The Tipping Point Begins
~*~*~*~
’Why did I let it go so far that day? That was so stupid. I can’t get so caught up with the Senju and their drama. And it's unfair to Tobirama, to string him along, give him a grain of hope. Although, I owe him nothing…Maybe it serves him right, to give him a chance only to break his heart…’
With a groan, Madara snapped his textbook shut, burying his face in his forearms on the desk. Curled up on a thick cat bed on the desk, Kurama purred quietly, and Madara extended his hand, scratching him on the side.
“Is it unfair to him?” he asked the cat, propping his chin up on his hand. “Am I being a complete bastard if I try to make him fall in love with me for the year and then intentionally break his heart? Is that a dick move?” Kurama meowed quietly. “Yeah, I agree. Definitely a dick move.”
Kurama batted at his fingers, managing to catch two of them and chewing on their tips. Madara watched him for a moment. “But is it a dick move if he was an asshole first? You know, kidnapping me and whatnot?” Kurama just kept chewing on his fingers, and he sighed, glancing over at the clock on the wall.
It was almost 11 in the morning. Tobirama would be here any minute.
He groaned, rubbing his eyes and sitting up. What had happened at the Senju’s main base was a mistake. He should have never let Tobirama kiss him like that; should have never allowed himself to be drawn into him or be so affected by him. He had to put a stop to this; focus on work and his studies, and not be so….distracted. So taken, with the mafia boss. It would only hurt them both in the end.
He had no intentions of staying here once his year of imprisonment was over. No, he wanted to get his life back. Go back to hanging out with Izuna and Hikaku, avoiding his father, burying himself in responsibilities. The only thing he’d take back from this was Kurama.
The clock struck 11, and at that exact moment, the doors to his room swung open, and Tobirama strolled in. It was irritating, how effortless he was in everything. How casual and graceful and so damned attractive. It wasn’t fair.
“Good morning,” the Senju greeted, stepping towards him and leaning against the desk. “Had an enjoyable breakfast?”
“Didn’t have breakfast,” Madara grunted, staring at the front of his textbook. “Didn’t feel like it.”
Tobirama sighed. “You have some work ahead of you, can’t do that on an empty stomach.” Madara gave him a rebellious look.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” he snipped, crossing his arms and glaring at him. If Tobirama was surprised by his sudden attitude the last few days, he wasn’t showing it.
“Do I get my stitches out today?”
Madara considered for a moment. “Let me see,” he ordered, turning the chair about. Tobirama’s lips curled, and he lifted the bottom of his shirt, much higher than necessary, stepping closer to Madara as he did. Eye level with his impressively shaped abdominal muscles, Madara had to fight to keep his attention on the wound.
It was healing very nice, the edges coming together and new tissue forming between it. “Probably,” he said after a moment, turning away before his eyes could wander. “You’ll still have to be careful for a bit, to prevent it from reopening.”
“Let me guess,” Tobirama sighed, rolling his eyes. “No ‘vigorous activity’?”
“That’s correct.”
He stood up, pushing the chair back and grabbing his bag. “Are we heading out or what?”
“Whenever you’re ready, Ojo.” Madara scowled at him, and Tobirama just smirked back, his stare intense as he watched Madara grab his bag and march out the door. Before he could step out, however, Tobirama grabbed him by the arm, halting his steps.
“Why are you being so snippy with me lately?” he asked, the amusement no longer present in his voice. “Have I done something to displease you?”
Madara stared at him for a moment, then looked away. “No,” he said evenly. “Just have a lot on my mind.”
“Your next semester is supposed to start soon,” Tobirama remembered. “Are you nervous?”
“Not really.”
“You still seem stressed,” Tobirama shot back, putting a hand on the small of his back, guiding him down the stairs and through the halls to the front door, to where his car sat parked outside. Madara just hummed, sliding into the passenger seat and staring out the window. Tobirama seemed annoyed with his lack of response, but he didn’t push the subject further, starting the car and putting it in gear.
They drove back to the Senju skyscraper downtown. Returning here in the middle of the day, it was infinity more busy than in the dead of night. “They’re excited to see you,” Tobirama drawled, parking the car in front and stepping out. Madara followed a bit more slowly.
“Who, Kawa and Itama?”
“Everyone,” Tobirama corrected. Madara frowned at him.
“What?”
Tobirama grinned, wolflike and rougeish. “You’re everyone's new favorite person, apparently.” Great. That is not what he needed. With a colossal scowl, he marched into the building, stomping up the stairs and down the hall to the pathetic excuse of a medical center. Tobirama strolled after him, not seeming at all bothered by his mood anymore.
He inhaled deeply, willing himself to calm down before he nudged open the doors and stepped into the room. Just as promised, all 14 of the Senju syndicate members who had been injured in the fight against Jiro were assembled for their one week checkup. Itama and Kawarama and Hashirama were there too.
“Hey doc!” one of the men greeted loudly, waving. Madara nodded back, setting his bag aside on one of the tables and digging out his stethoscope and a blood pressure cuff that he may or may not have stolen from work. He scanned the group until he found Kenji, sitting at the back.
“Kenji,” he called, waving the man over. He approached curiously, and Madara pointed to the nearest, empty table. “Sit.”
“Still need to work on your bedside manners,” Tobirama muttered, and Madara ignored him, grabbing his penlight from the small pocket on his chest.
“Keep your eyes open, follow the light,” he instructed, shining the penlight into Kenji’s eyes and watching the response of his pupils. Much better than before. “Have you been experiencing any headaches? Dizziness, light headedness, nausea?”
“A headache now and then, but otherwise its okay,” Kenji said, shrugging. Madara hummed, unslinging the stethoscope from around his neck and listening to his heart.
“And how’s the stab wound?”
“Itchy.”
“Any pain or heat?”
“Hurts when I reach over my head.”
“Mhm. Lift your shirt.” Kenju obeyed wordlessly, and Madara bent down to remove the coverings and examine the wound. The flesh around it was red and warm, and it didn’t look quite as nice as Madara would have liked. With a scowl, he set about carefully clearing the wound again, and applied a new covering. “Wait another week or so, and then we can see about removing the stitches. Until then, keep resting, drink lots. If you head bothers you pop a couple of Advils and take the rest of the day off. Actually, as a matter of fact, take the rest of the week off. If you reinjure yourself…” He paused, considering. He couldn’t exactly threaten a gangster. “I’ll be pissed off,” he decided on, turning away and tossing his stethoscope over his shoulder.
“Yes, sir,” Kenji said, sounding very amused as he slowly slid off the table. Madara was tempted to snark back, but he held his tongue, waving for his next person to come. With a grin, the man who had had a bullet in his shoulder trotted forwards.
“I see you kept your trophy,” he commented, giving the bullet hanging from a chain on his neck a pointed look. The man grinned, hopping up on the table somewhat awkwardly, seeing as his injured arm was bound in a sling.
“I said I wanted to keep it,” he drawled, watching closely as Madara stepped closer, undoing the ties of the sling and setting it aside.
“That you did,” Madara said absentmindedly, carefully peeling back the bandages and inspecting the wound. “It doesn’t look too bad,” he approved, giving it a customary clean. “Start doing small movements of the shoulder, but stop if it causes pain. You can leave the sling for the most part, but if it’s sore after a long day put it back on.” The man nodded, and Madara soothed on a new bandage; thinner and more mobile.
He moved onto the next, and continued working quietly, giving out clipped instructions to his mafia patients. Itama hovered at his side, watching attentively as he worked. Kawarama took off with a few of the others when he was about half way done, but Tobirama remained, leaning against one of the far walls and watching him make his rounds.
“Heya doctor,” his next mobster drawled, obediently wiggling out of his shirt so Madara could work on the deep wound under his ribs.
“Not a doctor yet,” Madara sighed again, spreading his fingers around the wound and feeling for anything odd. The man chuckled quietly, and his muscles flexed under Madara’s fingertips, more than necessary.
“Nah, you’re not. I ain’t never seen such a hot doctor before.”
Madara paused, glancing up at his face. The man was smirking, his grin leery and intentful. Rolling his eyes, Madara prodded at his flesh harder than he needed, amused at his sharp, pained inhalation.
“Then obviously you don’t get out enough,” he retorted sharply, finishing his work and sending him on his way with a pointed look. Tobirama was scowling in the background, but Madara was far more inclined to ignore him and finish up than pay him any attention.
He took his sweet time tending to the remaining mafia members. When it was finally Tobirama’s turn, they were alone in the med bay once more, with Itama heading out with the fierce looking Senju woman, who Madara learned was a cousin to the main family. “Sit, and lift up your shirt,” he instructed, pointing at the table and cleaning his hands.
Wordlessly, Tobirama stalked over, sitting down with a frown and twisting his shirt off over his head. So extra. Rolling his eyes, Madara carefully removed his stitches, and applied a thin covering.
“Are you trying to annoy me on purpose?” Tobirama asked as he finished, his face creased in a frown.
“Whatever do you mean,” Madara said dryly, packing up the supplies. Tobirama’s frown deepened.
“You know exactly what I mean. You’re being an absolute brat lately, you’re being snippy with me, and you’re allowing others to flirt with you!”
“I hardly consider that flirting,” Madara growled, turning around to glare at him. Tobirama glared back.
“You’re not making things easier for yourself, you know.”
“I wouldn’t have to if you hadn’t snatched me from my life.”
Irritation flashed across Tobirama’s face. “That’s not what I did.”
Madara snorted. “You know, if you want to think that to make yourself feel better about your actions, fine.”
Tobirama stood up, shoving the table back as he did. Madara narrowed his eyes as he stalked forward, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and leaning into his space. He curled his lip at the Senju, but didn’t shove him off, yet.
“You’re so infuriating sometimes,” he growled, red eyes icy.
“Thanks, I do my best,” Madara snarked back, and Tobirama inhaled deeply, like he was willing himself not to explode. Then, unexpectedly, he smiled.
“Is this your way of telling me that you want me to pay more attention to you? Is that it? Because if so, all you have to do is ask.” He brushed his thumb along his jaw, trailing it down his neck.
“As if I’d want more attention from you,” he snapped, stepping back. Tobirama tightened his grip, refusing to let him go. In fact, he stepped even closer, until his bare chest was pressed against him, warm even through the fabric of his shirt.
“I’d argue for the opposite.”
Madara stiffened, setting his hands on Tobirama’s chest to put some distance between them. “Stop this, Tobirama.”
“Why? Are you sure you want me to?”
Madara paused, tilting his head back to gaze up at him intently. “I think I do,” he said slowly, splaying his fingers over Tobirama’s chest, scratching his nails lightly against his skin to distract him. “I would think, as the boss of the country’s largest mafia, you would know how to pick up ques from people.”
“I’m exceptionally good at ignoring those.”
“Are you ignoring, or are you oblivious?” Madara shot back. He leaned forward, until his lips were brushing against Tobirama’s ear, resisting the urge to smirk smugly at his muted groan, the stiffening of his spine. “I would argue for the latter.”
With a swift shove, he stepped back, whipping out one of his scalpel blades from its hidden sheath in his boots and setting it against Tobirama’s throat. The other mans eyes widened, and he slowly uncurled his fingers from Madara’s shirt, holding up his hands as Madara set the blade closer against his skin.
“Listen well, Senju, because I’ve had it just about up to here.” Madara held up his other hand above his head to show his rising levels of impatience. “If you want me to be somewhat tolerable for the rest of this accursed year, you will learn to leave me be.”
Tobirama’s eyes narrowed a little, even as he tilted his chin to get some space from the razor sharp blade. “No one gives me orders.”
“Well that’s just too damn bad. Do I make myself clear, Senju?” He pressed the knife a little harder against his throat.
Tobirama sighed. “Fine.”
Scowling, Madara pulled the blade back, lifting his knee to slide it back in place in his boot. “My next semester starts soon, and I have a lot of shit to get done before then. So you had better not be a bother.”
Tobirama snorted. “We’ll see.”
~*~*~*~*~*~
Much to his surprise, Tobirama was rather respectful of his demands over the remaining weeks of his semester break. While he did insist on taking him out at least once a week, he let Madara lock himself in his room with his books when he wasn’t working without much argument. Fortunately, he seemed preoccupied as well. He was often gone, doing who knows what. Madara was never inclined to ask. Nor did he really want to know.
Having gotten used to the relative quiet, it came as a surprise when Madara’s phone started ringing in the middle of his evening class on his first day back at school. Tobirama’s name flashed on the caller display, and Madara declined the call, making sure it was on silent so it wouldn't be a distraction to his classmates. The Senju should know better than to disturb him while he was in class.
Not 3 seconds later, his phone started ringing again, vibrating violently on the table. Madara once again declined.
For a third time, it started vibrating, and with a frustrated sigh, Madara declined. Subtly, he slid his phone onto his lap, opening up his texts. His professor was a notorious hard ass when it came to phones in the class room. He shot off a quick message to the demanding Senju.
M: What the hell do you want?
The replay came instantly.
T: Answer your phone.
M: I’m in class, asshole.
T: It’s urgent.
M: Good for you.
T: I need your help, get to the downtown base..
M: With what
T: Something happened to Kawarama.
Well, then.
With a frown, Madara snapped shut his laptop and notebook, sweeping them into his bag and standing up. His professor scowled at him in disapproval as he scurried out of the lecture hall, finally answering Tobirama’s call.
“What happened?” he snapped, as soon as Tobirama picked up.
“Madara,” Tobirama breathed, relief painting his voice, evident even over the phone. “I don’t know. I heard Jiro was back in the city, so I took a team to go hunt him down. We took Kawarama with us, but we got separated. Hashirama found him.”
“And?” Madara demanded impatiently, digging out his car keys and trotting down the stairs to the first floor of the university.
“He’s all covered in blood. I think he was stabbed a couple times, they don’t look too deep, but he keeps seizing.”
“Seizing? Like muscle spasms or seizures?”
“Seizures, I think.”
Madara pursed his lips. “I’m on my way. I’ll be there in 15.”
“We’ll be right behind you.”
Hanging up, Madara tucked the phone into his back pocket, scurrying out the university doors and beelining to the parking lot as quickly as he could without actually running. He slid into his Vantage, tossing his bag in the back and bringing the engine to life.
’Of course this has to happen on my first day back to class.’