A Gift Given
~*~*~*~*~*~
Getting shot was definitely not worth it, and he wouldn’t recommend it to anyone. Despite it having occurred almost 3 weeks ago already, the wound was still raw, tender, and aching. Of course, it didn’t help that he technically had TWO bullet holes to deal with; one in his front, and the other at nearly the same level on his back. It made things…annoying.
No matter his position, whether he stood or laid down or simply sat slumping in a comfy chair, it hurt. Any twisting or turning or bending pulled at the edging of the wounds.
All in all? He was sore, miserable, and terribly cranky all the time.
And no one would give him a moment's peace. Day in, day out, the Senju family hovered over him, constantly fretting and asking questions and bothering him.
And constantly trying to get him to just lay down and rest and do nothing.
Now, sitting with his arms crossed over his chest, Madara glared at Hashirama as he fretted about the room, having delivered yet another bouquet of flowers. This one was outrageously colourful, looking rather like a garden had vomited up its most awful specimens. “Kawa and Itama wanted to come by and bring you a fancy dinner, but seeing as your doctor friend said you’re on a very restricted diet until you’re more healed, I told them they’d have to wait for at least a couple of weeks.”
Madara continued to glare at him, trying to will him away from the weight of his glare alone. Alas, it didn’t work, and Hashirama continued to breeze around the room, still chattering on about something that he no longer bothered to listen to. With his apparent failure, he occupied himself by fidgeting with the IV line stuck in his arm.
’Maybe if I pretend to fall asleep he’ll leave me alone.’
That seemed like a good plan. Slowly, he hunched his knees up towards his chest, taking care not to aggravate his injuries, and snuggled himself up under the cosy blanket Itama had brought him. While Hashirama wasn’t looking, he mussed up his bangs a bit, letting them flop a little more messily over his eyes than usual. Then, he shut his eyes, tugging the blanket up to his chin and hunching down under it.
It took Hashirama a little while to notice him pretend sleeping. When he did, he blessedly fell silent. A warm hand brushed his hair back, smoothing it back from his face. “Sleep well,” the oldest Senju muttered quietly. Quiet footsteps retreated to the door, and the moment it closed and he was in the clear, Madara sat up, pushing the blanket off.
“I’ve been doing nothing but sleeping for weeks,” he muttered, carefully swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, and standing gingerly. The movement brought a wave of burning pain, but he expected it. He took a minute to wait for the accompanying nausea to subside, then started picking at the tape holding his IV line in place at his elbow.
Just as he yanked the needle out, the doors swung open yet again, and then walked in another Senju. Raising an eyebrow, Tobirama watched him flick the IV line away. “Aren’t you supposed to be on bedrest?”
Madara scowled at him. “I’m the health care professional here, I think I know what’s best for myself.”
“And Kenara said that health care professionals are quite often hypocrites, and to make sure that you listen.”
“I’m an adult, I can do what I want.”
Tobirama rolled his eyes, putting his hands on his shoulders and pushing him down to sit back on the bed. “Madara, you gotta take it easy. Isn’t that what you’re always preaching?”
“Well, then I guess I’m a hypocrite.”
Tobirama sighed again, and shook his head. “Aren’t we all?” he muttered, under his breath. He sat down next to him, his hand automatically reaching out to rest a hand on Madara’s thigh. “I haven’t made any progress yet. In finding who betrayed us.” An edge of frustration laced his tone. “But your friends and family are still safe,” he added. “I have some of my best and most trusted men watching over them.
In all honesty, that wasn’t entirely reassuring, considering it was one of his ‘best and most trusted’ that betrayed him.
“Don’t look so disgruntled,” Tobirama scolded. “We’ll get to where we need to be. This man’s time is coming up.”
“I’m sure it is.” He pushed himself up again, stretching as carefully as he could without pulling at the injury. “What are you doing here, Tobirama?”
Tobirama’s red eyes watched him carefully as he started to pace the room, pressing one hand lightly over his stomach. “I never apologised.”
Madara snorted. “Apologised for what, shooting me?”
“Yes,” Tobirama replied seriously. Madara stopped pacing next to the window, staring out at the grounds of the Senju mansion.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he said after a heavy pause. “I basically asked you too.”
“I know,” Tobirama sighed. “I tell myself it was unavoidable, but I could have come up with something.”
“What’s done is done,” Madara said stiffly. “It doesn’t do any good to dwell on it.”
Tobirama sat where he was for a moment longer, then stood up with a sigh. “Take it easy, Madara. I’ll see you later.” With one last, lingering look, red eyes smouldering with something Madara didn’t want to identify, he slunk out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
Closing his eyes with a groan, Madara leaned against the window pane. Tobirama was always strange, but now his behaviour seemed even more….peculiar. Somewhat withdrawn, but desperate, in a way.
He shook his head at his own thoughts, and resumed his pacing, slowly. How far was he in his 1 year of being the Senju’s willing prisoner? Maybe half way, if that. And what had all happened in that short amount of time? Gotten people killed, injured, risked his family and colleagues. Could this have been avoidable?
If he hadn’t agreed to Tobirama’s insane demand, would Jiro have been kicked out of his territory still? If so, would he have targeted Kawarama in the same way? Would the teen have survived the attack? Not likely. Tobirama and his syndicate didn’t have the resources to combat the poison that had been used on him.
He touched his stomach, fingers brushing over the white bandages taped over the injury on his front. It’d leave a permanent scar, a reminder of the ordeal, even if he did end up leaving after his year was up. Which, now that he thought about it, brought up a whole new set of questions, ones that he didn’t even want to consider right now.
Hell, he needed a drink.
~*~*~*~*~
Healing took time. It was a frustrating process, made even more irritating by the constant presence of the Senju’s hovering over his shoulder.
But, progress was progress, and it was another month and a half until he was able to return to a somewhat normal routine. During that time, Tobirama was scarcely seen, dropping in now and then to check up on him, and then disappearing for days at a time. Whatever progress he was making hunting down his traitor, he didn’t share it.
Things changed when the Senju broke his self-imposed avoidance one evening, strolling into Madara’s room without knocking. Curled on the couch with Kurama and a thick textbook resting on his thigh, Madara raised his eyebrow at his uninvited guest. “Look who finally decided to show his face,” he drawled, pushing the textbook to the side and scratching Kurama behind the ears.
Tobirama snorted. “I see with your healing has returned your sense of humour,” he quipped, striding towards him.
“You could say I’m in a somewhat better mood.”
“Clearly.” He stopped in front of him, putting his fingers under his chin and tilting his face up. Madara let him, taking in the intensity of his gaze, the smoulder in his red eyes. Tobirama stroked his thumb lightly over his jaw.
“You up for a drive?” he asked, moving his hand up and over his cheek to brush his hair back from his eyes.
“Where to?” Madara asked, curious despite himself.
“That would be a surprise, hence I’m not telling you.”
Madara gave him a look, considering. Truth be told, he was itching to get out of the mansion, to get some space from the constant hovering of the other Senju’s. “Alright,” he said after a heavy pause, just to make Tobirama wait.
“Good.” Tobirama knelt, removing Kurama from his legs and setting the disgruntled cat down on the empty space on the couch beside him. Then he took his hands, and gently pulled, tugging him to his feet. “Let’s not wait then.” With insistent pulls, he led Madara out the room, down the halls and the stairs, and out the front doors.
His silver sports car was waiting out front, and as usual, Tobirama opened the passenger door for him. “And they say chivalry is dead,” Madara muttered, accepting the gesture without protest and sliding into the leather seat. Tobirama chucked quietly, closing the door and circling the front of the car to the driver's seat. As soon as the engine roared to life, he put it in drive and peeled away from the mansion, veering onto the highway with a loud squeal of tires.
“How have you been feeling?” he asked at one point as they raced down the freeways, weaving through the traffic.
“Progress is progress, no matter how slow,” Madara grunted back, gazing out the window. “And how's your man-hunt going?”
Tobirama’s fingers briefly curled around the steering wheel, turning white before he relaxed again. “Not as well as I hoped. Whoever this bastard is, he’s slippery. But we have a few leads I’m investigating. I have one of my best on it.” As he spoke, he moved one hand from the steering wheel to rest on Madara’s upper thigh, thumb rubbing absentminded circles.
“One of your best?” Madara echoed. “And is this ‘one’ actually someone you trust? You said it yourself that someone you trust was the one who betrayed you. How do you know that your lack of progress isn’t because this ‘one’ person is actually the one who-”
“He’s not,” Tobirama interrupted, without hesitation. “This man would never let the Senju syndicate fall.”
Madara snorted, but chose not to argue when Tobirama seemed so firmly convicted. The rest of the drive was quiet, as Tobirama took them into the city, through the streets and past downtown, until they finally pulled up to a small, but well kept building in a quiet neighbourhood. Tobirama parked by the front curb and shut the engine off, hopping out of the car before Madara could ask where the hell they were and for what purpose.
Tobirama opened his door, and tilted his head meaningfully. With a sigh, Madara slid out of the car, following him up the front steps and through the doors. The building within was simple, but cosy. A few comfortable chairs in the front room, situated in a half circle in front of what looked like a reception desk. Into the hall past the desk, doors led to smaller rooms lining the hall. A secondary hall branched off from the main hall, but what lay beyond, Madara couldn’t tell.
“What is this place, Tobirama?” he asked curiously, surveying the front room. Tobirama didn’t reply. Instead, he grabbed him by the hand, leading him down the secondary hall to the double doors at the end of it.
Through the doors, the room beyond was large, open, and fresh, and looked very much like a surgical room.
Madara paused, taking in it. The surgical table, the medical instruments, the lights….
Tobirama came up quietly behind him, curling his arms gently around his waist and lacing his fingers together over his stomach, just below the wound that resided there. He rested his chin on his shoulder, fluffy white hair tickling his neck.
“This is yours, if you want it,” he muttered quietly. Madara stiffened, unable to suppress a shiver rushing down his spine when Tobirama tilted his head, brushing his lips lightly over the side of his neck.
“What?” he breathed quietly, both at Tobirama’s words and his presence, his touch. Tobirama chuckled softly in his ear, breath warm.
“I bought this place a few months ago,” he explained. “And ever since your injury, I’ve been spending money and time here to get it ready. A few more weeks, and it’ll be done. Examination rooms, surgery, x-ray, CT, and MRI, all waiting for you, all at your service. I have many connections in the city, including your university. You can get your full medical degree in a year, if you wish. Of course, you’ll have to put in the work for it, and it won’t be easy, cramming four years of knowledge and practise into one, but I think that you can manage just fine with-”
“Wait, wait. Tobirama, what are you saying?” He turned around to face him, and Tobirama’s hands slid along his sides to rest on his hips, not breaking contact.
Tobirama hummed. “I know you heard me just fine,” he replied, his tone amused. “If you want this, this whole place is yours, with conditions, of course.”
Madara frowned. “Why? Why are you even offering this?”
“You were right, before,” he answered with a shrug. “When you said that my mafia’s medical centre was pathetic. It really is. So, I decided to upgrade. Built this clinic just for that reason. I want you to run it. I want to employ you as our official medic. My men deserve proper care, and I can think of no one better than you to fill the role.”
Madara just gawked at him. “I…I don’t un-”
Tobirama put a finger on his lips to silence him. “Hush, princess. Listen to me.” He waited until Madara nodded before continuing. “I want to take care of you, okay? I want to protect you, and I can’t do that if you’re off running around the city doing whatever at any given time. Work for me, give care to me and my people. You can even make it official. Open the clinic to the public, take care of everyone you can with that big, bleeding heart of yours. Build a team to help you.”
For a long moment, Madara stared at him in disbelief, his mind a whirlwind of thought. “I don’t know-”
Once again, Tobirama interrupted him, this time by yanking him closer, so close that their bodies pressed together and barely an inch resided between their faces. “Say yes,” Tobirama breathed, so quietly it was almost a whisper. One hand lifted to brush his hair back from his eyes, tucking it behind his ear and then resting on his jaw. “Say yes,” he muttered again. “Say yes, please.”
Should he? Is this what he wanted? To work for the mafia, provide care for them? These people who believe themselves to be above the law, who broke rules and didn’t care for the consequences? Who kept the city safe, kept the people safe? Who loved their family more than anything else?
Madara gazed up at him for a long moment. “Okay,” he whispered, surprising himself with his answer. “Yes.”
Tobirama smiled, a rare, genuine smile, both hands lifting to cup his face. “Can I kiss you?” he whispered, leaning forward to press their foreheads together. “Madara?”
Screw it.
Curling his fingers in the front of Tobirama’s shirt, he pressed forward, pulling the Senju closer at the same time and kissing him heatedly. Tobirama made a low sound of pleasure, hands dropping once more to his waist, fingers clenching tightly and likely to leave bruises on his skin. He deepened the kiss, turning them around and then stepping forward to press Madara back against the wall, moulding them together.
“The things you do to me,” he breathed, dropping his head to press open mouthed kisses up and down Madara’s neck. “It’s almost criminal.”
“Ironic,” Madara panted, head thumping back against the wall, curling his fingers tightly into Tobirama’s shoulders. “Seeing as you’re the criminal.”
Tobirama chuckled, and bit down on his neck, making Madara hiss and twitch violently. “Careful who you’re calling a criminal, princess.” He pulled the top of Madara’s shirt aside, pressing kisses and gentle nips along his collarbone. “You have no idea what great crimes I’m capable of,” he drawled, his tone teasing. “How dark, how merciless, how cruel and ruthless I can be.” He trailed one hand up Madara’s chest, curling around his throat, gently, but firmly.
“Not just in mafia life, darling,” he purred. “You want to experience that in the bedroom? I’m an expert at torture. The things I could do to you….I could pull you apart in the most delightful of ways.”
The words sounded like a threat, but also like a promise. A dark one, but one filled with thrills and pleasures.
Madara couldn’t stop a low moan from escaping, closing his eyes. Tobirama made a pleased sound, curling his fingers a little tighter, just enough to slightly restrict his air intake. “Would you like that, darling?” he breathed, grazing his teeth over his skin. “Do you want me to be merciless to you, to torture you, to bring you pleasure that-”
“You talk big,” Madara cut off, more so for his own sake. Tobirama’s words, filthy and promising, sent his thoughts spiralling down into the gutter. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
“I’ll keep my promises if you’ll let me,” Tobirama said meaningfully, pulling back a little to raise an eyebrow at him. Madara rolled his eyes, pulling him back to bring their lips together once more, effectively shutting him up. Tobirama made an amused sound, but went willingly, nipping his bottom lip, first lightly, and then harshly.
“You’re such a brat,” he growled, his voice husky. Madara snickered quietly, pulling back.
“Would you still like me if I wasn’t?” he challenged. “It’s all part of my charm.”
“That it is.” Tobirama trailed his fingers up and down his neck, then flicked his chin. “Well, Doctor. Are you ready for what may very well be the most challenging time of your life? It won’t be easy on you.”
Madara smirked back, wiggling away from him and taking in the room once more. “Bring it on, Senju.”