”

Tobirama took his free hand and with a thread of chakra drew a couple glowing couple symbols into her arm. In a moment, the red on her fingers began to fade.

He looked altogether unimpressed, “Can’t I?”

Meiko’s face rapidly turned pale. 

“I must say, whoever did your seals must have been foolishly confident in their ability to fool a Mangekyo Sharingan user, they made these seals visually marvelous but altogether… well, just weak. Pitiful.”

Tobirama leaned over to hiss in her ear, “Pathetic.”

Meiko looked back at Madara, a modicum of hope shining in her eyes. She began to shout his name, but stopped halfway through as she registered the look on his face.

If Meiko had looked scared before, then she looked downright terrified now. 

Two guards rounded the corner, and Madara belatedly realized that Tobirama must have called through them via a ping of chakra. He had been much too out of it to notice. 

Similarly, he wanted with an almost removed interest as Meiko was summarily dragged away. She did momentarily try to put up a fight, but with Tobirama and two others surrounding her, she did not stand a chance. 

The last he saw of her was her tear streaked face and screaming voice as she disappeared around the corner.

And Madara was once again alone.

“Madara?”

Well, except for one person.

Madara looked over to Tobirama, anger somehow long gone, replaced by exhaustion. And sadness. The drowning kind of sadness, the tar like kind. 

Tobirama wasn’t looking back at him, his eyes fixed firmly forward. Back to the coldness Madara had long been acquainted with. The man seemed to know though, as he continued, blank and controlled as ever, 

“Are you okay?”

Madara’s mouth moved before he could stop it.

“No.” Not in the slightest.

Tobirama’s mouth thinned into a line, betraying whatever emotion he was trying so hard to hide right now. 

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” he said slowly.

It was not with anger or sadness, but again that deep seated exhaustion that Madara replied, “Why do you even care?”

It felt as if he had asked that question to Tobirama hundreds of times now. Always met with the same answer. Yet he kept on asking, again, and again, and again…

“Because what she just did to you is cruel,” Tobirama answered firmly, “And I care enough about you to understand that. Don’t ask me for more detail, or another 'why', because I don’t have it, Madara. Sometimes people just care.”

Madara felt his eyes widen somewhat. 

At this point he really should stop being surprised by Tobirama. As a shinobi, he really should take more offense that it had happened so many times. However he couldn’t help but feel sad. So god damn sad. 

His head fell into his hands where he held it for a moment before looking up at the ceiling and blinking back tears. To his surprise, he felt a hand touch his back in a comforting gesture. To his greater surprise, he didn’t push it away.

A tear slipped from his eye, and he let it, but he would be damned if he sobbed in front of Tobirama.

“I just… feel like I’m alone in this shit sometimes. Who am I fucking kidding, I know I am. So desperately, obviously alone that somebody thought they could use it. Try to fool me with some makeshift lie and smile like I would actually fall for it. So fucking alone somebody dared try. ”

Tobirama hummed and seemed to mull this information over. He opened his mouth to speak, and for a second Madara regretted ever giving the bastard anything on him, full with certainty that Tobirama would make a usual cutting remark.

But he did not.

“I promise you, Madara, you’re not alone.”

Tobirama was still looking away, gaze fixed as always on some far out horizon that Madara could never dream to see, but despite it, his voice was present, and solid, and comforting. Tobirama did not often make promises he could not keep

He began, “I am a lot of things, and I will do a lot of things. Things you will not always like, in ways you will not like, and I am sure this has colored your opinion of me. I am, as you’ve seen so yourself, sly, manipulative, and merciless in my pursuits. But know this, at the very least: I will, out of all I do, never lie to you.”

That hand left its place on Madara’s back, and he foolishly mourned the loss of it. 

“I am on your side.” Tobirama said with finality, “You are not alone, know this. That woman was a fool. A cruel, idiotic fool to think otherwise... I’m sorry I can’t be a better person. I... wish I knew more to say than you're not alone, and that I'm sorry. Truthfully, I believe it is all I have to offer, so I will. Madara, I am always on your side. ”

Madara found himself in utter disbelief. 

“Always?”

Tobirama looked at him from the corner of his eye.

“Well unless you do something absurdly foolish.”

Madara almost welcomed that practiced indignant sort of anger as it filled him. It at the very least chased the exhaustion and the sadness away. Filled it with something solid. 

He chuckled quietly, in better humor yet still morose “You’re an asshole.”

Tobirama smiled slightly, “I am truthful, though, am I not?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Tobirama chuckled, low and soft. It was not an unpleasant sound. 

“I think we’re both hypocrites, Tobirama.” Madara suddenly announced. 

“What do you mean?”

“We both hate quitters,” he explained, then laughed somberly, “but I’ve given up on peace, and you’ve given up on really ever living. What each of us believes in, the other seems to scorn. Perfect, mirror opposites.”

“We do make quite the disastrous pair, I suppose.”

Madara muttered a quiet ‘yeah’. Two real fuck ups. He looked on forward through the twisting hallway of the Hokage tower. For once, he felt his vision fade a little from the presence, and see something beyond just what he had seen before. Maybe this is what it must be like to live as Tobirama, never moving on but always moving forward. 

“I might be tired of being a disaster.” he admitted, “I think I might want to be something more. Haha…What do you say, Tobirama? Do you want to stop being disasters?”

Tobirama laughed softly back.

“Madara, I don’t think I know how.”

They chuckled quietly to themselves. 

Perhaps this is what Tobirama’s smile had meant back then, Madara thought. Just hope. Without a reason to have it other than simply having it. Existing just to exist. Just to believe in something that could overturn hatred, and form bonds, and maybe, just maybe, save somebody.

Madara didn't know. But he knew he was real fucking tired of being alone. And he thinks Tobirama might be too.