Light is Shed
’Just because you agreed to this doesn’t mean you’ve agreed to the original deal,’ he reminded himself, unable to stop his thoughts from constantly straying to the new clinic currently in the midst of its finishing touches. ’You never yielded to his original demand. After the year is over, you’re free to do as you please, and you’ll have a clinic that occasionally caters to the needs of the city’s resident mafia. That’s it.’
And yet, the thought of that didn’t seem overly….realistic. Even if he did decide to shun Tobirama after his year was up, would the Senju ever really let him go? Would he ever be free from his grasp, from his presence? Did he even want to be?
Madara shook his head, refocusing his attention on the textbook spread in front of him. Those were questions he could ponder later. For now, he had far too much to do. Cramming the remainder of his med training into one year seemed like an impossible task, but it was one he was determined to achieve. As such, his free time rapidly dwindled down to zero, as did his social life. It was not for lack of trying, on other peoples parts. The Senju brothers continued trying to pester him, Izuna and Hikaku always pressed him to leave the mansion and see them.
But Madara chose his self-imposed isolation. He had work to do, and couldn’t afford distractions. He could tell the others were annoyed, but he didn’t much care. Kurama, at least, seemed happy that he was always around. So, that was one thing on the planet that approved of his choices.
Absentmindedly, he scratched Kurama behind the ears, and the cat started purring quietly from his spot on his bed situated on the corner of Madara’s desk. He made a good studying companion. Twirling his pen around his fingers, Madara brushed his hair back from his eyes, and sighed.
A gentle knock sounded at the door, and then it swung open moments later. Tobirama strolled into the room, red eyes landing on him hunched over the desk. “Terrible posture,” he tsked, nudging the door shut behind him with his heel before striding over. Madara snorted, leaning back and crossing his arms.
“Oh, shut up. As if I’d let myself be lectured by you.”
“Aw, but it’s such fun.” The Senju leaned against his desk, bracing his hands against the edge and grinning down at him.
“What do you want?” Madara grumbled, waving a hand at the many textbooks and notebooks scattered over his desk. “I’m a little busy.”
“I can see that. Your clinic is done. Whenever you’re ready, it’s open to you.”
Madara tapped his pen against his bottom lip for a moment. “That didn’t take long.”
“It’s amazing what money can do,” Tobirama replied airily. “I have a proposal.”
“And what would that be?”
Tobirama leaned forward, plucking the pen out from between his fingers. “I know you’re busy and whatnot, but I’d like for you to set aside one day a week. During the day, be at your clinic, see some of my men. And at night, you come out with me.”
Madara considered for a moment. “Half a day.”
“No, a full day. It’s not healthy to slave away like this.”
“Hey, this was all your idea,” Madara pointed out, reaching up to jab a finger in his chest. Tobirama caught his wrist, pulling slightly, and leaned down.
“Yes, it was. So let me take care of you.”
Madara snorted, looking away. “I can take care of myself just fine.”
“I think we both know that’s not true, Mr. Let-me-walk-around-with-a-bullet-hole-two-weeks-after-I-got-shot.”
Madara narrowed his eyes. “Sarcasm really doesn’t suit you.”
“Sue me.” He let go of Madara’s wrist, crossing his arms over his chest. “Every Wednesday. You leave the books behind, or I will personally come and drag you away, kicking and screaming if I have to. Deal?”
“What is with you and deals,” Madara grumbled, leaning back to glare at him. Tobirama just raised an expectant eyebrow. “Fine, deal, or whatever.”
“Great. I’ll let the crew know they can start seeing you for whatever little concern they have.” With that, he brushed Madara’s hair back, flicked his nose lightly, and prowled out the door.
“Bloody hell, you’re so annoying,” Madara muttered under his breath. On his bed, Kurama meowed in agreement.
~*~*~*~*~~*~
“Still nothing?” Tobirama demanded in disbelief. Across the table, his father grunted, lighting a cigar and taking a deep inhalation.
“You said it yourself, this bastard is slippery,” Butsuma said calmly, pulling the pipe from his lips and giving him a look. Tobirama growled under his breath.
“You said you’d have this handled,” he hissed, barely holding onto his fraying temper.
“And I do,” Butsuma replied. “I didn’t say I had ‘nothing’, I said there was ‘nothing of great significance to note at this time’. I have my leads, son. I’d suggest you calm down and let me follow them.”
Tobirama raked a frustrated hand through his hair. “This man almost cost me everything I’ve ever wanted,” he said icily. “I called on you to help hunt this traitor down because I thought you’d be more efficient than this!”
Butsuma took another drag, dark eyes narrowing. “Watch your tongue, boy. Let me enjoy the hunt. It’s amusing to stalk a rat when it realises it's about to be cornered.”
That gave Tobirama pause. “And is it?” he asked lowly. “Is it about to be cornered?”
Butsuma hummed. “I’m closing in, Tobirama. Stop worrying.”
“Does he know you’re getting close?” Tobirama asked, standing up to start pacing. “If he knows, then he might bail. Or he might do something drastic to avoid capture.”
His father shrugged. “He might know, he might not. If he does, he hasn’t let on. There’s been no change in his behaviour that might suggest he suspects.”
With a sigh, Tobirama returned to his seat again, folding his hands on the table. “He can’t find out,” he said darkly. “He can’t know you’re close. I will not risk the lives of anyone else.”
Butsuma leaned back, his blank gaze turning thoughtful, contemplative. “Normally you wouldn’t be this impatient,” he commented. “You’ve always enjoyed the hunt, just as I have. Smelling the fear, the desperation, as the walls close in. But things are different for you now, aren’t they?”
Tobirama pursed his lips, and briefly contemplated getting up to get a glass of whiskey. “They are,” he said finally. “I almost lost Kawarama, and then Madara because of this person. What if he lashes out at him in desperation, in an attempt to escape judgement?”
Butsuma hummed again. “If he does, it would have been a very poor choice,” he said with a shrug. “I feel like your little doctor packs more of a punch then he lets on.”
Despite himself, Tobirama smirked. “Yeah. Yeah, he certainly does.”
Butsuma stood, circling around the desk. As he headed to the doors of Tobirama’s office, he briefly paused beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Be at peace, my son. I will solve this for you.”
~*~*~*~*~
It was easy enough to settle into a routine, and Wednesday, surprisingly, became something he looked forward to. A lot of Tobirama’s men came to see him, mostly with complaints about old wounds that never healed correctly, or new injuries from scrapes that came with the daily work of being a mobster. Some of them he knew; he had treated them before, when Tobirama sent for him after a few nasty fights. It was nice to see their progress, their healing.
It was busy work; Tobirama pressed him to find a team and open the clinic up to the public, but Madara was loath to do so until he had his full degree. Until then, he would only see Senju syndicate members. Tobirama had huffed and grumbled at his decision, claiming it was a waste of his time and talents, but eventually stood down and let him do what he wanted.
That had been a month ago, already. Time really did fly.
Over that month, he had seen a lot of Tobirama’s people. And as such, things were finally starting to slow down at the clinic now, and he had time to arrange the clinic more to his liking. Maybe he ought to bring Kurama down with him next time, let the cat have his run of the place.
In the midst of organising some supplies, he heard the sound of the front door opening. “Heeelllooooo?” a voice called, loud and purposeful. He vaguely recognized that voice.
Curious, he poked his head around the corner of the room he was in, glancing into the waiting room. Indeed, his visitor was familiar. “Akihiko,” he greeted, stepping out all the way. “How’s the shoulder treating you?”
Akihiko grinned, lifting his arm and performing a windmill. “Practically good as new!”
Madara hummed. “Good.” He liked Akihiko, but the man was tiring, in a way. He had seen him first when Tobirama first went after Jiro, and Akihiko had gotten shot in the shoulder. After extracting the bullet, Akihiko had turned it into a necklace. “What brings you here today?”
“I’ve been having these really weird headaches lately,” the other replied, waving about his temples vaguely. “Nothing I take seems to really help, so Chuya said to come see you and maybe you can solve the mystery?”
“Mhm, sounds fun. Come on back.” He waved a hand meaningfully, and Akihiko obediently trotted after him to the back. Instead of heading to a smaller examination room, Madara led him back to the larger surgical room. “Hop up on the table,” he instructed, taking a seat himself. Akihiko listened obediently, swinging his legs back and forth.
“So, when did these headaches start?”
“About the same time I got shot,” he said, patting his shoulder.
“Intensity and frequency?”
“Every day, and pretty painful.” Curious that he hadn’t mentioned that earlier.
He asked several more questions, poking and prodding to assess Akihiko’s state. During a closer examination, Madara couldn’t help but notice a strange aroma, wafting up from around Akihiko. Sweet, almost citrusy, sickly so. Whatever was bothering him, it was an…odd occurrence. Despite himself, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite adding up.
~*~*~*~*~
~*~*~*~*~
“Tobirama!”
Butsuma barged into his office, a triumphant smirk on his face, and he slammed his hands down on his desk. The impact shook the desk, and caused his half full glass of whiskey to tremble. Tobirama eyed the shaking drink for a moment, then looked up, raising his eyebrow at his father. Standing next to him, and looking over his shoulder at some reports they were discussing, Chuya bowed his head respectfully for the eldest Senju. “I have work to do,” Tobirama sighed. “ So if this can wait….”
“I found your traitor.”
That caught his attention, and he straightened. “How?”
In response, Butsuma set down a small vile on his desk. It was filled with a black liquid; thick and sluggish. “Your doctor said that your traitor used poison on Kawarama. I found this in one of my suspects rooms. Oh, and these.” Butsuma set down two phones, a notebook, and a long, curved knife. “Phone records lead to a burner phone, and that burner phone belonged to a certain Jiro. And in this….” He flipped open the notebook, trailing his finger down lines of neat script. “Transaction records. Your man was meticulous, kept detailed accounts of all the payments he received for betraying you.”
Tobirama reached out, grasping the hilt of the knife and examining the blade. “Who is it?” he demanded, his voice a low growl.
Butsuma crossed his arms. “Second level man. Akihiko Nohara.”
Chuya inhaled sharply, and his hand flew up to squeeze Tobirama’s shoulder so tightly it hurt. “Akihiko?” he breathed.
“Chuya?” Tobirama questioned, turning to look up at him, and surprised by the expression of dread on his face. “What’s wrong?”
Chuya groaned deeply. “He…he was complaining of some headaches lately. And I…I sent him off to see Madara. Barely two hours ago.”
“Oh, damn,” Butsuma muttered, fingering the gun resting on his hip.
“Fuck,” Tobirama hissed, standing up. “Chuya, summon the team. We leave now.”
~*~*~*~*~
~*~*~*~*~
~*~*~*~*~*~
“I can give you stronger pain meds, and we’ll see how they do. If nothing changes after 2 weeks, we’ll run some more tests, okay?”
“Sounds good, doc,” Akihiko said cheerfully, beaming. Nodding, Madara stood, turning and heading to a side counter, where he had several prescription drugs on hand. It had taken a fair bit of effort to convince Tobirama to build him a miniature pharmacy, but as with all things, he won the argument.
He still couldn’t shake the feeling nagging him that something, something was off.
As he dug around, hunting out those specific meds, he tilted a surgical plate up, propping it against the wall. It's clear, shiny surface offered a crude reflection of the room behind him, and he kept an eye on Akihiko as he looked. Just in case….
Akihiko had his hands in his pockets, still swinging his legs and looking around the room. As Madara watched in the reflection, Akihiko pulled one hand out of his pocket, fingers loosely curled. Silently, he hopped off the table, connecting to the ground with a sound, and slowly paced closer.
Shit.
He braced himself, making it look like he was busy with a med packet as Akihiko silently prowled closer, while in reality he dug a small vial out, uncapped a syringe, and filled it with the fluid within the vial, tucking it into his pocket. All the while, he watched out of the corner of his eye, until Akihiko was right behind him, and he was lifting his hand, curling his fingers back to reveal a small syringe filled with black fluid.
Just as Akihiko sprang, Madara spun about, lifting his hands and catching the other’s wrist above his head, lifting his knee at the same time and ramming it into the inside of his inner thigh. Akihiko snarled a curse, all of his former charm and charisma and friendliness gone.
“Bitch,” he spat, trying to use his greater height and weight to bear down on him, trying to bring the Banebreath filled syringe down.
“How rude,” Madara grunted, squeezing Akihiko’s wrist as hard as he could, digging his thumb deep into the flexor crease. “Mind your fucking manners.” With that, he let go, spun to the side, and grabbed Akihiko’s hair, slamming his face down on the counter. Akihiko snarled, whirling around and lunging at him.
He grabbed Madara by the collar, yanking him forward and wrapping the fingers of his other hand around his throat. As he did, he drove forward, shoving him back against the examination table. The impact made Madara hiss, and Akihiko leaned forward, pushing him down and onto his back on the table. Automatically, Madara flexed at the hips, hooking his legs up and around the other man’s waist, linking his ankles over each other at the small of his back.
Akihiko started to squeeze, hard, trying to bring the syringe down on him at the same time. Cursing, Madara once again grabbed his wrist, pushing back against him. “Thought I wouldn’t recognize the scent of Banebreath?” he growled, setting his free hand against Akihiko’s face and pushing. “It follows you like the stench of a wet dog.”
“You ruined everything,” Akihiko snarled. “If it weren’t for you, the Senju syndicate would have crumbled to the ground by now!”
“I sincerely doubt that,” Madara wheezed, shifting one leg down to press his knee against Akihiko’s chest. “You underestimate the tenacity of the Senju family.” Grunting, he pushed Akihiko back, but the man didn’t budge. ’Bloody hell, he’s stronger than he looks.’
He pushed back again, with little success. Screw this.
He held for a moment longer, then abruptly gave in, losing all the fight he had. With the lack of resistance, Akihiko’s hand came down, and he drove the syringe into Madara’s neck, the poison within rushing out and into his system. He blinked, looking surprised at his sudden, apparent victory, and Madara grinned.
“You’re a bloody idiot.” Using the man's surprise to his advantage, he bucked his hips up hard, successfully unbalancing him, and surged up, twisting at the same time and knocking them both off the table and onto the floor.
The moment Akihiko hit the ground, Madara dug his own syringe out of his pocket, and stabbed it into his chest. “What the hell?!” Akihiko roared, and swapped their positions, so that he was straddling him, pinning him to the floor.
Madara laughed, waving the empty syringe at him. “I give you 20 seconds before you feel those effects, traitor. It’s much faster acting than Banebreath.”
“You bitch!” Akihiko spat. “What did you do to me?!”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Madara taunted, not at all concerned with his unfavourable position. It wouldn’t be much longer now, after all.
Akihiko curled his fingers into the sides of Madara’s neck, seeking to choke the life from him. Madara let him; the more of a fight he put up, the faster the poison would course through his own veins.
True to his prediction, it took only seconds for Akihiko’s grip to loosen, the effects of the drug already starting to take effect. “What….what did you do…” Akihiko mumbled, his voice slurring. Madara wiggled one leg up, twisting it between them, and pushing him back. Akihiko went without a fight, not that he had a choice.
He turned Akihiko over, and slowly got to his feet. Akihiko groaned on the floor, and Madara found some medical tape, using it to tightly bind his hands and feet. Once he was secure, he rummaged through the drawers again, and found the remaining Banebreath antidote. He carefully drew out the required amount, and injected it into himself, making a face as the needle pierced his skin.
Akihiko moaned again, as the anti-seizure meds fully kicked in. “Serves you right,” Madara muttered, digging out his phone and calling Tobirama.
He picked up after one ring. “Madara! Are you-”
“Hey, slow down, tiger,” Madara interrupted. “I got your traitor here.”
For a moment, Tobirama was quiet. “Are you okay?” he asked gruffly.
“Peachy.”
“We’re almost there. Is he secure?”
“Yeah.”
“Hang tight, love.”
The endearment didn’t go unnoticed, but Tobirama ended the call before Madara could question him. Sighing, he leaned back against the counter, staring at the man tied on the floor. He looked truly pathetic, bound and half unconscious.
Now that the fight was over, and the adrenaline was starting to subside, dull pain flared up from his abdomen. He glanced down, frowning when he realised his shirt was stained dark.
Blood. Damn it. His still healing gunshot wound must have opened during the scuffle. With a sigh, he turned away from his captive. It was only a few short minutes later when he heard the doors of the clinic slam open, and running feet in the hall. Moments later, the surgical room doors opened as well, and a dishevelled looking Tobirama staggered in.
“Madara,” he breathed, crossing the space between them in a few quick steps and grabbing him by the shoulders. Behind him, a few more men filed into the room, Tobirama’s intimidating father among them. “Are you alright?”
“Fine, Tobi. Don’t worry.”
Tobirama snorted, his eyes darting down. “What happened to your neck? Did he….did he choke you?”
“Mhm, he tried, rather unsuccessfully.” One of Tobirama’s hands moved up, following the growing bruises, and pausing at the small puncture wound from Akihiko’s syringe.
“What’s this?”
“Ah. Banebreath.”
“What?” Tobirama hissed, his fingers curling tightly. “Are you-”
“It’s fine, Tobi. I had the antidote on hand.”
Tobirama sighed, leaning forward and resting his forehead against Madara’s. His hands dropped down, following his arms down and resting on his hips. As he did, his fingers brushed against the wetness staining his shirt. “What the hell is this?” Tobirama snarled, his calm abruptly disappearing.
“Tobira-” Ignoring his protest, he pulled up the bottom of Madara’s shirt, revealing the re-opened wound, the fresh blood leaking through the bandages.
“Did he do this?” Tobirama hissed.
“No, just calm down,” Madara growled back. “There was a brief scrap, and it just re-opened during it, it’s fine.”
Tobirama didn’t look convinced, but he glanced over his shoulder at Akihiko. “How did you know? That it was him?”
Madara sighed, and crossed his arms loosely, curling his fingers around his biceps. “Constant and repetitive exposure to a poison such as Banebreath can eventually cause long term effects. Like headaches. And I could smell it on him. Scents as potent as that are hard to mask after so much time.”
Tobirama shook his head, and rubbed his eyes. “What did you do to him? He’s barely moving.”
“A healthy dose of anti-seizure meds,” Madara shrugged. “For someone who doesn’t have a seizure disorder, it can cause temporary paralysis, and a bunch of other unpleasant things.”
“Genius,” Tobirama praised, brushing his hair back from his eyes. “You sure you’re okay, otherwise?”
Madara nodded, and Tobirama patted his cheek lightly. “Tobirama,” his father called, waving him over. Tobirama gave Madara a long look, then waved Hashirama over. The older Senju brother trotted over.
“Get him home,” he instructed lowly. With a final, fond touch, he turned to the group surrounding Akihiko. Whatever he chose to do next, Madara didn’t see. Hashirama stepped in front of him, putting an arm on his shoulders and turning him about.
“Come on,” he said quietly. “Let’s go home.” With gentle, but insistent tugs, he guided him out of the room.
Madara went without protest, not sure if he wanted to see what was about to happen. “What will he do to him?”
“Akihiko?” Hashirama sighed. “Well. Probably nothing…pleasant.”
Madara was quiet for a long moment as Hashirama led him outside and into his car. “Whatever he gets, he deserves it,” he said quietly, surprising himself even. Hashirama raised an eyebrow at him, and he shrugged helplessly. “Look what he did to your family,” he defended.
Hashirama chucked. “Look at you, you vicious little thing. We’ll make a mobster out of you yet.”
~*~*~*~~*`
Akihiko was thrown into the darkest, deepest dungeon of the Senju syndicate, chained to the cold floor. Butsuma and Tobirama watched their prisoner through the bars of his cell. “What do you want to do to him?” his father asked, giving him a sidelong look.
Tobirama was quiet for a long moment, watching his captive. “I want him to hurt,” he said darkly. “I want him to suffer for all that he’s done. He threatened my family, he tried to tear us apart. I want the same done to him.”
Butsuma smiled darkly. “Leave it to me, my son.”
Tobirama frowned. “He is my prisoner. It’s up to me to execute his punishment.”
“Tobirama,” Butuma said slowly. “Let me handle it. I started this syndicate, and this family. He threatened my creations, the prides of my life. Do not stop me from avenging the threat done to them.”
Tobirama gave him a considering look. “Alright,” he agreed. “I leave him in your capable hands then, father.”
Clapping him on the shoulder, he prowled up the stairs from the dungeons, underneath their mansion. His car was parked outside, and the moment he got in and closed the door, he slumped back into the seat.
It was finally over. The treachery, the conflict. His family, his people….they were safe.
~*~*~~*~
“I want you to see something.”
The voice startled him, and he looked up with surprise. Tobirama was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, gazing at him with a sober expression. It had been seven days since Akihiko had been caught, and in that time, Madara hadn’t seen him once.
“What is it?” he asked, shifting Kurama off his lap and onto his cat bed.
Tobirama smiled grimly, and straightened. “You’ll see. Come on.” He held out a hand meaningfully, not moving from his place by the door. Madara sighed, standing up and joining him. Tobirama took his hand, firmly, and led him down the halls, and down the stairs until they were in the underground parking lot.
Instead of going to one of the vehicles, Tobirama took him to the far end of the lot. A door with rusted hinges was cleverly disguised in a dark corner, and Tobirama withdrew an old skeleton key from his pocket, using it to open the door. The hall beyond was very dark.
“Come on,” Tobirama encouraged, starting down the stairs that led down, down, very steeply. Hesitantly, Madara followed.
The stairs were short, fortunately, and it led to a large underground hallway that branched off into a few rooms. Tobirama took him down to the one at the very end of the hall, the cell barred door already open. A large, stone table occupied the centre of the room. A single, artificial spotlight shone down on the table, illuminating the figure chained down to it.
Madara stopped, blinking at the sight. Akihiko was chained and strapped down, naked except for a thin pair of shorts. His skin was dirty, bruised, and bloody. His face, including his lips and eyes, was equally beaten and swollen. Another person was also present. Butsuma Senju.
“Helllooo, Madara dear,” Butsuma purred, leaning against the table. “Nice to finally speak face to face.”
Madara just stared at him, then glanced back at Tobirama. “Tobi, what is this?” he asked quietly.
For a moment, Tobirama didn’t answer, stepping around him to take up a seat along the far wall. “Come sit,” he invited, patting the chair beside him. He hesitated a moment longer, then did as asked. “I want you to see,” Tobirama continued in a low tone. “I want you to see what happens to people who threaten my own. What will happen to anyone who dares hurt my family. Who would dare to hurt you.”
He brushed his fingers lightly over Madara’s cheek. “But you don’t have to watch,” he added. “This isn’t exactly….your scene.”
“If we are ready,” Butsuma pipped up impatiently, lifting his hand. Madara had failed to notice the thick, wickedly sharp blade in his hand before, but now it glinted in the light above at Butsuma waved it around. “I’d like to continue.”
“Go ahead,” Tobirama said, leaning back in his seat to watch. Without thinking, Madara turned his head to do the same. He watched as Butsuma turned to Akihiko, watched the man thrash and struggle, as the blade pierced into vulnerable flesh, carving his punishment into his skin. Listened to his screams, watched the blood trickle to the floor.
“Wait.”
Butsuma paused, lifting his tool and giving him a look. Tobirama frowned at him, but didn’t say anything as Madara stood, and approached the table, and the man strapped down to it. He took note of the wounds, the injuries already inflicted upon him.
“Do more superficial injuries,” he said quietly, glancing up at Butsuma. The father of the Senju syndicate observed him silently, his dark eyes glittering. “They affect more nerve endings. Thus making any injury more painful.”
Butsuma grinned sharply. “I wondered if you would notice,” he approved. Madara met his gaze, then turned around and left. Just because he wanted Akihiko to hurt, doesn’t mean he wanted to watch it happen.
~*~*~*~
As the sound of Madara’s footsteps faded, Butsuma laughed. “You caught a good one, my boy,” he said cheerfully, waving his bloody blade around. “I like that he noticed what I was doing, purposefully avoiding more painful wounds. Very nice.”
Tobirama glanced at Akihiko, moaning quietly on the table, and felt a surge of satisfaction. His decision to take Madara down, to let him see, had paid off. “I know.”
Butsuma snorted. “Well, what are you still doing here, then?”
“Mhm?”
His father grinned wickedly. “Whatever point you’re trying to make, I think you’ve made it. Now, go.”
Tobirama paused, debating. “I leave him to you,” he said, waving to Akihiko. As much as he’d like to stay and enjoy the torture, he had other….more important things to do.
Standing swiftly, he left the cell, and made his way after Madara.