The Coax Theorem
It takes a month for Madara and Izuna to wear their clan down into accepting that they’re going to need the Senju’s help in dealing with the tuberculosis outbreak. A month of arguing and rationalising and semi-pleading before the council gives in. A month of easing public sentiment with promises of it being akin to nothing but a temporary trade agreement. A month of releasing the statistics weekly of what the disease is doing to their clan, along with projected outcomes for mortality rates and their finances by the end. A month of few recoveries and too many losses.
Despite being the one who brought the offer home, Izuna himself hadn’t been completely sold on the idea even after receiving Tobirama’s guarantee. A promise is nothing more than words after all, and what good are a bunch of words when one cannot be sure if they are worth trusting.
But eight weeks into this outbreak, it has become clear that they cannot keep going this way. Their agreement with the Hyuuga is reaching its end, their medicinal stockpiles are close to dwindling, and their healers are stretched far too thin among so many patients even without having to deal with any mission related injuries. Having access to the antibiotics certainly showed improvement in the situation but the disease is still quick to spread and the treatment is slow. They won’t last without access to more medication and the Nara have already written back to let them know they will not be taking on any new contracts even after the mourning period while the power changes hands in their clan.
Izuna rather suspects that the Nara just don’t want anything to do with the Uchiha so they don’t seem like they’re involving themselves in the Uchiha-Senju conflict, but who’s to say.
So, with no other option in sight, trusting in a promise is all Izuna has. When the only other choice is to allow his clansmen to suffer and die, it really isn’t as difficult a decision as he’d expected. Tobirama hadn’t seemed like he was lying; he’d even met Izuna’s eyes as he spoke though he had to know the possibilities that opened him up to. That has to be worth something.
Madara spends two full days agonising over the missive to be sent to the Senju compound, rattling around his office and bemoaning about the letter like some lovelorn civilian teenager rather than the dignified clan head he’s supposed to be. Izuna, charitably, leaves Hikaku to deal with his idiot brother rather than risk a rage-fuelled lapse in his sanity that might result in an unfortunate bout of fratricide. The only reason he hasn’t assassinated Madara yet is because he doesn’t want the damn job, and that is doubly true now that it apparently entails dealing with Senju fucking Hashirama of all people.
It is an oddly dissonant feeling to watch one of Madara’s personal hawks fly off with the missive in the direction of the Senju’s territory, for once bearing something other than a declaration of battle or negotiation of when to collect corpses after said battle. Izuna never thought he’d see the day, didn’t particularly want to see the day either, but now there’s a certain sense of resignation to the fact that he doesn’t really know what the future holds for his clan anymore. It’s terrifying that the fate of the Uchiha currently lies in the hands of the Senju to some degree. The fact that there’s some hope there as well, thanks to Senju Tobirama and his freely given oath, just adds to the wary anticipation that flutters beneath Izuna’s breastbone like a caged bird.
“Is it really okay for us to be doing this?” Hikaku asks softly.
Izuna blinks, looking away from the birds that have become but a distant speck on the horizon and turning to his cousin with a frown. “What do you mean?”
Hikaku purses his lips, folding his hands together and hiding them in his sleeves so he won’t be caught fidgeting as he wants to. Sometimes, Izuna forgets that Hikaku is only a year older than him—still so young. He doesn’t have all the answers even if he likes to pretend otherwise, and unforeseen changes are scary for the best of them, but especially for someone like Hikaku who thrives among his numbers and patterns. Izuna is reminded of this now when Hikaku says, “Are we doing our ancestors a disservice because we can’t survive this without aid from our enemies? Is this not bringing dishonour upon those of our clan who have fallen at the hands of a Senju?”
They have been asked this question over and over again over these past few weeks, and Izuna has spent even longer asking himself similar questions ever since his strange rival met his eyes in Hinan and told him he didn’t want to kill Izuna. “Is it better to die for that honour or to sacrifice some of our pride for the sake of our people’s continued survival?”
Hikaku makes a noise of consideration. “I’m sure there are some who would rather die with their pride intact than accept help from our enemy.”
A year ago, Izuna would’ve been among them had he been in their position. As a leader, however, he can only snort without humour and pronounce dryly, “At least they will be alive to be pissed about who saved them.”
Lips twisting into a wry smile, Hikaku concedes, “Fair enough.”
For a moment, they are both quiet, lost in their own thoughts. Then, Izuna admits, “Aniki said he doesn’t want to make the same mistakes as our ancestors.”
“Mistakes,” Hikaku repeats slowly. “Is that what they are?”
“Who knows?” Izuna sighs. “What is honourable today might seem like a mistake tomorrow. History’s written by the victors and all that.”
“My father used to say that victory is an idea made up to comfort the defeated,” Hikaku says.
It is a sentiment that Izuna has slowly come to understand over the years of being a frontline soldier. War has no true victors—there are only survivors, some more fortunate than others. “That begs the question of what it means to be defeated,” he says, though he isn’t expecting an answer.
Hikaku thoughtfully gives him one anyways as he muses, “If victors decide that which is remembered as right, then defeat should simply mean the opposite of that, no?”
“Realising that you’re wrong,” Izuna infers.
Softly, Hikaku corrects him, "Realising that you've been wrong every step of the way."
Dear Uchiha Madara
Head of the Uchiha Clan,
It is with surprise and gravity that I received your letter, and I extend my utmost sympathy towards your people in this time of uncertainty and contention. I am heartened by your willingness to reach out across the great divide that has separated our clans for so long and would like to assure you that your call for assistance in dealing with this troubling bout of illness will not go unanswered.
While I am appreciative of your generous offer to compensate us with spices, ink, and the metal handicrafts your clan is renowned for, Senju contracts for our medical services specify 45% advance payment with the rest to be negotiated upon the basis of the results we produce. This is to ensure mutual satisfaction for both parties and is our guarantee of excellent care towards our clients. Please find enclosed a draft contract (open to amendments as required), which includes a projected list of equipment and medication that we anticipate will be necessary to best deal with your circumstances. The Senju clan supplies the equipment and medicine itself, but you will be expected to pay for their usage. Keep in mind that the list is subject to change depending on specific happenstance, and a final draft will be provided to you while negotiating concluding payments.
After carefully considering the specifics you outlined, we have determined that you will need at least ten medics to aid your healers. Additionally, I will be dispatching a squad of five shinobi to act as guard for the team of medics. While I have respect for your willingness to set aside our differences, I hope you will understand and not be offended by our wish to exercise caution, especially where our precious healers (most of whom are civilians) are concerned.
Should this prove to be an issue, you will have to excuse us and request aid elsewhere because, as clan head, it is my responsibility to ensure the safety and comfort of my subordinates, and it is not something I am willing to negotiate or compromise on. In this effort, included among the squad and acting as representative of Senju interests will be my heir, Senju Tobirama. I am aware that you might be reluctant to accommodate his presence but rest assured that Tobirama is not just one of our finest shinobi—he is also among our most brilliant researchers and is an accomplished medic in his own right—and I am sure he will be useful in pioneering the effort to curb the terrible illness that plagues your people.
If you are amenable to these terms, please fill in the contract and send it back to us at the earliest date, and we will dispatch our healers without any further delay. While the wounds of our past may run deep, I believe that this is an opportunity for both our clans to forge a new path ahead that is marked by respect, understanding and cooperation. I will await your reply with anticipation for this exchange.
With sincere regards,
Senju Hashirama
Head of the Senju Clan
Unsurprisingly, when Hashirama receives the missive from Madara, he is so overjoyed by the opportunity for any sort of cooperation with the Uchiha after being snubbed on his overtures of peace for years that he wants to offer the Senju’s aid for free. It takes Tobirama the better part of an hour to talk his excitable clan head down from that, pointing out how his good intentions could be perceived as a slight and would be hard for the Uchiha to trust in an already difficult time. Hashirama had seemed a bit down about being unable to offer his friend a better deal, but Tobirama has enough experience and examples to draw from now that he is confident that they are all better off treating this as just any other business venture.
If there is one thing he concluded from his future knowledge of Konoha and other such complicated alliances, it is that the secret to long-lasting peace is not goodwill, but rather deeply intertwined economic symbiosis. The five Daimyo are an excellent example of this, as are the Ino-Shika-Cho clans—in both cases, good relations have prevailed because the parties involved have something the others need or want enough that they are truly better off maintaining the relationship than severing it.
For the Uchiha and Senju in particular, to be able to trust any cooperation, both clans will want leverage from the other. The Uchiha are desperate and will be unable to refuse aid in any case, but this way, peace will not be built off a perceived debt that they will owe the Senju even if it is not Hashirama’s intention to hold this favour over them. After all, they are simply incurring a service that they will have paid for. It will be an easier pill to swallow for both clans while still managing to open the door to future collaborations.
And Hashirama sees the wisdom in this too else he would not have relented. Perhaps even Tobirama’s headstrong brother has been forced to confront a reality not coloured by the fondness of nostalgia. It could also be that this arrangement makes for a more palatable explanation to their own clan. Any ruffled feathers are easier to smooth down by pointing out that this is a contractual transaction rather than a permanent treaty. For good measure, Hashirama even writes to the Daimyo and makes sure to sprinkle in a mention of this development, acting as though the Senju are simply utilising an opportunity to advertise their own skills among the capital by treating yet another noble clan.
“It is a good opportunity regardless,” Hashirama had said, shrugging, lips pulled into a quietly amused smile. “Creates a narrative this way too. The Senju are kind enough to set aside their grievances even for the Uchiha. People like that kind of thing from a clan coming to be known so well for healing.”
Within the week, they have the Uchiha’s reply to let them know that the Senju’s terms have been accepted apart for some minor negotiations relating to the bartering that can be hammered out over time. There are some covertly snide remarks about Tobirama’s presence, but they don’t try to dissuade him from going since Hashirama made it clear he wouldn’t give in regarding his medic team’s safety.
Privately, Tobirama thinks his brother would’ve liked to have an excuse to try and keep him from walking right into enemy territory, but needs must. They cannot send their blameless clansmen into the veritable lion’s den without some sort of backup from one of them, and the Uchiha would accept Hashirama even less than they might Tobirama. Besides, Tobirama is a more accomplished sensor and will be the fastest respondent when combined with his hiraishin seals should anything happen.
It takes them two more days to get everyone packed and prepped for arguably the most tenuous mission conditions in recent Senju memory. Most of the medics, while undoubtedly nervous, are focusing more on the infection they will soon be dealing with. The accompanying guards are far more tense, but they’ve been carefully vetted by Touka and received extensive instruction on how they are expected to conduct themselves.
“We are as prepared as can be,” Tobirama tells his brother as they sit in the garden pavilion and listen to the light summer rain, finally relaxing now that all that is left to do is set off for the Uchiha compound at first light come morning.
Hashirama hums softly and sips at the light fruit wine he has selected for Tobirama’s sake since the latter is unused to drinking and suffers greatly when inebriated. “I would’ve preferred giving you some more time to make sure you’re really recovered.”
“The medics have already cleared me for active duty,” Tobirama reminds pointedly, “and you made sure personally that my coils have healed adequately.”
“Yes,” Hashirama acknowledges, sighing, “I suppose I should be grateful that the timing worked out at all. We would’ve had to send Touka otherwise.”
They share a grimace at that. Touka trusts in this collaboration and any future alliance it might lead to only because Hashirama and Tobirama both trust it. She doesn’t particularly care for the Uchiha outside of this, and her patience is not one that takes well to being tested by those she considers interlopers. Overall, it’d be too risky an arrangement.
Tobirama refills his brother’s cup absently. “So long as I do not perform any overly draining jutsu, my recovery will not be jeopardised. I will be careful not to strain myself.”
Hashirama stares at him flatly.
Dutifully, Tobirama amends, “Not to strain myself too much.”
“Don’t think I won’t have my summons sneak in to keep an eye on you,” Hashirama threatens.
“As if.” Tobirama snorts. “You would never risk getting accused of outright espionage in case your summons get sensed and caught. I bet Uchiha Madara will march here personally to pick a fight with you about your toads.”
From the way Hashirama pouts and wilts, it’s clear he knows Tobirama’s right. “You never let me win anything,” he sulks.
“Such is my birthright, anija.”
“And my birthright is what—worrying about you?”
“No,” Tobirama refutes mildly, “that is your choice.”
Hashirama slumps down onto the little table between them, burrowing his head in his arms. “How cruel,” he bemoans. “Shouldn’t you be nicer to me when you’re leaving tomorrow?"
Tobirama prods at his brother’s head. Hashirama does not budge. “I have to try and make sure you won’t miss me too much.”
“Unfortunately, your efforts are for naught, Tora. I always miss you when you’re gone.”
Smiling slightly, Tobirama tilts his head back. “I know,” he acknowledges. “I am the same.”
“At least this time you’re only across the river,” Hashirama tries.
Eyebrow rising at that, Tobirama asks, “Does that truly make you feel better?”
“No,” Hashirama admits, turning his head so his face is visible again. “Do you think I will be able to send you letters while you are there?”
“I don’t see why not, though I wouldn’t be surprised if our correspondence is vetted before it is delivered.”
“Oh, that’s true.” Hashirama frowns in thought before proposing, “Shall I write to you in Uzushio’s script instead then? That could be fun. It would make for good practice too.”
“You could, though I’ve heard the Uchiha have been taking missions to Land of Waves and to Water recently. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’d started to pick up on the language by now, depending on which clans they’ve been coming into contact with,” Tobirama points out.
Sighing deeply, the clan head relents, “Code it is then.”
“A small price to pay in the grand scheme of things, don’t you think?”
Hashirama’s mouth twitches into a smile. “That is true.”
“Tomorrow will be the start of something new for all of us,” Tobirama pronounces.
“It’s a little scary how hopeful this makes me,” Hashirama comments, straightening. “I am glad you will be there even if I wish you had more time to rest. There is no one else I’d rather entrust such an important mission to.”
Tobirama aims a small, private smile at his brother. “I will do my best to make you proud then.”
Hashirama’s earthy, encompassing chakra comes to settle over his shoulders like a familiar embrace, pressing love-safety-i-will-miss-you-like-my-own-heartbeat into Tobirama’s senses. “You always do, Tora.”
The Senju entourage arrive with an almost anticlimactic lack of fanfare.
There are fifteen of them, which would feel like a large group if Izuna couldn’t immediately tell that most of them aren’t shinobi and have probably never held a kunai a day in their life. Senju Hashirama did tell them as much, but it would’ve been painfully obvious either way just judging from how some of the Senju are all but cowering behind their flimsy guards.
Izuna accidentally catches the eye of a wiry looking young man and the boy honest to gods squeaks like a frightened rodent and almost folds in half in his haste to dive behind Tobirama.
Clearly exercising great amounts of control over himself, Tobirama bravely does not sigh, though Izuna notices the way his eyebrow twitches just so in an indication of his irritation. Still, the Senju clan heir tolerates his clansmen’s cowardice and the Uchiha’s open scrutiny with good grace as he dips his head at Madara and says, “Uchiha-sama, my honourable anija sends his regards.”
Madara nods back and silently accepts the scroll Tobirama hands him, unrolling it right there and allowing Izuna to catch a glimpse of its contents. It’s mostly just a reiteration of the Senju medics’ requirements and duties, reassuring them that they will uphold all contractual obligations. The message bears the Senju clan head’s seal and signature, though it isn’t in his handwriting which suggests that it might just be something the Senju do for all their clients. An impersonal formality. How uncharacteristic of Senju Hashirama who always seemed so desperate to rekindle his friendship with Madara. Izuna glances sideways at his brother to study his reaction but Madara’s face is carefully blank as he rolls the scroll back up.
“Thank you for coming,” he says to Tobirama, and there’s even something sincere about his gratitude that has the Senju heir nodding at him. “Izuna will show you to your lodgings. We will allow you to settle in first. After lunch, I will take you to the healers’ hall and let you get acquainted with the Head Medic so you can hear of the situation directly from her.”
Tobirama glances back at his people briefly before turning to address Madara again. “If you do not mind, Uchiha-sama,” he says, “we would prefer to drop our belongings off and go see the Head Medic right after. I understand that time is of the essence in such times. Formalities can be duly observed when there aren’t any patients’ lives hanging in the balance.”
There is a weighted pause as they all wait for Madara to respond even though every eye is trained on Tobirama who, to his credit, doesn’t appear burdened by the attention in the slightest. Izuna has always found his impenetrable poker face hugely irritating.
Finally, Madara inclines his head and concedes, “Very well.” He gestures to Izuna and tilts his head in the direction of the guesthouses they’ve prepared for their guests. “Go ahead, Izuna. I will take my leave now.”
Some of the Uchiha guard leaves with him, though most of them simply disperse to take position somewhere out of sight. For the entirety of the Senju’s stay in the Uchiha compound, they will be carefully monitored at all times of day. They are in a precariously vulnerable position as it is; no risk can be taken, and certainly not one of such magnitude.
Izuna leads them to the guesthouses, painfully aware of how the eyes of every Uchiha they pass follow after them despite the early hour of day. In the sea of Uchiha deep blues, the Senju stand out unnaturally so in their earthy greens and browns. They certainly will not be difficult to spot and keep an eye on if this keeps up.
The medics don’t take long to find rooms and drop off their things before rejoining Izuna outside, though he notices that half of them have stayed behind. Now, there are only five of them, two guards, and Tobirama.
“We will operate in shifts,” Tobirama informs when he catches Izuna looking. “This way we can maintain efficient care round the clock.”
Makes sense. Izuna nods slowly. “Right. Let me show you where the medics’ hall is.”
He has to drop them off there since he and Madara are maintaining distance from the patients as much as possible. The clan can’t afford to lose either of them right now when they’re the sole points of contact with the outside world as well as the first line of defence in case of any unforeseen attack. This is doubly true while they’re being forced to house the White Demon himself.
The Senju’s presence has the entire clan on edge for most of the day even if most people don’t so much as catch sight of him. Tension hangs in the air, so palpable that it may as well have a physical form, cloying in its suffocative nature. The compound is unnaturally quiet even when considering how everyone has been asked to stay indoors as much as possible. There is the distinct recognition that there is an unknown predator let loose among them, and though Izuna is the one who invited him in the first place, it sets his own teeth on edge.
Needless to say, it is a thoroughly unproductive day for Izuna who is supposed to be double checking their inventory to look over the supplies they will need to stock up on over the rest of the year before winter. By the time evening arrives, he gives up all pretence and just decides to head over to the medics’ hall—maybe he’ll feel better once he can see the Senju for himself and have proof that they’re up to nothing nefarious while in the heart of the Uchiha compound where their most vulnerable are housed.
“You can go,” he tells Kouji, the boy whose actual job it is to escort the Senju medics back to their lodgings for dinner. “I’ll take them myself.”
Kouji doesn’t question the sudden dismissal, simply bowing his head before departing, leaving Izuna to pace outside the hall by himself while he waits for their guests to come out. It takes them a few more minutes before they do, filing out the door in their Senju colours, the medics all looking pale and haggard. Tobirama himself has lost some of that unflappable iciness that he wears like a second skin, appearing with his lips pressed into a thin line and a pronounced furrow between his brows.
Izuna finds himself matching the frown. “Is it that bad?” he ventures before he can even think to stop himself.
Tobirama sighs, rolling his shoulders. “It will be an uphill battle,” he admits. “Even with the numbers you’d provided, it is a difficult reality to contend with. Tuberculosis is always challenging to contain and treat.” Before Izuna’s heart can sink, however, Tobirama adds, “The good news is that the iryo-ninjutsu is effective in helping the healing process along and diagnosing any secondary infections before too much harm can be done. I do not think any surgical intervention will be needed barring any truly exceptional circumstances. Recovery will be slow, yes, but I believe it is within sight.”
He may as well have lifted the world right off Izuna’s shoulders for how it feels like he is finally breathing for the first time in weeks. Meeting his rival’s eyes, Izuna says sincerely, “Thank you.”
Blinking, Tobirama inclines his head and says, “Of course.”
Like it’s a given. Like it’s as simple as claiming that he’s only doing his job and not just saving people Izuna has known his entire life. Like he isn’t throwing a lifeline to his enemies, even though neither has side has bargained for a ceasefire or any sort of peaceful relations at all.
Izuna doesn’t even know how to respond, and he probably couldn’t even if he did know how with how it feels like his ribs have shrunk down in his chest and a roiling mess of emotions that he doesn’t even want to begin to sort through clogs his throat. Helpless, he looks to the other Senju medics who are watching him with something knowing and almost empathetic in their eyes even if they do not meet his gaze wholly, and that does nothing to aid him either.
Clearing his throat, he takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. “Come on. I’ll take you back to your quarters. Dinner will have been served by now, so we’ll have to hurry.”
“Are meals provided?” one of the medics asks in surprise, blinking her large hazel at him. “It didn’t say in the contract, did it?”
“No, it wasn’t discussed,” Tobirama confirms. He glances at Izuna and lifts an eyebrow, silently prompting him to answer.
Izuna huffs and looks ahead. “We aren’t going to force you to cook after long shifts at the medics’ hall—we’re not barbarians,” he says. “You wouldn’t even know where to get ingredients with half our markets closed. Besides, who knows what trouble you could get into with the locals if we let you fend for yourselves here.”
“I, uh, see.” The medic inclines her head. “That’s rather thoughtful of you, Izuna-sama.”
Eyes narrowing, Izuna tries to decide whether or not that is a dig of some kind. He looks to Tobirama for a hint, finding that the other man had been watching the interaction with an open sort of contemplation—as if he is observing the specimens of a particularly strange species out in the wild.
“Most of our clients do not go so far in their hospitality when we deal with mass outbreaks such as this one,” Tobirama explains when he realises what Izuna is looking for. “These are very generous arrangements.” He doesn’t outright thank Izuna, but the dip of his head certainly implies it clearly enough.
Caught off-guard now that he knows there is no fight to be found here, Izuna can only nod in acknowledgement. “You will be expected to have your meal with us tonight,” he tells Tobirama instead, deciding to just move on before he can get distracted by more things he will need to think over later.
The Senju entourage tenses, going quiet, and Izuna doesn’t need to turn around and see them to imagine the uncertain looks they must be exchanging.
Unlike them, Tobirama is unfazed as always as he simply replies, “I see.”
Unfairly feeling the urge to explain himself to the wide-eyed medics who are looking at him like he’d just revealed a master plan to harvest their precious clan heir’s organs for dinner, Izuna defends, “It’s polite!”
Not only is Tobirama representing a high-ranking shinobi clan, he is also of equal status to Izuna himself. It’s standard etiquette to have him eat dinner with Izuna and Madara—they’d do the same for any other dignitary. The medics have no business looking disbelieving like Izuna is making this up for profit and fun. He’s not exactly looking forward to what is probably going to be so painfully awkward an affair that his appetite is sure to be ruined.
Tobirama frowns in quiet bemusement, like he doesn’t understand why Izuna is flailing now. Slowly, as though Izuna is a particularly dull child, he assures, “I am aware of that, Izuna.”
Izuna contemplates just storming off and sulking in the grove behind the temple where no one ever finds him. Instead, because he is an adult with adult responsibilities, he just nods stiffly and says, “Good. So long as you know.”
For the rest of the walk to the guests’ lodging and then to the main family house where he and Madara reside, Izuna keeps resolutely silent. Tobirama doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest, seeming content to just follow along and passively observe his surroundings. He doesn’t display any overt curiosity—nothing so blatant as outright craning his head to look around like some of the other Senju—but Izuna knows that the bastard is observant as hell and has a solid memory, so it makes something under his skin itch to have Tobirama even looking around his home.
What will he be able to do with all this information if it turns out that his belief in peace has been a farce all along? What if he changes his mind and decides to set off a bomb right in the heart of the Uchiha compound? After all, they had led an attack right into the heart of Senju territory. What is stopping Tobirama from doing the same?
It’s a testament to their desperation that they’re willing to risk all this just for the promise of aid. Madara didn’t even fight Tobirama’s presence; they simply hadn’t been in any place to be making demands when they were all but begging for favour.
“Are you allergic to anything?” he asks as they step over the engawa and he slides the door open, allowing the aroma of a warm meal to waft out. They probably should have asked Tobirama earlier, before the food was already made. It would be a spot of real irony if they somehow manage to finally kill Tobirama by accident and set off a diplomatic incident.
“No,” Tobirama answers, neatly setting his sandals aside and straightening, absently smoothing down the collar of his kimono shirt.
Izuna hums and leads Tobirama down the short corridor into the side room they use to receive guests. Madara is already waiting inside, seated at the head of the table with his back to the shoji doors that have been thrown open to allow the faint evening breeze in to chase away some of the budding summer heat. He unfolds his arms and places his palms flat on the low table, nodding in greeting as they enter. Tobirama bows in return, a perfect fold at just the right angle to be considered polite. Izuna glides towards the seat to Madara’s right, settling into a seiza while Tobirama takes the cue to sit down across from him.
“Thank you for inviting me into your home, Madara-sama,” Tobirama murmurs shortly. He doesn’t compliment the house or offer any other empty platitudes.
‘How in character,’ Izuna thinks, mouth twitching even as he reaches for the teapot at the centre of the table and fills each of their cups with the cool barley tea.
Madara probably appreciates the brevity though, never having been one for the verbal bells and whistles of diplomacy. “It’s the least we could do,” he rumbles, and it comes out sincere despite the near lack of inflection.
Before the two reticent men can plunge all of them into stoic silence, Izuna pipes up, “Tobirama says that iryo-ninjutsu shows some promise with aiding recovery. Surgical intervention probably won’t be needed for most cases.”
Madara blinks, perking up slightly with interest. “Is that so?” He looks to Tobirama. “And medicines? What about those?”
“We’ve come prepared with enough to get started. I will write to our labs when it looks like we’ll need more. Typically, iryo-ninjutsu helps mitigate the requirement for quite as much medication. The prescription will be more relevant after our departure,” Tobirama answers, loosely holding onto his cup. They watch as, a few seconds later, faint steam starts to rise from his cup. Only then does he take a sip.
Izuna lifts a brow. “You prefer it hot even in summer?”
“I tend to run quite cold,” Tobirama confesses, fingertip idly tracing the rim of his cup. “Poor circulation.”
“Shouldn’t circulating your chakra aid with some of that?” Madara asks.
Tobirama’s lips press into a flat line as he appears to deliberate over his answer. After a pause, he hesitantly reveals, “My chakra coils are a little tender from a prior…incident. I may have pushed them a little today.”
Madara stares at him flatly. “You just used a jutsu to heat that cup.”
Shrugging, the Senju heir simply says, “A small one. I can manage that much. Actively circulating my chakra for too long will extend them just a bit too much.”
Izuna frowns at his rival, peering at his placid expression. “Incident,” he repeats slowly. “The assassination attempt.” Tobirama goes conspicuously still—a subtle thing that would be easy to miss if Izuna weren’t an Uchiha and also entirely too used to reading the other man’s body language. His eyes narrow. “I didn’t realise you were actually incapacitated.”
He earns a wry stare for the comment, Tobirama’s mouth turned down at the corners. “We weren’t exactly advertising the fact that I couldn’t use chakra.”
“And you are still not completely recovered?” Madara’s brows furrow.
“I overdid it today,” Tobirama says dismissively. “I will be more careful; it won’t happen again.”
“If you say so.” Madara doesn’t even try to sound convinced.
Izuna leans forward slightly. “What even happened?”
Tobirama’s brow twitches ever so slightly. “It’s not really appropriate conversation for dinner,” he demurs, as if he has ever truly given a shit about appropriate dinner etiquette in his life.
“We’re all shinobi here,” Madara dismisses.
Sighing, Tobirama’s folds his hands in his lap. “It was snakeroot poison. A near lethal dosage.”
Izuna doesn’t recognise the name. Still, he asks, “Who’d you piss off?”
Tobirama glares at him. “No one,” he stresses, “and it doesn’t matter anymore. The situation has been adequately dealt with and I am recovered, if a little worse for wear. It’s irrelevant.”
“Not irrelevant if our guest fries his chakra coils because he can’t circulate his own chakra,” Madara grumbles under his breath like they can’t all hear him anyways. “Hashirama will throw a fit if we don’t return you in pristine condition.”
Mockingly, Izuna clicks his tongue. “I didn’t know you to be so careless, Tobirama. And for some poison to be giving you such trouble—what a shame, really. I suppose not even the White Demon is as infallible as rumours would have it.”
Tobirama rolls his eyes openly. “I’m flattered you’re so keen on rumours about me,” he drawls.
“I like to stay updated,” Izuna admits cheerfully.
Madara snorts. “He’s a gossip,” he states. “Always has been, always will be.”
“Shinobi deal in secrets, aniki,” Izuna chides. “I’m just making sure I have plenty of currency. One could argue it’s good practice.”
Before Madara can retort to that, the doors are slid open by Aya—their cook—who has arrived with a trayful of dinner. She bows silently, gaze lingering on Tobirama for longer than necessarily appropriate before approaching to set the table. The air is tense as she carefully skirts around the Senju heir, not making eye contact with anyone despite her familiarity with Madara and Izuna after having been their cook for nearly their entire lives. Once she is done, she bows again and lets herself out of the room without waiting to be dismissed.
Izuna’s gaze flicks from the closed door to a blank-faced Tobirama, watching for a reaction to the blatant show of rudeness. He had almost forgotten just who is sitting at their table. It seems that Aya did not.
Madara lets out a long exhale, face screwed up with displeasure as he opens his mouth to address what has just happened, but he is interrupted by Tobirama leaning forward slightly to peer at the food, eyes narrowed with what Izuna recognises to be interest.
“I am not familiar with most of the dishes here,” the Senju heir says. “Is that lamb?”
Blinking, Madara falters. “Yes,” he answers haltingly.
Tobirama looks up expectantly at Izuna, clearly waiting for him to expand. Caught off guard, Izuna does so, providing, “It’s lamb leg crusted in spices and almonds. That’s a seafood broth there, and then some saffron rice.”
“Do you not eat much lamb?” Madara asks stiltedly.
“Not really,” Tobirama confirms. “We actually don’t eat much meat aside from fish. I think I’ve only ever had lamb while visiting my mother’s clan.”
Izuna considers this for a moment and then nods. “Well, I guess it makes sense if you’re primarily invested in farming and don’t have much of an in-clan animal husbandry industry.”
Tobirama eyes the food on the table and adds, “We also don’t use as many spices.”
This doesn’t surprise Izuna. The Uchiha territory is built in the shadow of a dormant volcano that makes their soil uniquely rich in acidity and minerals. Their wealth and nobility is a direct product of their ancestors’ early cultivation of true indigo, saffron, coffee, pepper and nutmeg. In addition to the mines they have access to and the resultant metalworking, they’ve managed to carve out a special niche for themselves in the markets of Land of Fire.
What he infers from Tobirama’s throwaway comment is that the Senju is probably unused to so much heat in his food, which means that Izuna is going to get to watch him struggle and sweat through this meal. That irritatingly icy exterior is finally going to be melted away by the fire of hearty Uchiha cooking.
Gleeful, he reaches for the serving spoon and offers, “Let me serve you, Tobirama. You’re our guest after all.”
Madara peers at Izuna like he knows exactly what his little brother is thinking, but he keeps his mouth shut and seems content to let Izuna have his fun. Tobirama appears none the wiser as he waits for his hosts to finish loading up their own plates before turning to his meal.
Izuna can barely taste his own food, too distracted with monitoring Tobirama’s progress. One bite, then two, then three, and then almost half Tobirama’s portion is gone. His eyebrows rise, but he makes no comment otherwise. There’s not even a bead of sweat at his brow. He seems to have forgotten about his barley tea too.
“You’re not thrown off by the spice,” Izuna says and it comes out like an accusation.
Tobirama blinks.
Madara ignores them both and dutifully keeps working his way through his meal.
“It’s quite flavourful,” the Senju offers as though he is confused about why Izuna is displeased with him now.
“You said you don’t use as many spices.”
“We don’t,” he confirms slowly, “but it is not so uncommon in Iron.”
Izuna droops. “Ah,” he says, prodding at the remainder of his own meal, suddenly much less interested in it. “Right. I forgot.”
“Don’t play with your food,” Madara intones, tuning back into the conversation now that the opportunity to scold Izuna has presented itself.
“I’m not that hungry anymore.”
Tobirama frowns. “You should eat more, Izuna. Shinobi burn a lot of calories. You’ll lose strength if you don’t eat enough. A balanced diet is very important in order to stay healthy.”
Madara nods along sagely.
Izuna scowls at them both. “I don’t want to hear that from you, Senju. You’re the one who damaged his chakra coils today.”
“At least he did it for a good cause. You’re just being an idiot,” Madara says.
“Who’s side are you on, aniki?!”