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In the middle of yet another argument about what actions they should or shouldn't take against the Senju, Izuna turns away and throws his hands up in disgust. "Sometimes it's like you don't even want to defeat the Senju!" he says, and Madara...
Looking at Izuna's back, Madara makes the mistake of being silent for just a moment too long as he cleans his brush of ink and sets it down. He makes the mistake of feeling a little too loud.
Izuna turns slowly, in a controlled manner that Madara is unaccustomed to seeing inside their home. It's strange to see the light of the window slowly retreat from his face until just the edge of his cheek and temple are lit by the sun. At the same time, Izuna's end of their familial bond turns and sharpens in the same strange manner. "What was that?" he asks. "You felt—you felt like—Madara, what was that." In contrast to Izuna's perfectly controlled body language, his emotions twist and his words stutter.
Madara has spent a long time hiding this part of himself. Perhaps he should hide it still, but even if Madara thought he could talk his way around this with Izuna—doubtful, considering what Izuna must have felt just now—Madara would still hesitate to do so. Lying to Izuna by omission for all these years has been bad enough.
It's not possible to turn off a bond without breaking it, but the familial bond that Madara has with Izuna is the shallow, surface layer sort of bond achieved and maintained through concentrated effort. Their bond grew out of the training bond they'd made as soon as Izuna was old enough for such things; Madara couldn't in good conscience allow Izuna's first training bond to be with their father, and once it had been established they'd never seen reason to break it.
All these years, carefully thinking his way around his own feelings just to hide it from Izuna. He probably owes Izuna the truth. He says, "I think you know what you felt."
"You're not supposed to feel like that!" Izuna spits, his mouth clearing moving faster than his good sense.
Despite the circumstances, Madara can't help but be amused; Izuna sounds just like the precious, spitfire 7-year-old he used to be. It's easy to let his amusement rise to the surface as Madara says, "How do you suppose you'll stop me? We're a little old for you to tattle on me to someone, I think."
Izuna's chakra control over his physiological responses is too good for him to actually flush with embarrassment, but Madara can feel him feeling it anyway.
Madara sighs. He is just so, so tired. Almost dead from it, almost numb. But deep down there's that part of him, like an injured bird cradled in the hands of a child who doesn't yet understand anything about the world. Like a wound that never healed, like an injury concealed but never forgotten.
Why not let Izuna feel this? Why not dwell in it, just this once? In the futility, and the waste, and the especially secret suspicion, under everything, that the Uchiha might have been the one to pick this fight in the first place. It's hard to name that last feeling. A little like unease, a little like guilt, a little like doubt.
Some of the things they've done have been necessary.
Some of the things...surely not.
"Where," Izuna says carefully, "is this coming from?"
Not only is Izuna's tone careful, but so are his emotions. Where Madara has preferred an inelegant solution to concealing his true feelings—refusing to think of what he knows will bring up the emotions he wants to hide—Izuna has slipped into a low meditative technique, the kind it takes to maintain a high level genjutsu. His emotions are smooth and inscrutable to Madara's senses.
He's feeling betrayed, perhaps, although whether that emotion would stem from Madara concealing these emotions from him or from Madara having the emotions in the first place is anyone's guess.
"I suppose you would have been too young to remember," Madara says. "Izuna, our father was, at times, too committed to the fight against the Senju. It...I fear it sickened him."
Izuna is looking at him so intently that he doesn't blink. He only looks and looks, like Madara's face is a map of some foreign territory that might yet be full of enemies. Izuna says, "Our father kept the clan safe, and you should hold your tongue about him if you ever respected him at all."
It's Madara who closes his eyes, in the end. He closes them and keeps them closed. "He drove our clanmates like dogs after a fox. The older I get the less I understand it, Izuna."
There's a ripple in Izuna's emotions, like glimpsing the crash of waves in the ocean while standing on top of a mountain. Perhaps it's not a response to Madara's own strong emotions, but it's something.
"He was our father," Izuna says. "And our clan head."
Desperate for a little levity, Madara opens his eyes and says dryly, "I'm your clan head now, and you question my judgment more than anyone else's."
"Well, someone has to," Izuna mutters, petulant, and relaxes just a little.
They sit in silence for awhile. Madara passes the time by looking over Izuna's shoulder, out the window at their slightly bedraggled garden. Being so far from the capital, they have no need for any sort of strictly maintained garden display. It's looking worse than usual because the man who usually maintained it had been dismissed from his duties for awhile to go help with various harvests.
Izuna's clearly thinking hard. Madara could continue to carry the conversation, as he has plenty to say, but Izuna will feel managed if Madara directs their discussion. And anyway, Izuna will feel more strongly about a conclusion he comes to himself than one pressed upon him by Madara.
Izuna is ever the sharper one between them, though, and so of course he leaps over several discussions Madara thought they might have next and settles on: "This is about Senju Hashirama, isn't it?"
It is, of course, but it also isn't. Denying it outright won't do any good.
"Whenever we fight, our perfect bond tries to reform," Madara confesses.
"Your perfect bond—?!" Izuna's exclamation is choked, cut off, the calm facade of his bond with Madara broken suddenly as it swells with shock, and disgust, and even no small amount of panic.
"We were both just old enough for it when we met, and he had recently lost brothers to Father's Senju hunters. We had a lot in common, Izuna. We both wanted... something better for the sibling we had left."
Izuna's emotions flicker past almost too quick to be caught, changing at the speed of Izuna's mind turning this new emotion over and over in his mind.
"You both wanted peace," Izuna accuses.
"Yes," says Madara. "And safety for the children."
There is another long pause. Izuna's emotions are available to Madara again, but unfathomable.
He says, "I am fairly certain Senju Hashirama is married."
A strange line of conversation, but Madara nods. "Three years past, to Uzumaki Mito."
Izuna lets out a breath that hisses through his teeth. "I am not assassinating an Uzushio princess for you. You'll have to settle for someone else, perfect bond or not."
As alarming as these two sentences are, the worst part is that Madara can feel that Izuna could, in fact, be convinced to attempt the assassination. If Madara could convince him it was worth dying for. An uphill battle, for certain, but Madara has no idea what Izuna is talking about.
Slowly, tracing back the path of their conversation and only becoming more confused, Madara says, "I don't want Hashirama's wife dead. That wouldn't... help anything."
"You could let your perfect bond form—" Izuna says this part with a wince and a grimace, like the face he'd make after biting into something sour. "—and after the wedding we could have peace. Perhaps. If the Senju have any respect for the bonds of extended family."
Madara is briefly struck mute.
"Izuna, I don't want to marry Senju Hashirama," he says when he finds his voice again.
"You have a perfect bond—"
"We were children!" Madara exclaims. "And we haven't let it fully form for more then a decade. It's not like that, Izuna. It probably wouldn't even be perfect anymore. We've both changed so much."
"Good," Izuna says. "Good." Pure relief spills over their bond, like Izuna is a man freed from a fate worse than death. "But what do you want? We can't just stop fighting without a plan. The Senju will take advantage of that kind of weakness unless we have something to hold against them." Izuna pauses. "A hostage has always seemed like more trouble than it was worth, but we might be able to make it work. If you form your non-perfect bond with Hashirama again, anyway."
Madara feels a headache coming on. "No, no hostages. Don't take any hostages." Best to say it twice, to make double sure Izuna won't show up with some important Senju trussed up in wire next week. "I'll think on it, Izuna."
"Fine, fine." Izuna flaps a dismissive hand, as if to shoo the idea of taking hostages out the door. "You think, then. I need to go see about the patrol roster so that the Senju don't wipe us off the map before your thinking is through. If fact, you should let me handle all of that from now on. You hate it, anyway."
Madara studies Izuna carefully, both with his eyes and through his bond. Izuna is doubtful, suspicious, cynical, and hopeless. He truly believes that a moment of having their guard down will lead to disaster — there's an edge of despair to Izuna, always, and Madara thinks Izuna truly believes that a single missed patrol through their lands will lead to their utter ruin. A fear their father likely shared.
But Izuna is also tired. Not as deeply as Madara, not as wounded and wretched, but still tired. Just enough to echo across their bond, harmonizing, maintaining their connection without effort for the first time in a long, long time.
"I'll trust it to your hands, then," Madara says.
Izuna doesn't physically smile before taking his leave, but before their bond is stretched to a useless, faint, gossamer thing by distance Madara feels the brief flash of satisfaction he knew to expect. Izuna places a high value on trust, having little of it himself.
The main issue with having opened up to Izuna, been honest about his doubts and hopes, was that he'd now opened the floor to Izuna having opinions about all of it. And the main problem with allowing Izuna to have opinions about things was that he'd never shut up about those opinions. A secondary but almost equally frustrating issue was that Izuna was so often right. "It's all about trust," Izuna told him over and over in the weeks following their difficult but productive conversation in Madara's office. "How are we supposed to trust them?" he'd asked, in a dozen different ways.
Izuna's favorite fable had always been The Scorpion and the Frog, even as a child.
Madara has more optimism than Izuna, and less of the vicious streak that makes Izuna suspect everyone else of being equally or more vicious than he himself is, but even still Madara can see the truth of this. The fight between the Senju and the Uchiha has gone on for so long that even Madara's grandfather's grandfather likely didn't know the true origin of the conflict. It's practically a way of life, and although Madara doesn't doubt at all that Hashirama would be willing under the right circumstances to truly lay down their arms and meet as friends...
Well, the Senju and the Uchiha are each not small clans, and no clan head's power and influence is absolute. If an attempt to transition to peace or even just a ceasefire is mishandled, then eager war dogs on both sides might just find a way to twist it into yet more fuel for the fire of their conflict.
"Maybe a marriage would be the way to go," Madara says eventually, half out of exasperation but also half because it wasn't actually a bad idea. Except for all the ways in which it was terrible.
"But not," Izuna says with a wrinkle of his nose, "with Hashirama."
"No," Madara says, holding back a laugh at Izuna's expense out of politeness even though Izuna will feel the full brunt of how funny Madara thinks the idea is. "There are, however, other Senju."
Now Izuna shifts to scowling. "But few with even the barest hints of social standing, if our intelligence about their clan structure is at all accurate."
By all reports, the internal structure of the Senju isn't exactly flat, but only because being flat would be (although still a truly baffling choice) at least comprehensible. Rather, the Senju seem to be a tangle of responsibilities and command structures, with important or prestigious tasks assigned seemingly at random.
Even so.... "There's at least one," Madara feels the need to point out.
"No," Izuna says, but he's already feeling resigned.
"I'm open to other solutions, if you have them."
Izuna does not have other solutions. He scowls and stalks away to review their information about the inscrutable socio-political structure of the Senju and comes back days later with a notable slump in his shoulders.
"Are you sure about this?" he asks, question casual in tone but emotions anything but.
Madara says that he is.
"If you'd fought him, I don't think you'd even suggest it. He's—" Izuna gestures vaguely and uselessly, but Madara can feel the echo of Izuna's usual emotions when it comes to Tobirama: not just the thrill of a good fight, but the terror, too, and the anxiety that's worse than anxiety. The dread, the self-doubt. "He's cold. I've never even felt killing intent from him."
"Maybe he doesn't want to kill you."
Izuna doesn't even dignify that with a response, having felt Madara's strong doubt even as he was speaking the words. "My point is, I don't think he's marriage material. But if you're sure—" (And Madara is; he lets his determination swell to the top of their bond.) "—then let's switch opponents next time we're on the field together."
Madara's eyebrows raise. "You're offering to fight Hashirama."
"If you're sure about him," Izuna clarifies. "If you're wrong, he'll kill me."
Madara studies his brother for a moment. His brother, who definitely thinks Senju Hashirama will kill him if given the opportunity.
It's a ruthless strategy, really. He shouldn't have expected anything less from his younger brother. In his mind, it must be the perfect plan: if Hashirama kills him, Madara will have to concede that Hashirama is just another out-clan enemy. This strategy is also, of course, a little needlessly cruel. It would force Madara to live through the death of his last brother and his only empathic bond. If the traumatic breaking of the bond didn't kill him immediately, it would be a toss up between psychically bleeding to death and going on some insane suicide mission against the Senju.
But Madara is sure.
He's sure enough to risk both their lives on it.
The hardest part about enacting their plan is explaining to the other Uchiha who are likely to be on the field what's going to happen without divulging why it's going to happen. The second hardest part is actually making the switch when they arrive at the battle, because like every other fight Hashirama will aim for Madara and Tobirama will aim for Izuna. It's been that way for so long that Madara can't remember when he last crossed swords with Tobirama, or indeed if he ever did.
The third hardest part is hearing Hashirama shout for his brother over the din of the battle while Madara bears down on Tobirama. It's not quite panicked, but it's definitely distressed.
Hashirama is under no illusions about what Madara could do to Tobirama, just as Madara knows what Izuna is risking currently. They are, as always, almost perfectly in lock step. Madara brings his hands together to mold chakra for his opening strike and at the same time he thinks: Izuna might die. Anything could happen in battle. I trust Hashirama, but do I trust him that much? Will my little brother live? Will my childhood friend from the river really stay his blade?
He forces the issue by letting his own emotions swamp over him instead of keeping them pressed down beneath the sharp clarity of battle. He lets his own emotions spill over and fluctuate and twist until he's feeling yet again exactly what Hashirama is feeling, at the same time, in the same place, and like this, Madara reforms his bond with Hashirama deliberately.
Their bond is no longer the clear, perfect, whole thing it had been briefly when they were children. It's tarnished by age and their own enforced distance and, of course, the fact that they know each other as enemies now. But it's still there, and it's still strong. It's strong enough for Madara to not just taste Hashirama's emotions in the back of his throat, but for him to feel Hashirama feeling the same thing. A feedback loop, if one that's weaker now than it once was. A tightrope that they've both balanced on, a tenuous but undeniable connection between two points.
This is trust, the only kind of trust shinobi in their position can have. They must each hold a knife to each other's throat and not cut. Let neither of them be the scorpion.
Carefully, carefully, Madara chases Tobirama across the battlefield. He can't allow Tobirama any opportunity to escape their engagement to pull in backup or kill the other Uchiha on the field, but at the same time he can't risk taking the fight too far in the other direction—no one will be helped, ultimately, by Madara defeating this Senju he knows he can defeat.
Tobirama's every motion is precise and vicious. His face is blank and his intent nonexistent. Madara only knows when he's about to make an offensive move by the subtle twitch of his muscles as he begins to move, and even then Tobirama is obviously skilled in concealing those, probably as a result of fighting Izuna and other Uchiha so often. But what Madara really notices for the first time isn't the economy of Tobirama's motion or the precise and merciless aim of his every attack; he already knew those things from Izuna's many, many recountings of their innumerable fights.
No, what Madara notices is the perfect shade of Tobirama's carefully averted eyes, an unusual and prized ruby red. What he notices is the gracefulness of Tobirama's figure, the strength of his arms and back and legs. The purse of his lips.
This is a man Madara wouldn't mind having as his husband, aesthetically speaking.
Eventually, Hashirama calls for a retreat. Madara allows Tobirama to slip away from their fight easily, without even the pretense of pursuit, and his clanmates follow his lead in allowing the retreat of their Senju opponents. His and Hashirama's bond lasts a fair distance longer than Izuna's, but eventually stretches far beyond function. With work they could certainly deepen their connection in order to achieve a truly impressive maximum distance but it really is nothing like what they had as children, which was as uncomplicated and perfect as it was doomed.
As the Senju disappear into the distance, Izuna lands next to Madara. He's suffered only the minor injuries that naturally come from moving at breakneck combat speeds through Hashirama's hellish Mokuton — shallow cuts and small bruises. He's had worse in training.
"I hate it when you're right," is all Izuna says. That's enough.
Izuna still thinks there must be a better marriage candidate out there ("Almost any other Senju, really. Why don't you try picking one at random? They're sure to be better.") but the clan can't exactly initiate a normal civilian matchmaking process, complete with a nosy, snooping fortune teller to provide them a list of actual eligible potential spouses of the correct prestige for the head of the noble Uchiha clan.
Of course, by strict civilian etiquette and social class standards, even Tobirama probably doesn't really have the status to marry into the Uchiha's main house. But the opinion of civilian nobles isn't really Madara's concern.
"Tobirama is the option we have, so Tobirama is the one we'll go with," Madara says firmly. "However. I have no idea what the protocol for courting him might be. Surely the internal courting scheme isn't appropriate."
"I'll look into it," Izuna promises, and does, and so Madara finds himself looking for any opportunity at all to run into Tobirama outside the usual unfortunate explosions of violent Uchiha-Senju relations.
According to clan histories, there have only been three out-clan ninja that have been courted and brought successfully into the fold, and the courting pattern is pretty simple. Strive for as much exposure as possible. Take every offered opportunity to fight, but never offer serious injury. Don't interfere in their official business. Offer compliments. Fight their enemies at every opportunity.
"I can't believe this worked even once, let alone three separate times," Izuna complains as an aside. He prefers grander romances, but this sounds fine to Madara.
He doesn't even need Tobirama to fall in love with him. He just needs to deescalate their acquaintanceship enough to suggest an arranged marriage for the benefit of both their clans, and if he frames it right then surely Tobirama is pragmatic enough to accept.
The clan has scores of people dedicated to collecting information on the Senju, and all of them are soon turned towards divining where Tobirama will be. Madara's people are good, but for several weeks he succeeds only in showing up to places where Tobirama had just been, missing the man himself entirely. Each time Madara is tempted to pursue Tobirama for as long as it takes to catch up to him and have a conversation, but decides the optics of such a thing are unlikely to be in his favor.
Eventually, Madara has to accept that either he's cursed by the gods or that the rumors of Tobirama being a sensor are true.
("It could be both," Izuna tells him when he voices this. Helpful as always.)
Being unable to sneak up on Tobirama just means that Madara has to become unavoidable. This is easier said than done, but it's not impossible. There are certain situations a ninja can't simply run from.
The clan digs up rumors that suggest Tobirama is soon to serve as the bodyguard for a Land of Birds merchant visiting Land of Fire for a merchant guild meeting. Madara offers his services to one of the Land of Fire merchants, and discovers in the middle of his bodyguard duties that he's knocked out two birds with one kunai: not only does he lay eyes on a very tense Tobirama for the first time since that day they'd fought on the battlefield, but he also makes an excellent connection with the merchant he's bodyguarding.
He and Tobirama don't speak, but Madara wasn't expecting to. They only stand in various rooms together, Madara pointed in his relaxed stance and disinterest in what Tobirama's doing, and Tobirama starting off on high combat alert that slowly fades to just a low wariness.
Their respective bodyguard missions don't put them at odds, and Madara eventually goes home feeling strangely accomplished.
Two months later, Madara takes another bodyguard mission in the vague areas that they've heard Tobirama has taken a mission. Madara is prepared for Tobirama to perhaps be his enemy on this occasion, but their missions are only tangentially related: according to Madara's client, Tobirama is working a somewhat gruesome missing persons case, trying to catch the killer assumed to be stalking the region or else retrieve his presumed victims. Madara has been hired by an inn in the area that's popular with wealthy clientele looking to escape the capital for a sedate, highly polished vacation.
Madara's skills at networking fall well short of Izuna's, and not just because people find him unduly intimidating. Still, the mission involves no actual combat and it leaves Madara in an excellent position to converse with rich, nervous civilians who have no real reason to be thinking hard on Madara's monstrous combat skills.
When Tobirama comes by the inn over the course of his investigation, Madara offers him a nod this time.
Tobirama looks at him for several seconds longer than strictly necessary and then tentatively nods in response before going back about his business. There's tension in the lines of his shoulders as he turns away, but it slowly relaxes as Madara says at his post and carefully doesn't so much as twitch a muscle.
Madara's job comes to a close once news of Tobirama's success reaches the inn. He leaves without seeing Tobirama again—doesn't attempt to seek him out—and is home for less than two weeks before one of their outer patrols raises the alarm about a Senju intrusion.
Truthfully, since Senju Butsuma's death there haven't been more than a half dozen real incidents between their clans, and often Madara can't discover what set things off at the border when he looks into it after the fact. Hashirama doesn't press things the way his father would have, just as Madara doesn't drive his clan forward as his own father used to. The fights are still dangerous, of course, but they aren't the unrelenting bloodbath they were when Madara was younger.
He and Izuna once again plan to swap opponents, and it's easier to manage this time. Hashirama approaches the fight with a nervous anticipation that slowly creeps into Madara's head, and doesn't try to intercept Madara on his path towards Tobirama. In fact, Madara can catch the occasional hint of excited chattering from Hashirama and Izuna's fight — as if Hashirama came prepared for a battle of wits.
"Aren't you going to try to talk my ear off?" Madara asks Tobirama while they fight. "Your brother seems to think it's a winning tactic."
"What is there to discuss?" Tobirama asks. From Izuna's description of Tobirama's personality and priorities, Madara would expect this question to be accompanied by a dismissive scoff, but it's not. Tobirama's voice is low and steady, asking a genuine question.
Madara's fire jutsu hits Tobirama's water dragon in a dramatic burst of steam. Madara uses the visual cover to dart closer to Tobirama and press him into taijutsu. "I was impressed with your investigative skills," Madara says as he knocks the kunai from Tobirama's grasp and then has to duck out of the way of the kunai in Tobirama's other hand.
Now Tobirama does scoff. "It wasn't complicated. The hardest part was finding enough evidence to convince my client that I was right and should be paid."
"That's the hardest part of any investigation," Madara says. Interacting with civilians is hard.
"Perhaps for some people," Tobirama says, a sentence that may or may not have been intended as an insult.
At this point Tobirama is able to maneuver for more distance and return to ninjutsu, which stifles the potential for conversation for quite some time. Madara uses the time to focus on Tobirama's elegant combat style, which is truly a credit to his clan. Most ninja learn only one or two fighting skills and a few key moves. Tobirama, meanwhile, seems to have a never ending roster of taijutsu and ninjutsu styles to throw out in response to Madara's every move. Tobirama's versatility is the mark of a man who's grown at every step to match an Uchiha blow for blow, learning the slow way what an opponent like Izuna might learn at a glance.
It's impressive. That kind of hard work and ingenuity is the sort of thing Madara might have said he wanted in a spouse even if Tobirama weren't already his target.
"You don't usually take so many bodyguard missions," Tobirama says when they're next close enough to speak over crossed blades.
The Senju intelligence network might be better than the Uchiha's, if Tobirama knows that for certain and isn't just extrapolating based on how much time Madara usually spends at home with the clan versus out on missions.
"I've been looking for a change," Madara tells him, feeling strangely honest.
They don't talk for the rest of the fight, and Madara is the one to call a retreat this time. Izuna is once again uninjured, and the worst of the injuries for Madara's other clanmates are twisted ankles and shallow cuts. Care will have to be taken to avoid infection and the work rosters will have to be re-done to accommodate recovery times for those injured, but it's an almost perfect end to a fight.
For Madara, it's punctuated by Hashirama's high spirits. He watches Tobirama and Hashirama reunite on the other side of the field, lingering to protect the backs of their retreating clan just as Izuna and Madara do on their side, and although Madara can't tell what they're saying to each other from this distance, Hashirama's happiness glimmers like sunshine over their bond.
Madara finds his eyes lingering on Tobirama more than Hashirama for once, though. It's a little ridiculous, because there's nothing to look at that he hasn't seen before, but he looks anyway. At Tobirama's broad shoulders and the hand he keeps resting on the hilt of his sword. On the wind ruffling Tobirama's daringly short hair, and the tattoos that trace the edges of his face.
"You're really, really going to marry him?" Izuna asks quietly, so quietly their retreating clanmates won't hear.
Madara doesn't look away from Tobirama. "If I can convince him, yes."
"At least I don't have to do it," Izuna mutters, although that's clearly of little consolation to him.
Madara lays a hand on Izuna's shoulder and squeezes. Whenever they discuss their plans for peace and for Tobirama, Izuna is tense and unhappy. He isn't working to oppose it, he won't even speak directly against it, but Madara is sure that he's making contingency plans, many of them, somewhere out of sight. He has to be doing something with all that nervous energy and it certainly hasn't been wedding planning.
It's probably a good thing. Madara is being foolishly, willfully optimistic. He intends to be trusting. If he falls to treachery, Izuna will be exactly the clan head the Uchiha need and Madara will be able to go to the Pure Lands knowing that Izuna will act only and exactly in the clan's best interest, and for no other reason.
They spend the next day training together, running through the same exercises at the same time and then trading attacks that slowly come faster and faster. There's been less time for this kind of bond maintenance since Madara started chasing after Tobirama, but it's still important. Their muscles stretch and burn at the same time. They focus on the same goal and on each other. They train themselves to reach first to the other's emotions and second to anything physical, and this deep attention to their bond saved their lives dozens of times as children.
The third time Madara manages to track Tobirama down it's at a restaurant in a civilian town. Tobirama is clearly meeting a client or potential client, so Madara only nods to Tobirama, eats his meal, and leaves as quickly as possible out of professional courtesy. The fourth time they meet, they're on opposite sides of a contract (accidentally, in this case) and Madara enjoys the chance to fight Tobirama in nearly isolated circumstances. While they're fighting, a third party accomplishes the task they were competing with each other to achieve, but not even the dock in pay that Madara receives can make him feel like his time or effort were wasted.
The fifth time they meet, Tobirama is fighting for his life.
Madara wasn't even looking for Tobirama this time. He was on his way home from a meeting in the capital, and was drawn to Tobirama's side by the now-familiar sounds of Tobirama's jutsu tearing apart the forest.
Tobirama's opponent is some foreign ninja who has almost certainly ambushed Tobirama here because of it's proximity to the Uchiha border. They seem to have been fighting for a long time based on both the destruction wrought around them and the clear exhaustion on Tobirama's face.
It's the most emotion Madara has seen on Tobirama's face since he first started looking for it.
Madara comes at Tobirama's enemy from a flanking position, interrupting the beginning of an attack against Tobirama, to provide Tobirama with a chance to catch his breath. Madara does his level best to shove his kama through the enemy's throat from the start, only to find that not only is this enemy annoyingly agile, but that what Madara had mistaken for knives at a distance are, in fact, slips of paper.
Tobirama's enemy is using seals.
Under other circumstances, Madara would assume that that means this ninja is from Land of Whirlpools, but as far as he's aware that country is such a small island that there isn't actually any room for the kind of vicious infighting the mainland engages in, so there's not much reason for an Uzumaki or their allies to be attacking Senju Tobirama. Unfortunately, that pretty much exhausts Madara's list of usual suspects in this case, so he's flying blind.
"I would suggest a retreat," he says to Tobirama when he has a chance.
"I'm working on it," Tobirama hisses, fiddling with his own slip of paper and a pen. "What are you even doing?"
"Helping." Madara turns back to the fight, seeking this time to distract the enemy for long enough that Tobirama can finish whatever it is he's doing. This is somewhat difficult, as even Madara's skills are put to the test by the truly unfortunate circumstances they've apparently found themselves in—as soon as Madara and Tobirama are firmly allied against him, the seal master begins using traps planting about this area of the forest and Madara is hard pressed not to lose a limb. He has some success catching the enemy in minor genjutsu, but he still somehow loses a chunk of fabric from the bottom of his coat and more than half of the sharpened tip of his kama.
When he tries to switch to shuriken and wirework to supplement his jutsu, he discovers that their enemy is, apparently, using seals to warp, curve, and compress space. He also catches an entire set of shuriken straight out of the air inside what appears to be a storage scroll, which in Madara's opinion is just rude.
If Madara were facing this fight alone it might be mildly easier because he wouldn't be covering for someone while also trying to kill a seal master who's had time to lay dozens of traps. Of course, if he were facing this fight alone he would also probably retreat at this point, hopefully in the correct direction to run into one of the outer Uchiha patrols who could provide sufficient backup to actually win this fight conclusively and without losing yet more weaponry.
With things as they are, Madara can't retreat without Tobirama, and he doesn't know what "working on" a retreat means. He just knows it's taking too long, given the high level of this fight.
Just when Madara is beginning to seriously consider trying to retreat while physically carrying Tobirama along, whether Tobirama wants to come or not, Tobirama makes a small, satisfied noise. Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see Tobirama tuck his pen away. There's a cut on Tobirama's forearm now, just shy of his black three-quarter sleeves, and fresh red blood on the hilt of the kunai, which Madara now notices is a strange, three-pronged shape.
"Madara!" Tobirama calls out. He actually reaches out a hand, and Madara falls back to his side and takes it without thinking.
The world lurches as Tobirama pours chakra into his seal. Their enemy, closing the distance at an urgent pace, shouts, "Not so fast!" and the world tries to lurch in the opposite direction.
Madara has enough time to seriously regret jumping into this fight and then there's a flash of light and he and Tobirama are both, for a moment, gone.
They do not hit the surface of any water. They don't even fall. When the light fades they are simply already in the water, except for a moment Madara is so disoriented and shocked by the cold that he can't even tell that that's what surrounds them. Not until his breath stutters, helplessly, and ice cold water tries to rush in to drown him.
Madara is, for a moment, full of blind panic. He doesn't know how he's gotten where he is, or why. Had he passed out? He's let go of Tobirama's hand at some point, and the water is treacherously dark. He has to thrash uselessly for anything to orient himself by and manages to find the sleeve of Tobirama's shirt half by chance and half because Tobirama is the only thing in the water around them moving.
The water is so cold that Madara's fingers are already going numb, hardly able to feel Tobirama's sleeve by the time he's found it, and he knows that he has perhaps minutes to live.
Had their enemy sent them here deliberately? If they die here, will anyone ever even know what happened to them?
There's no way to talk to Tobirama, not even the hand signs that Madara would have used with another Uchiha, but they hardly have the time or need for complex strategizing. They need to remove themselves from the water, now, or they will fall unconscious and drown.
Tobirama locks eyes with him, the first time they've ever made eye contact, apparently correctly figuring that he's in no danger of Madara choosing this moment to pick a fight with genjutsu. Deliberately, Tobirama opens his mouth and lets out a stream of bubbles, then sets his face in a grim line as he and Madara both track the path of the bubbles, floating up to whatever surface this body of water has.
They haul themselves towards the surface with vigor, and while Madara still has the dexterity left in his hands for the task he works his hand into the straps holding the armor to Tobirama's shoulder. He's never been submerged in water like this before, but he knows in general what happens to bodies that get too cold, and he fears if he and Tobirama are once more separated under the water they'll never find each other again.
He couldn't bear to drag himself home without Tobirama, at this point, although they barely know each other.
They reach the surface within seconds, but it's of course blocked by ice. There's no time to search for a hole in the ice where they might have broken through—did they? Madara can't remember—but they should be more than capable of breaking the ice on their own. Madara can only barely fold his hand into a loose fist. With as much chakra-enhanced strength as he dares, he pounds against the underside of the ice, through which a faint glimmer of sun can actually be seen. The ice doesn't so much as twitch. He tries again, and beside him Tobirama tries as well, him with both hands.
It's useless. It won't work.
One of Tobirama's hands lights up with a strange blue-green chakra, a blade that cuts through the darkness. The blade sinks a full five or six inches into the ice, deep enough for Tobirama's hand to penetrate into the ice a little, but when he pulls back and the blade flickers out it's clear they still haven't broken past the surface.
In the dim, dim sunlight available, Madara locks eyes with Tobirama again. He's clearly straining from the lack of oxygen, and faring worse from the cold than Madara.
They have to try harder. They're so cold, and they can't call for help from other sources. Either they get through this ice together under their own power or they don't. They have things to return to. A brother. A small, barely kindled flicker of hope. A small and unrealistic dream that the Senju and Uchiha might at least attain a tentative ceasefire. An even smaller hope for something else, something they heard from Hashirama. An ambition they've never dared plan for that might be within reach, just beyond the ice, like the uncertain light of the sun filtered through snow and ice.
Their fingers have long since lost the dexterity for hand signs. They can barely even feel their fingers now, and that only from the rise in body temperature they're capable of using increased circulation of molded chakra. Their thoughts are slower now than they were when they first entered the water, and their limbs are heavy with soaked clothing.
They probably only have one more shot at this, and even if they break the surface it's not certain that they'll manage to actually drag themselves out of the water.
Madara only knows one jutsu so well, backwards and forwards, that he's sure he can perform it under these conditions and get results that might be worth the expended energy. He has very little breath left, but it will have to be enough. He can make up for it with excess chakra. He has to do it.
He coats his mouth and lips and face with chakra. Tobirama retreats behind him as he brings his free hand up towards his mouth. He can only attempt to form half the tiger seal, and it's a poor seal at that, his fingers barely able to unfurl from the fist he'd made before.
But his chakra remembers the path of this jutsu, and since he's not in combat there's little else to focus on. He pushes chakra out of his mouth as fire, as hot as he can make it without risking flash boiling the freezing water in front of his face, and rather than trying to spit out an entire fireball he focuses on just a solid and sustained stream of fire. Fire and more fire, flickering out inches from his face but working all the same. As the ice above them starts to give way Madara expands the stream of fire, opens his mouth wider, pours chakra into the jutsu. He's never used it like this before, and has never had to alter a jutsu as he used it, but they won't die here. They can't.
At last there's a hole in the ice, wide enough for both of them to pass through. Madara breaks the surface first and gasps in immediately, followed quickly by Tobirama.
With air comes additional ability to think, and feel, and plan. They have to get on top of the ice and then they have to figure out where they are and how to find shelter. But first Madara has to be momentarily stunned to realize that he hadn't pushed Tobirama behind him before casting the modified Great Fireball technique. Tobirama had simply gone. And even now, without turning to look, Madara knows that if one of them is going to climb out of this water and onto the ice first it's going to have to be him. He knows that Tobirama is only barely able to float. That he couldn't have reached the surface if Madara hadn't pulled him.
In fact, Madara had hauled him along without thinking. Without consideration for the kind of trust it would usually take for one shinobi to let another manhandle him in such a way, without even waiting to see if Tobirama would be able to manage it alone.
It had been automatic and natural. It had been an unconscious assumption, his body moving based on feedback that isn't his own.
He and Tobirama had bonded under the water, scrabbling at the ice together, somehow both desperate to live in the exact same way, and desperate for the other to live as well. They had been the same for a minute, perhaps two. They are bonded still even now, so deeply that Madara can tell without reaching for Tobirama's neck or wrists that Tobirama's pulse is sluggish and his mind slow. He's not relieved they've reached the surface; he's confused, and tired, and disoriented.
Tobirama is, very possibly, dying.
With effort, Madara forces himself up onto the ice. It's graceless and awkward, made more so by the way his non-dominant hand is still stuck to Tobirama's armor, but he doesn't dare untangle it before he gets himself and Tobirama both out of the water. He lays horizontally on the snow-dusted surface of the ice and uses both hands to awkwardly clutch Tobirama and pull him out. He has to force more chakra into his fingers than he should to regain the dexterity and strength necessary to manage this, but a few minor chakra burns will be worth it to save Tobirama's life.
The shape of the hole, a mishappen circle a little too small for two men to pass abreast, makes this all more difficult, but Madara doesn't dare to pause and widen the hole. He can't waste the time or energy on that, and he can't risk the possibility that he might destabilize the ice.
Once they're both out of the water, Madara still doesn't dare stand. He untangles his hand from Tobirama's armor, and—after a moment of consideration during which time he decides that the time lost to getting rid of their heavy, sodden armor and clothing wouldn't be worth it—begins to slowly drag Tobirama across the ice towards the distant shore. He doesn't dare stand until they reach the shore, and by the time he's done that Tobirama is even deeper in the throes of cold sickness.
At the edge of the lake, half in a snowbank, the only concession Madara makes to the pressures of time is to strip Tobrama's happuri from his face, for fear it will freeze there if he leaves it for much longer. It's too big to easily stuff into his coat, so Madara lets it drop to the snow carelessly. It can be either replaced or found later.
Notably, Tobirama barely seems to notice that Madara has removed an item of his clothing. When Madara picks Tobirama up, Tobirama is fumbling actually at his own clothing, as if trying to undress.
"Warm now," Tobirama slurs. He's saved from exposing himself to the elements only by the clumsy and ineffective movements of his fingers.
Madara cradles him in his arms, keeping him as horizontal as possible, and starts walking.
Wind is howling down whatever forsaken, frozen valley they've found themselves in. It cuts deep into Madara's body, straight through his frozen kit, as soon as he stands. Tobirama will continue to get colder and colder the longer they're out here, clearly unable to warm himself with his own chakra either because he's gotten too cold or because he simply doesn't have any left; Madara is uncertain how long Tobirama was fighting that enemy before Madara arrived, nor does he have any idea what might have proceeded it.
Would Tobirama have lived if Madara hadn't stepped in? Maybe he would have run instead of focusing on whatever jutsu he was using. Maybe the enemy would have sent him elsewhere.
Ah, it's useless to think about. Madara needs to find shelter.
The first thing he comes across is a collection of cabins with soft puffs of smoke coming from their chimneys. A few of them look empty, but Madara bypasses those because he doesn't have time to fumble around in the dim light of an unfamiliar home, starting a fire and finding blankets. He walks up to the nearest door of the nearest cabin and uses his boot to knock so firmly on the door that the frame rattles. The faint sounds of normal conversation inside fall silent, a few people whisper to each other, and then the door opens with a quiet creak.
A young man stands there, blocking most of Madara's view into the kitchen beyond. His wary look fades swiftly to alarm as his eyes flick across Madara and Tobirama's sodden, ice-encrusted features. Madara is ready to tell him he'll kill everyone in the house if they don't help him, but such tactics prove thankfully entirely unnecessary. The young man says, with a great deal of alarm, "You look like you fell into the lake!" and then shouts back over his shoulder for his sister to come help.
"We require both warmth and privacy." Madara tells the civilians who crowd around himself and Tobirama as he's hustled into the sweet, dry warmth of the cabin. There are dried herbs hanging over a sink and the remains of a hearty meal on the table. Through a door to his left there's a view to a living room with tatami, and to the right is a short hallway that presumably leads to bedrooms. "I have coin on me, and will pay handsomely for a room if you'll provide it."
"Don't be ridiculous, we won't take your money!" one of the women scolds. She's of a middle age, surrounded by people who must be her family. She quickly takes charge.
One son she sends to gather firewood, another is told to put hot water on to boil and to pluck several heated stones from the edge of the fire to be wrapped in clean cloth. A third son is sent to borrow extra blankets from next door and come back with more firewood while he's at it. The man immediately at her right she sends to prep the fire in the room Madara and Tobirama will be granted, and her daughter goes with him to clear out extra clutter and prepare the bed.
"You go in after them, we'll be right there with these stones," the woman says, firm but kind, in the sort of bossy tone a civilian would never take with Madara if he weren't shivering and melting in her kitchen.
Her help is so swift, so certain, and so generous that Madara even feels bad about tracking dirty, newly-melted lakewater all over her floor. He doesn't worry about it for long, though; by the time he's entering the bedroom they've been granted he can already hear her marshaling one of her daughters into breaking out a mop to clean up the mess.
The fire is roaring and the sheets are folded down when Madara enters, turning sideways to get through the door with Tobirama. The woman making the bed sees him coming and throws a tatty old blanket over the whole bed immediately. "So you can strip him without the bed getting much more than damp," she explains. She nervously points out extra blankets dragged into the room from another bedroom, firewood, and even a chipped pitcher of water sat by the bed with two cups.
"You can use the cups if you don't mind we ain't washed them," the man who's stoked the fire says, just as generous as the woman Madara assumes is either his wife or his sister, and then he and the other woman leave.
Madara is alone with Tobirama again, but by now Tobirama is unfortunately unconscious—not asleep, but properly unconscious, unable to feel anything, just a yawning void on the other end of his new bond with Madara. His breathing doesn't sound good, too slow and faint. He must have continued to cool as Madara sought shelter, unable to regulate his temperature anymore as he must have done to function at all in the water of the lake.
They're safe now, but Tobirama is still yet in danger until Madara can get him warm. He fumbles a knife from his own coat and cuts Tobirama out of his armor, too rushed to bother with untying any of the lacing which might well still be frozen together. Tobirama's clothing is less cold but still sopping wet, and Madara's clumsy hands slip awkwardly over skin and fabric alike as he undresses Tobirama completely. He'd cut the clothing off, too, but he's not sure if he'll be able to source another set of clothing for Tobirama in some remote mountain village in the middle of the winter. In such a warm room, outside of the reach of the wind, there's enough time to go slow enough to save the fabric, at least.
While he works, one of the woman darts into the room with the cloth-wrapped hot rocks to tuck them under the covers.
"When you're ready for food, or if you need anything, just holler," she says, and disappears as quickly and quietly as an untrained civilian can.
Soon Madara is flipping the now-damp blanket he's undressed Tobirama on top of half over so he can pick Tobirama up again and deposit him under the covers. He tucks the stones against Tobirama's sides, under his armpits, and against his neck. Everywhere the blood flows high and close. Only once the blankets are firmly tucked him does Madara see to himself, throwing the ratty blanket he'd undressed Tobirama on to the floor and shucking his own armor and clothing off on top of it where it will probably soak the blanket but hopefully not create a standing pool of water. He wrings his hair out in the least expensive looking of the extra blankets left available to him—he should have asked for a towel—and then drops that on the floor as well.
Nearly everything he had with him has likely been ruined by the water and Madara is thus potentially days or even weeks from home without any supplies, but he and Tobirama can worry about that together later.
By the time Madara is naked, Tobirama is still unconscious and hasn't yet even started to shiver, but Madara piles a few more blankets on top of Tobirama and gets into bed with him anyway. Even Madara's deep well of chakra will run out soon, and his artificially raised temperature will probably drop quite dramatically
He can watch over Tobirama's recovery just as well from in the bed as he can from outside of it.
The civilians are nearly as quiet as church mice, and more than half of them bustle around getting dressed and packed and then leave for some neighbor's house, perhaps the one they'd borrowed wood and blankets from. True to their word, they don't approach the door to the room Madara and Tobirama are inhabiting, even though Madara can hear them occasionally quietly whisper to each other, wondering about the state of things.
Madara half dozes, listening to all of this with half an ear and with the rest of his functioning brain power focusing on Tobirama. His breathing has slowly quickened, his heart rate picked up, and then at last he'd begun to shiver.
At last, eventually, he opens his eyes, into just small slits, shifting slowly to look at Madara. Tobirama's face is as blank as always, but Madara can feel his emotions as they rise to the surface, crest into waves, and break on the shores of their wide, clear bond. Tobirama doesn't know where he is, why he's there, why he's naked, or why he feels like someone's boss summons has sat on him.
Madara can feel Tobirama feeling Madara's awareness of his emotions, that alarming but somehow comforting feedback loop that Madara has only before felt for a single afternoon spent in Hashirama's company as children. He knows exactly what Tobirama feels from him, exactly what Tobirama knows he knows in return. They're like an infinite reflection of each other, emotions which face each other and never look away.
It's stronger than it was with Hashirama as a child. It's stronger than Madara thought a bond could be, and although Tobirama seems to share Madara's faint alarm, he doesn't make any move to break or shut it down. Maybe because doing so would probably kill them both within the hour from the sudden psychic shift, their emotions and energy and spirits uselessly pouring out of the matching holes left in their spirit, unable to connect to anything.
"We were transported under a frozen lake," Madara says aloud, to jog Tobirama's memory.
"Oh," Tobirama says, inelegant. "I remember. The Land of Water shinobi."
A Land of Water ninja, great. Hopefully they haven't been sent back to the man's home country or it will be a long, frustrating, violent journey home.
Tobirama studies him, and Madara lets him. They're laying naked in a bed together. Madara's hair is still a little damp, but otherwise they're dry and warm and reasonably safe. They have less than no reason to fight. They could probably have a real conversation. But if Tobirama wants to just look at him and think, that's allowed as well.
"Is it alright if I rest?" Tobirama asks after a long, long moment of uncertainty and tentatively rising trust.
"I'll keep watch," Madara promises, and he does.
He's tired too, but they won't both be able to sleep while there are other people in the cabin.
When Tobirama wakes a second time he's lively enough that Madara feels it's safe to leave him alone in the bed. He wraps himself loosely in a blanket more to spare the eyes of the women he's about to talk to than to preserve any privacy, and takes the warming stones back to the kitchen. The woman, the man Madara has decided is probably her husband, and one of their sons are sitting in the kitchen. There's a pot of soup on a low simmer over the fire, smelling flavorful and tempting.
The woman leaps to her feet when she sees Madara. "Is he alive?" she asks immediately, and when Madara confirms that Tobirama is she thanks a god whose name Madara isn't familiar with and accepts the stones back, putting them back where they belong by the fire. "Listen," she adds as she dishes out two generous bowls of soup and then bustles about the kitchen preparing a pot of tea that Madara didn't ask for but desperately wants. "Listen, we spoke to the neighbors and they'll put us up, so you won't see us around, alright? Seems like you'd prefer that."
"We would," Madara says cautiously. "Are you sure I can't offer you coin for the use of your house?"
The woman shoves the tray of soup and tea into Madara's hands and waves her hands dismissively, as if to clear the idea of money from the air. "It's just a little mountain hospitality for a low-landed southerner like you," she declares, having presumably pegged Madara's general place of origin from his dialect if not from his obvious clan mons.
"Then you have our gratitude," Madara says, and by the time he's back in the bedroom with Tobirama, she and her husband and son are gone from the house.
He helps Tobirama sit up, but Tobirama's recovered enough to eat by himself once that's done, practically smacking Madara's hands away from him once he's set up against the headboard.
Madara can feel that he hates it, but also that he likes it. That it embarrasses him, and he thinks he shouldn't need the help, but that he desperately wants it.
That he likes Madara's hands on him, and wants more of that. Perhaps in any way he can get it, given the hint of desperation Madara thinks lurks under the surface there.
Not a plan of action Madara objects to, as he's always enjoyed a tumble in bed following a near death experience, but they really should eat first. He lets his own arousal grow slowly, and carefully, and hides his grin at the way Tobirama deliberately lets his blankets slip lower and lower as the meal goes on behind his teacup, as useless as the gesture is when they're so deeply bonded.
"Do you really want this," Tobirama says, after Madara has set their empty dishes aside but before Madara has reached out to make his first move. It's less a question and more of a verbal statement of the sudden uncertainty that Madara can feel emanating from him. Like Madara might suddenly turn into a tiger and maul him. Or worse, leave.
Madara sits on the bed. "I've wanted you for a while."
Tobirama draws back, just a little. Why, his emotions ask. For what possible reason. His face is blank and he doesn't say anything, but Madara knows anyway.
"Politics at first," Madara says, and reaches for one of Tobirama's hands. It's given to him, easily, and Madara holds it as carefully as he can, relishing this first real step of intimacy between them. A ninja's hands are his most important tools, especially for someone like Tobirama who prefers ninjutsu and sealing.
"And now?" asks Tobirama.
It's on the tip of Madara's tongue to tell Tobirama that he's beautiful. That even with his hair askew and his lips and cheeks chapped from exposure, he's striking and gorgeous. But although that's true, is it really the answer to Tobirama's question? No.
"Your nature," Madara says. "Our nature. The things we must both want."
Not just security, but real safety. Not just a tentative cease fire, but a way to move forward. Not just to go home to their respective brothers, but to somehow through their future actions feel like they've fixed the loss of the brothers they once had. Madara doesn't know what that looks like to Tobirama, what Tobirama might or might not be willing to do to achieve it, but he'll be happy to find out.
"No one likes me," Tobirama warns. "Except Hashirama, who likes everyone."
"I'll like you," Madara promises.
Tobirama scoffs, but his cheeks also warm—he's still too low of chakra to sweep away that kind of physiological response, even if his face stays perfectly neutral.
"We don't have to decide anything now," Madara goes on, deciding he'd better ease Tobirama into the idea of marrying him. He'll make it happen, but it can wait. "Let me just take care of you for now," Madara coaxes, and rubs his thumb across the top of Tobirama's hand, counting his knuckles, memorizing the small scars there.
"Alright," Tobirama says, with a sigh and a warm, secret glow of emotion. Like no one's offered to take care of him before, maybe. What a strange emotion for cold, calculating Senju Tobirama to be hiding.
Madara likes it. He leans in for a kiss, carefully telegraphed in case Tobirama changes his mind, and when their lips connect he keeps it soft and undemanding. Their host had said there was a storm coming up the mountain, almost sure to bury them in several feet of snow, so he and Tobirama will have plenty of time alone together to sort themselves out before they find their way home together.