Archive of Our Own

“Chief Inspector Senju, what do we owe the honor of your visit yet again? I’m afraid we aren’t open for another hour, but if you are this hungry, I can ask the chef to make you something quick,” Izuna smiled at the white haired man, fluttering his long lashes with as much innocence as he could muster. Tobirama Senju didn’t bother to play along. He never did. 

“I’m afraid this is an official visit, Mr. Uchiha,” he said seriously. He was always like this, calm and collected, not a hint of a smile, or indeed, much of any emotion on his handsome face. Izuna heard enough stories of him to know it to be a mask. He had a terrifying reputation that went beyond the image of the immaculate picture of the police officer who couldn’t be bribed or blackmailed. Izuna heard the stories of him when he threatened and beat up suspects, making them spill secrets by force. He was always intrigued by this and silently vowed to one day make him lose his porcelain mask, make him show his brutal, cruel true face underneath. Preferably, minutes before Izuna cut his throat. All that red blood would look wonderful on his snow-white skin. It was an exciting thought.

“I’m hurt,” he responded sweetly, his own act just as good as Tobirama’s. “If our cooking isn’t up to your standards, I will have a strict word with the kitchen. We should serve only the best food to our forces who dedicate their lives to protecting us.”

“How kind,” Tobirama twisted his lips into something that wasn’t really a smile. “I’ll make sure to come back for dinner one of these evenings. For now, I have a few questions to ask. Can we go to your office?”

“More questions? I thought we had been very thorough last time, Chief Inspector Senju. Surely I managed to address all your concerns.”

“A couple of follow-up items, I’m afraid. I promise to be brief and not waste much of your valuable time, Mr. Uchiha.”

“Go on, I think you know the way by this point,” Izuna allowed himself a smirk, nodding his head towards the kitchen, which they had to cross to get to the manager’s office. This was a practiced dance by this point. Tobirama would arrive an hour or two before the restaurant opened, asking for clarifications on a wide variety of subjects, from taxes and how the various branches owned by the Uchiha family operated, to whether Izuna knew this or that person, and if so, whether he had recently met with them and what for. Izuna always knew them, sometimes only by reputation, but most of the time personally as well. They could be rivals, subordinates, or someone from another clan with whom they were temporarily allied. Depending on the situation, he would lie or tell only part of the truth. Tobirama would nod and hum, take notes, and look down on them thoughtfully. 

“What is this all about, Inspector?” Izuna would open his eyes wide and look up at him with his most innocent expression. 

“Just some routine questions, nothing to worry about,” the officer would tell him. He never seemed disappointed that he couldn't trick Izuna into revealing anything compromising. In fact, he often left Izuna worried that he may have accidentally said something his enemy could use against him. He always quickly calmed down and chided himself. Tobirama Senju was playing a game of nerves, and Izuna wouldn’t be the first to blink.

“This is still about Kojin Uchiha,” he said this time when he took a seat in the office. “We ran into a few more questions that I hope you can answer.”

“I’ve already told you everything I know, Inspector,” he let some annoyance seep into his voice. “Kojin was a distant relative. His death is very sad, but I don’t know anything further about the circumstances.”

“He worked for you.”

“He was a Uchiha. Ours is a very widespread family business. Our employees in the restaurants and pubs, or in the delicacy stores, and indeed, many of our suppliers, are relatives. I really can’t account for most of their daily lives.”

“I understand that,” Tobirama replied evenly. “But I’m still asking you to spare some of your valuable time for me. Little details, things you’d never think can help, might actually be a use for us.”

He then proceeded with pretty much the same questions he had asked just two days ago. What exactly was Kojin doing for the Uchiha Delicacy Chain? When did Izuna last meet him - if he didn’t remember the exact time, just approximately? Was he a trustworthy employee? Did they keep in touch outside of work, as family? 

Izuna wondered if he was trying to make him contradict his previous statements. He didn’t know if he should be amused or insulted - he would never make such a rookie mistake. 

“Was Mr. Uchiha - Kojin, I mean - considering leaving the business? Was he looking for a new job, maybe?” he asked at long last, and Izuna suddenly realised he had been wrong in his assumption. Tobirama Senju didn’t take him for an idiot - he was trying to lull him into a false sense of safety. Don’t blink first, he reminded himself.

“Not that I’m aware of,” he shrugged. “But we weren’t close either as relatives or employer-employee, so I doubt he’d have told me.”

Kojin, in fact, was considering leaving his job, the fucking traitor. He wasn’t even pinched, yet he was ready to rattle them out to the cops, hoping he could get a nice, comfy life away from the family, thinking the pigs would keep his pathetic hide safe. He should have known better. The boss and the underboss saw everything; nothing got past them. Izuna was aware of how some of their more superstitious men talked about him and Madara having a magical eye, one that saw through every secret, lie, and spotted the change of hearts. 

Kojin knew the price rats had to pay, and he was still stupid enough to take his chance. 

“A very last thing,” the Inspector said. “I’m afraid this can be upsetting, but I need you to take a look at some photos and tell me if anything strikes you odd about them.”

He laid a couple of large, high-quality prints in front of Izuna, all showing the corpse of Kojin, lying in his own blood in the empty warehouse he was found in.

“Of course that something strikes me odd,” Izuna hissed, making a sweeping gesture with his hand, but Tobirama kept the photos pinned to the desk with his fingertips. “There is a dead man in these pictures!”

Izuna had been the first to strike Kojin. He was on his knees by then, arms tied behind his back, his stupid little pig eyes looking up at him pleadingly, but there was no mercy for rats. He usually preferred elegant and effective weapons, such as guns and blades, but this occasion called for something more brutal. He struck him with a baseball bat, breaking his hand first, then he hit him in his face, so he spat out his teeth. He still begged him then to spare him, but Izuna sent him down on the ground with his third strike, telling his men to finish him.

The body in the photos showed all the damage they’d done to him, limbs twisted at odd angles, skin bloody and bruised, nose flattened in, teeth fallen out. Everyone considering betraying the clan should see these captures; they would think twice about entertaining such thoughts even in the privacy of their minds. Seeing them filled Izuna with cold satisfaction, but he put on a show, pretending to be upset. 

“I know seeing this is dismaying,” Tobirama said quietly, but without any real compassion. “But I need you to look and tell me if there’s anything you think can help us in the investigation. Did he get into any trouble? Did he owe the wrong people money?”

“Well, I would say he obviously got into trouble. Look, I’m sorry for Kojin,” Izuna lied, “But I know nothing about his private business. I’ve no idea what he did to end up like this. I’d love to help, but I’m afraid I can’t.”

“I see,” Tobirama didn’t seem particularly disappointed. “Well, then, Mr. Uchiha, thank you for your time and cooperation again.”

“You are welcome. Can I invite you to dinner? The kitchen must be getting ready for opening now.”

“Maybe next time,” the Inspector said with a small smile, making sure Izuna understood: this wasn’t the last time they saw each other. 

He let his polite expression slip when Tobirama left, and allowed the annoyance and anger he felt to show on his face. This pig was problematic - he was way too insistent and smart. The thorough background check Izuna had done on him was not promising at all. He was no pure champion of the law, but he very strictly kept his own code of morals and had the reputation of being impossible to bribe. Blackmail could have been an option, but he carefully concealed any weaknesses. His only close personal relationship seemed to be with his brother. By the looks, his life focused solely on hunting criminals and making them confess, no matter what it took. Stories circulated about him beating up suspects, keeping them in brightly lit rooms, not allowing them any sleep. He was feared on the streets.

Izuna liked that. Tobirama Senju was an enemy he’d be very glad to take down one day - the proud and the cruel were the most fun to ruin. Izuna hoped he could test how he would fare against his own methods. What would it take to break him? 

Izuna allowed himself some time to entertain the satisfying mental image of dismantling the smooth, intelligent mask of the Chief Inspector to see the snarling, ferocious beast he truly was underneath. He wouldn’t stop there, no. He would push further, stripping even that from him, until he broke. Would he plead for mercy as Kojin did? Most men did, but not everyone. Would this Inspector be one of those rare few who stayed proud and strong till the end? Izuna planned to find out one day.

He shook himself and reached for his phone to call Madara, but hesitated before he hit dial. He knew his phone was clean; he never let it out of sight, but could he be sure of the office as well? Everyone in the restaurant was, to some degree, a subordinate of the Uchiha clan, but occasionally they had to let in other people, such as electricians, plumbers, and the like. This was a restaurant, some guests could have wandered off one evening when nobody was watching and broken in here. He shouldn’t put anything past the Inspector. If he called Madara from here, he'd better be careful about what he was saying. His brother would immediately understand the need for discretion.

The phone rang and rang, but wasn’t answered. Izuna put it down on his desk and frowned at the display. It wasn’t typical of his brother to be unavailable to him. If anything, Madara’s life had always been about the family’s business. He took it over from their father after he died and made it more successful than the old man ever managed. 

Madara was respected, feared, and generally very skilled at what he did. Izuna was the only person to know he didn’t enjoy it, that he used to dream of a different kind of life when they were kids. That, of course, was nothing but a childish pipedream. As the sons of Tajima Uchiha, their destinies were set from the start. There was no way to leave this business, no matter what rank someone held - if someone once worked for the clan, they forever worked for the clan. 

Madara understood duty, and he understood the cruel efficiency required for them to be successful, to stay at the top of the hierarchy, and to stay alive. In the years since he took over as the Boss, he relentlessly worked on growing the Uchiha business. It had always been his top priority.

In fact, Madara was known for not having much of a private life. Money, drugs, sex - in the position they were in, they came so easily, but Madara only ever spent on discreet luxuries, never anything over the top. He never overindulged, preferring to keep a clean mind at all times. As for sex, Izuna knew he had a few short flings over the years, always kept very discreet. The Boss had no wife, no trophy girlfriend, and he didn’t entertain whores. Their world was conservative in many ways, and he couldn’t afford to let his preference be widely known. People might have suspected he was queer, but as long as he didn’t give room for rumours, they were willing to pretend. They accepted him as a bachelor, so it was in Madara’s best interest to remain that.

It was roughly half a year ago when Izuna started to notice a change in his behaviour. They started to have evenings when he left Izuna in charge, he received phone calls he left the room for, even when it was just the two of them. He sometimes got a faraway, soft look in his eyes, alarming Izuna beyond words, as soft was something they couldn’t afford to be.

When he asked Madara if he had someone, he patted him on the arm and told him he didn’t need to worry about it, as it was nothing. He would have loved to believe him, except it seemed that maybe that was how it started, but now Madara’s initial casual fling was becoming more meaningful. Izuna had no doubts that was why he couldn’t reach him on the phone right now. This wasn’t simply a distraction - it was a liability. If the police found out, he could gain information on Madara. If a rival band did, they could exploit it. If their own clan did - they might very well turn against Madara.

Izuna frowned at the phone again. He didn’t care much for other people’s well-being, but he did care for his brother, and he was worried.

***

Madara stretched lazily, enjoying the controversial sensations of how sore he felt and how relaxed he was at the same time. He glanced at the other side of the bed and frowned, his fogged, happy state of mind rapidly clearing up. Hashirama wasn’t there, which meant he got up at one point and left the room - without Madara noticing. It was bad enough that he didn’t just take a quick post-sex nap as he thought he did, but actually fell asleep. It was even worse, how he was so out of it, he wasn’t even aware of his lover leaving his side. He was generally not a deep sleeper, and this careless risk wasn’t typical of him.

He got up quickly, the ache in his lower back no longer pleasurable, just an annoyance. Looking around, he didn’t spot his phone and only a few pieces of his clothes. He dragged on his underpants and socks - he would need to take a shower later - but his trousers and shirt were nowhere in sight. 

They hadn’t been able to meet with Hashirama for a few weeks, their respective businesses keeping them busy. He didn’t even realise how pent up he was, or how much Hashirama might have missed him - missed having sex with him, at any rate - until he arrived at his place earlier today. Hashirama opened the door for him with a smile, and he stepped through, turning towards the other man… the next instant, they were all but tearing at each other’s clothes, greedy hands looking for skin, impatient mouths hungry to kiss and bite. 

Madara never before had the kind of sex he now regularly had with Hashirama - so passionate, so beyond all reason. It was almost frightening, because it meant loss of control - over Hashirama, but even more, over himself. Madara couldn’t afford the luxury of letting his guard down, and he never did with any lover, until he met Hashirama.

He ventured downstairs. His trousers were no longer on the floor at the bottom of the stairs where he remembered leaving them, but neatly folded on one of the kitchen chairs. On the other chair sat Hashirama, thread and needle in hand, and Madara’s shirt across his lap. He smiled at him, his eyes lingering on his almost naked form.

“I’m afraid I tore quite a few of your buttons. Left one of mine out there for you. Put it on until I manage to sew them back. Might take a while.”

“Thanks,” The shirt was checked flannel, soft and a little threadbare from probably years of wearing and washing. It was too large at the shoulders and too long. Madara didn’t bother with his trousers just yet, as he went to make himself a coffee. “You should have woken me up,” he said, and it came out much softer than he intended, as if he didn’t mind sleeping in.

“I thought you might use a nice nap. You told me you often don’t sleep well.”

“Hmm. Sex helps, I guess.”

Hashirama grinned and focused on the buttons again. It indeed seemed it would take him a long while to win the battle and force them back to their place. 

Madara let himself enjoy this small window of normality for a few minutes, a peek into a content, everyday life that never could be his. Then he drained his coffee and fished his phone out from the pocket of his trousers. Seeing the missed call from Izuna told him it was time to return to the Hell that was his reality.

“Work?” Hashirama asked, in a carefully blank tone. On some days, Madara wondered just how much he suspected about him. The Uchiha family owned widespread businesses, and for being a facade of the real organisation underneath, they were successful and well-renowned. 

Madara had told him early on that his work took priority, that he was too busy to engage in a serious relationship, and Hashirama had been fine with that. He was also busy with his own, steeply rising political career. He didn’t have too much time either, and likely wouldn’t have wanted to be seen together with another man any more than Madara did.

“As always,” Madara muttered. “Need to make a call.”

He went out to the balcony, knowing he could trust the soundproof doors and the privacy of Hashirama’s house. When Madara first came here, he assumed he had acquired this property through his late father’s connection. It was in an unparalleled location, on the hillside, with great views of Konoha, and far enough from any neighbors to worry about them.

He learned later that Hashirama went out of his way not to take anything from Butsuma Senju’s inheritance, including his world views, money, and connections. Madara was quite impressed by this - Hashirama had a rapidly soaring political career that he, along with most people, assumed was built on the foundation laid by his father. 

Hashirama was an interesting man. Madara had never met anyone like him. He was determined to do things right, never choosing the easy way out. On sleepless nights, when Madara lay awake and alone in his bed, he often thought about him, silently comparing himself to his secret lover. In the lonely darkness, it was impossible to believe Hashirama indeed was so pure and good as he showed himself to be. There had to be a darkness within him, a hidden shadow, a ruthlessness that enabled him to be successful in this cruel world. He might have had a different approach, but he was still following in his father’s footsteps, the way Madara was following in his, and everyone knew what kind of a man Butsuma Senju had been.

But when he was with Hashirama, he had a hard time seeing him as anything but perfect. It was an illusion, of course, a mirage, but Madara was guilty of pretending it was real for these short hours. Up on the hill in Hashirama’s house, where the city seemed so far away and insignificant, he could allow himself to be nothing but a tired, overworked businessman, enjoying some stolen afternoons with his lover.

The phone call from Izuna showed how fickle all this was. Hashirama surely would have been shocked by the steel mask his face hardened into when the balcony door closed behind him. His voice matched his expression as he called Izuna back, as he knew it was for business. When it was just the two of them, they could allow themselves to be doting brothers, but idle family chit-chat on the phone was never on the table. 

“Sorry, I missed your call,” he said in lieu of greeting. “I hope it’s not a fire again in the kitchen.”

“Not a fire, but we did have a bit of smoke. No alarms went off, but we had to air it out.”

Madara lit a cigarette as he turned this around in his mind. No dire emergency, but something important enough happened that Izuna felt they had to talk about it. He also thought their phones might be bugged, or perhaps the place from which he was talking. Izuna wasn’t paranoid - not more than it was warranted - so Madara knew he’d better continue to talk in riddles. 

“Who caused the smoke? I hope we don’t need to fire some kitchen porter again.”

“No… the previous one didn’t clean the oven, that was causing the smoke now.”

“Some people cause trouble even after they are gone.”

Kojin probably. He really had been a rotten egg, turning against his own family. Madara wasn’t sorry for his fate, even if he wished, in an abstract way someone wishes for something pointless, that they didn’t have the need to make an example out of him. Or that his little brother wouldn’t enjoy such lessons so obviously.

“I’m heading home soon,” he told Izuna. “Do you want to come over for dinner?”

He inhaled the smoke of his cigarette one more time after the phone call, buying just a little more time. There was a part of him that always wanted to stay longer with Hashirama, in this fake, peaceful bubble. He shook that longing off. Business was awaiting him; he could steal no more time away. 

He said his goodbye, his mind already back with the clan. They didn’t agree on a next date with Hashirama; they never did, yet Madara couldn’t pretend he wouldn’t be back. He committed atrocious crimes, so stealing a few hours of normality with this man was nothing in comparison.

He chased Hashirama from his thoughts as he left. Outside this house, he could afford no softness within himself.

He showered and put on new clothes by the time Izuna came over. His little brother had too keen eyes and a sharp sense of smell - Madara wanted to give him no reason to suspect what he’d been doing earlier in the afternoon.

His home was a safe place to talk - he had the reputation of being a recluse, and his house was a bit of a fortress. The cleaner could work in the living room and the always unused guest rooms, but not in the study or Madara’s bedroom; he preferred to clean those himself. If he had any handymen doing work, he stayed nearby to supervise. The cops were maybe not getting any smarter, but technology certainly improved, and Madara gave them no chance to tape his most sensitive conversations. Here, he could talk with his most trusted men honestly. 

He didn’t have many of those, and being paranoid by profession as much as by nature, he always kept a few cards close to his chest. He only ever shared his plans, thoughts and decisions openly with Izuna. His brother knew him better than anyone in the clan; he was the only one privy to his dreams that never came true, as well as his doubts and fears. Madara knew it bothered him, that he wanted to see him the strong, unwavering leader of their business, like their father had been, just even more ruthless and successful. He did his best to live up to those expectations, silently accepting his own weaknesses and failures, but trying not to trouble Izuna with them much. His little brother had no hidden softness, no masked failings. He was hard as steel and effective as a bullet through someone’s head. That he enjoyed being the ruthless second-in-command as much as he did certainly helped him.

Izuna ranted about Kojin, the necessity of not simply getting rid of him, but turning him into an example for anyone who had thoughts about betraying the clan. He spoke about the satisfaction it caused him to see him breathe his traitorous soul out. Madara found himself tuning out; he had heard this before, and he approved it to happen. He only focused back when Izuna cursed about “that Senju pig, nosing around all the time.”

“Who do you mean?” he asked carefully.

“That fucking cop, I told you about him already. Butsuma Senju’s son, if you can believe it.”

“That investigator who we can’t bribe?”

“The one and only. If he’d take after his daddy, he’d make our lives easier, but no, this one is the champion of law. We have to get him out of the way by other means.”

Madara stood up to pour themselves a drink and to buy a moment to compose himself. When he turned back to Izuna, he knew his face was unreadable.

“Tell me more about this Senju cop.”

***

Tobirama flipped through the report again, although he knew almost every word by heart by this point. He wasn’t sure what he kept hoping for, some clue, miraculously hidden from him up till now, maybe.

The gruesome death of an insignificant man. Maybe he owed money to the wrong people, maybe he got into drugs, or pissed off someone he shouldn’t have. Surely it was something like that, something that was a daily occurrence in a city the size of Konoha. That his family name was Uchiha didn’t matter. The Uchiha were numerous, present in all circles from the prestigious to the nobodies, like Kojin had been. 

Most of Tobirama’s colleagues agreed that he was taking being paranoid to the next level for not agreeing with them on this. How they made a career at the special forces without having the slightest talent to catch a whiff if something smelled suspicious, Tobirama had no clue. Kojin Uchiha’s file didn’t simply have a slight odour; it reeked. 

Idiots, the lot of them. Tobirama had a reputation within the forces, and for a good reason. It was more notoriety, although even his loudest critiques held a degree of respect for him. His success rate in solving difficult cases, including homicides with no clear motivation, or having a trustworthy hunch about who their prime suspect should be, was significantly higher than that of his peers. Some were jealous of this. Others, the bleeding hearts, who had no place within the forces to begin with, whispered how he kept no boundaries, that he coerced, even forced people into confessions. They said he was too ruthless and emotionless. From time to time, gossip spread that he had even framed innocent people. These were annoying at best, dangerous at worst, even if nobody went as far as to launch an investigation into him. 

Useless idiots, who couldn’t keep the interest of the city above their personal emotions. Some days, it felt that Tobirama single-handedly did more for the safety of Konoha, for upholding the laws, than the rest of the forces altogether. And yes, he was merciless, but only with criminals who deserved no pity. Some might have ended up with larger punishments than soft-hearted fools considered appropriate, but in Tobirama’s views, they just got what was coming for them.

His phone rang, breaking his forlorn mood. Speak about soft-hearted fools, and they shall appear, he thought, looking at the display, but the frown on his face eased up. 

“What’s up?”

“What do you mean, what’s up?” Hashirama asked from the other end of the line. “I’m waiting for you for half an hour. Were you kidnapped?”

“I lost track of time,” he frowned at his watch, which indeed showed it was half eight. “Was a busy day at work.”

“Then lift up your butt, I’m waiting for you in the pub.”

Smiling slightly, Tobirama went to meet his brother. They were often considered different, like day and night, but their differing personalities grew from the same root, the desire to live their lives differently than their father did.

Redefining themselves, to be more than Butsuma Senju’s sons, hadn’t been easy, and Tobirama, in his own mind only, admitted they never fully succeeded. Their father’ shadow lingered over them, but they did their best to be their own selves. Hashirama chose a career in politics as he had done, but instead of power mongering, he did his best to be just and ethical. Their father had been the mayor of Konoha for decades; he literally died in the position. One night, while he was working overtime in his office, he seemingly had had enough, took some pills, and passed out, slumped against his desk. He was only found in the morning, when he’d already been dead. 

He wasn’t mourned, but surely he was missed by some. He was powerful, respected by the top of society; by people who happily turned a blind eye to corruption, as long as they could get richer and richer by the day. His death was quite a hiccup in the well-oiled machine of running Konoha. Although he was rumoured, with reason, to be corrupt, after his death, crime statistics skyrocketed. He was something like a puppet master, and after his death, his puppets decided to live their own lives.

Hashirama wasn’t like him. He climbed the ladder quickly, gaining a reputation for being unwaveringly honourable. It took a toll on him, one that he tried to keep a secret. Politics wasn’t a fair and square game, and the higher he ascended, the more it took out of him to face his rivals, who played dirty and ruthlessly, to come out victorious without tarnishing his scruples. He once told Tobirama that he feared this was exactly how their father had started, that he had nightmares about ending up the same kind of man he had been in the end. 

Tobirama chose a different path with the police forces because he wanted to uphold all the laws his father used to ignore. It gave him satisfaction, thinking that nobody could sway him on his path of justice, that he’d place what was right above all else, personal interests and feelings included. He was often accused of being cold and devoid of emotions, and indeed, on many days, he found it hard to find any softer feelings within his heart.

It was good that he had Hashirama. His brother dragged him out of his shell, talked to him. He cared for him, not because he was useful like a weapon against criminals, but simply because they were each other’s only family.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, sitting down at the pub where Hashirama was still patiently waiting for him. “I’m working on a difficult case.”

“When are you not?” Hashirama pushed a pint towards him. “I’m sure you will crack it, though.”

“Hmm, yes… It’s not so much about cracking it, but acquiring proof for what I already know.”

“Another homicide case?” Hashirama grimaced. “Actually, we aren’t supposed to talk about work on our night out.”

“We always talk about work,” Tobirama smirked a little, taking a long sip of his beer. “That’s what adults do. And yes, but also more than a simple homicide. It’s a really big fish if I can catch it. Organised crime.”

“Be careful, won’t you?” Hashirama looked at him seriously. “Remember how dad…” he cut himself off, frowning at his beer. They decided on this brothers’-night-out on every first Friday of the month, but they often had a hard time with casual chatter. If any topic was worse for relaxation than work, it was their father and how he passed away. His death had been classified as overdosing on sedatives, likely a suicide, but his sons agreed that it was unlikely. He played too many high-stakes games, was tied too closely to all the wrong circles, sometimes helping them, sometimes, when that benefited him the most, going against them. Most probably, he crossed a line, and someone got rid of him.

That was more than twenty-five years ago, and the case went cold. More out of a personal interest than of a drive to avenge his father, who really wasn’t a big loss to the world, Tobirama decided to pursue it to try to find out as much about the circumstances as possible. He had the right rank in the forces to access old files. He formed something that was more than a suspicion than a proven theory. He could have pushed for the case to be reopened, but he never did.  There was no point in trying to get his father’s case looked into, not when Tajima Uchiha was also long dead. His business was taken over by his sons, who ran it more successfully than ever, both on the surface and in the shadows. 

Tobirama didn’t crave revenge for his father, but he had a strong desire to put an end to the rule of the Uchiha clan. Ending them would behead the organised crime hierarchy in Konoha so thoroughly, it would hopefully never recover.

Slowly, but surely, he was getting closer to his goal. He would have called it a cat-and-mouse game, just vermin were usually not potentially deadly to their hunters. He had to be careful; he had to think through all his steps so that by the end, he had proof against them that was rock solid.

The younger brother was an easier case, and he was focusing on him for now. The older one remained quite elusive, but he’d get him too; he had no doubts. Everyone made mistakes, and he’d be there to notice them.

“I’ll be careful,” he promised Hashirama. “As careful as I can be, at any rate,” he amended. “It’s a job long overdue. This city needs to be a safer place, you know that, too.”

“I do,” his brother sighed. “That’s what I’m trying to do as well.”

“Yes, that’s good. But criminals are best left to the police,” he offered a lopsided smile. “If I manage to behead the Uchiha clan, your work will be easier too.”

Hashirama’s hand, which was just raising his beer to his lips, stilled for a moment. His face was hard to read in the semi-coverage of his glass. He then completed the motion, took a sip. He looked a little worried, making Tobirama think he just imagined seeing… he wasn’t sure what he even saw. He was tired; he couldn’t fully trust his usually sharp senses in his current state.

“The Uchiha, Tobirama? Are you sure about this? I heard some rumours, and I know what your theory is about dad’s death, but… isn’t this more based on an obsession than facts?”

“I wouldn’t have said, if I wasn’t sure,” Tobirama crossed his arms in front of his chest, feeling hurt. Hashirama immediately looked apologetic. 

“I didn’t mean it like that. I just know how hard it can be to be objective in some situations.”

“I am objective.  When did I rely on anything that wasn’t based on facts? You don’t need to worry, I won’t be framing anyone. I’m gaining solid evidence.”

“I know you won’t,” Hashirama smiled at him, and that filled him with warmth. His brother’s approval had always meant a lot to him. They grew up with having nobody else as family, their mother having died when Tobirama was only five, their father mostly being distant and cold, which was preferable to the times he was present in their lives, as his presence meant abuse. Hashirama had always stood up for both of them, ignoring Butsuma’s sudden temper. He never minded the beating he often received as his reward, claiming it was a price worth paying for standing up for what he thought was right. So many years passed since then, but Tobirama would never forget the skinny boy who glared at the towering rage of their father without a flicker of fear.

“It hopefully will make your job easier, too. I think you have a good chance of winning the elections next year; it certainly would be the best for Konoha if you did. We can work on cleaning the scum of this city, the best way we both can, and our biggest problem is the syndicate that the Uchiha runs. ”

“I want Konoha to be a safe place, you know that. But surely you shouldn’t consider all Uchihas part of the mob, Tobirama. They are an old, prestigious family; their history is Konoha’s history. I know father had a bad opinion on them, but we really shouldn’t care much what the old man thought of things.”

“Bad opinion or not, it never kept him from striking deals with them. You and I, we are doing things differently. Also, while I’m not saying all Uchihas are bad business, some of them definitely are, and I will do my best to put Madara Uchiha behind bars where he belongs.”

He leaned back in his chair and smiled at his brother, just in time to catch his frozen, deer-in-the-headlights expression. 

***

The debate went really well, and Hashirama felt lightheaded with the success of it. There was very little doubt by this point that he’d be winning the elections next year. As he drove home, he could hardly concentrate on the road. 

He hadn’t been more than twelve when he decided that growing up, he would make the world a better place. Just like that - kid Hashirama had very little concept of what might be out of his reach. Back then, things seemed straightforward; there were men who hurt others, like his father. He just had to do things the opposite way.

Of course, growing up, he had to realise things were more complicated than that. He needed to accept that there were some compromises he had to make. The way Tobirama chose his path in law enforcement, Hashirama thought politics would be the scene where he could do the most good in a city that always struggled with corruption, crime, and poverty. He was going to do that; he had already started making improvements, and the more power that came with the position, the more he would be able to do.

Still, he had to deal with all these people he’d have preferred not to. Other politicians who were more than shady, influential businessmen with questionable ethics. He would have loved to dismiss them, but the sad reality was, he often needed their alliance to progress further.

Tobirama believed in the letter of the law, that unlawful equaled evil. Hashirama didn’t see things so black and white. There were people in the world who did good just as well as they did bad. People weren’t strictly right or wrong, so their deeds couldn’t be purely right or wrong either. Keeping the law wasn’t always the morally right choice; there were instances when breaking rules was the best course of action.  There were also people who didn’t have a choice, for whom living in illegality was given, whether because they were too poor to consider anything else or because they knew nothing more. Hashirama believed in seeing past people’s superficial deeds, thinking he could find fundamental kindness in most hearts. 

His mind wandered back to what Tobirama told him a few days ago about the Uchiha family’s business, but he chased the thought away. It was too uncomfortable, too many things to unpack, and tonight he was feeling too high with success for that. Tobirama always had it in for the Uchiha, to the degree of being paranoid about anyone who wore the family name. His brother needed to go out among people more, to remember that not all of them were bad; in fact, most of them had goodness in them. He could call Hashirama naively optimistic, but it didn’t hurt to have some faith in humanity. 

He was tired but also very keyed up when he arrived home. He poured himself a glass of whisky, but then ended up just swirling it around in his hand, lost in thought. There was something he wanted to do, and he knew he shouldn’t.

His agreement with Madara was very clear. No commitments, no spontaneous rendez-vous, no weekends together. Madara was a busy man from a conservative family. Hashirama was busy as well, and while times had changed, coming out of the closet wouldn’t have helped his aspirations. 

Hashirama had accepted there was truth in this reasoning and agreed to Madara’s terms, so he should either accept the limits or find another lover.

He put his untouched glass down and called Madara, anyway. The phone rang, but there was no answer. It was nine in the evening on a Friday. He surely had other plans.

Not for the first time, the vision of a wife and children swam to Hashirama’s mind. Maybe Madara was having family time with them, and was really annoyed about his secret, dirty little affair trying to intrude.

Of course, he could have a million other reasons why he wasn’t answering his phone. The Uchiha had a business in catering and restaurants - Friday evenings were a busy time for them.

Put him behind bars where he belongs, Tobirama’s words rang in his ears. He chased it away. He hated how they resonated with him, how he sometimes wondered about Madara’s behavior and secrecy. 

He picked his drink up, mostly to distract himself from calling again. It was probably just as Madara said - he was a busy man, with very little time for personal free time. There really wasn’t more to it.

He called Hashirama back the next morning, his quiet, deep voice instantly making him feel wide awake. Madara offered no explanation for not answering the previous evening, and Hashirama didn’t ask anything about it. Instead, he closed his eyes, imagining the other man spent the night at his place, and they were talking while lying side by side in the bed. He told him about his successful debate, and Madara congratulated him, asking about the details. He then casually said he was free on Sunday, early afternoon, if Hashirama had the time. He, of course, had the time, would have gladly cancelled any other programme for an afternoon with Madara. 

“Do you want to go out somewhere together?” he asked before he could think better about it, too lost in his daydream of being an actual couple. 

“That wouldn’t be a good idea,” Madara quietly said after a pause. “I don’t have to go over tomorrow, if it doesn’t work for you.”

“No, no, please come,” Hashirama asked, an unpleasant, heavy feeling settling in his stomach. “I’ll make us some food. I’m always happy to have you here.”

“If you are sure,” Madara still sounded hesitant. “Just send me a message if your plans change; otherwise, I’ll be there around three in the afternoon.”

Hashirama did his best to chase away his bad mood, occupying himself in his garden. This was alright for now, he told himself. Maybe they would have the chance to grow their relationship later, but if not, he should do his best to enjoy the time he had with Madara. It was hard to fool himself. At one point, he fell in love with the other man and desperately wanted to be close to him; however, Madara always kept him at arm’s length.

They met eight months ago, at a charity event, which was raising funds for better healthcare and education of children whose families lived under the poverty threshold. Madara was present as Izanagi Ltd. donated a significant amount, and Hashirama hoped to leverage his growing connections and reputation to draw more attention to the cause. They were seated at the same table and began talking. From the table, they moved to the balcony, glasses in hand, their conversation never wavering. Madara’s face got a little flushed as he drank, and he looked incredibly dashing under the warm light of the fancy lamps. Hashirama, a little tipsy by that point, couldn’t stop staring at him. He was drawn to this mysterious, handsome man he’d never met before, like a moth to the flame. When Madara caught and held his eyes, the attraction grew almost tangible between them.

“If you don’t mind a bit of a taxi drive, we could continue this at my place,” he daringly said, probably not being very subtle about what this was; it was somewhat of a surprise that Madara said yes. 

Once they were in Hashirama’s house, their conversation stopped almost immediately. He pushed Madara against the wall and kissed him, and the other man met him, fiery and wild. 

They had sex on the couch that night, but then moved to the bed for a slower, but just as passionate second round. As Hashirama lay on his back, looking up at Madara above him as he rode his cock, he knew he had found something precious, something much more significant than a night of amazing sex. The chance to meet this man must have been a gift from the divine, and he should do his best to seize this opportunity. He didn’t know what expression he was wearing at that moment, but Madara offered him a challenging little smirk, which fired him up even more. He rose up then, spun them around, and pounded deep and rough into him, all the way watching as Madara’s eyes closed and his lips opened to gasps of pleasure.

“Give me your phone number,” he whispered into his ear, when Madara was still heaving his breaths, high on the afterwaves of his orgasm. 

“What for?” he gasped.

“I don’t want this to be a one-night stand.” 

“I’m not in a position to start a relationship, Hashirama,” Madara stated, but he could be very convincing if he had the motivation. Still, Madara always maintained his distance, keeping his life mostly a secret from him. Hashirama had agreed to that - he would have agreed to anything to continue having Madara in his life in any form - but as time passed, it was becoming less and less enough.

Gardening always helped him get into a better mood. By the time Tobirama called, he was happy once again, having convinced himself that things were progressing well on all fronts, both in his work and personal life. Not everything was perfect, but that just meant some more focus was needed from him, didn’t it? He needed to be tenacious and patient. 

“Not sure if you have seen the news yet,” Tobirama said instead of a greeting. “I’m alright, but that can’t be said of some on my team.”

“I haven’t checked them today yet,” hearing his brother’s grim voice, Hashirama felt immediately worried. “What happened?”

“There was an ambush yesterday. We got a tip to raid the Aburama warehouse… It ended up being a trap. There were explosives, and…” his voice trailed off.

“Oh my god, I’m glad you are alive. Are you injured? Are you in the hospital?”

“I got away with some scratches, but not everyone was so lucky. Two on my team are dead, three more in the hospital with serious injuries.”

“Are you home now? I’m going over.”

“Thanks, Hashirama. I wasn’t careful enough. I thought I had finally caught that little Uchiha rat, but he had set me up. It’s my fault my people are dead.”

“Uchiha rat…?

“Izuna Uchiha, that scheming homicidal little shit. I underestimated him and his brother, Madara, and two men paid with their lives for that.” 

The world took a violent spin around Hashirama. Madara wasn’t available last night; only called him back today. Had he been naive to think wife and kids were his biggest secret? Had he been blind all these months? He knew he was ignoring oddities… now that his brother came close to death, it was really time he faced the truth of just what kind of man he was in love with.

***

Madara had to call Hashirama and cancel their date in the end. He crushed the pang of regret he felt - he had more important things to deal with at the moment, and business always came first before pleasure. 

It wasn’t the best idea to agree on meeting him over the weekend in the first place, but on Saturday morning, Madara was in a very good mood, thrilled with their victory over the police, a quick ambush that couldn’t be tied back to their family business in any shape or form. When he saw the missed call from Hashirama, he rang him back without thinking, the allure of a few hours of hiding away at his place and the promised pleasure of his touch singing their siren’s song to him.

However, as the day progressed, complications surfaced. Maybe Izuna being so smug should have made him suspicious - while Madara was sure he didn’t know about his connection to Hashirama, he had it in for his brother. It was more than simple annoyance with some over-enthusiastic law enforcer - it was personal for Izuna, so Madara should have expected him to try to take revenge.

If Madara knew Tobirama Senju was leading the police squad, he would have pulled their crew and wouldn’t have gone ahead with the attack. He would have had a solid reason - it was too well known the cop was sniffing around the Uchiha business, and eliminating him was bound to draw suspicion to them. 

It was worrying that Izuna forgot to mention such an important detail. Was he suspecting him of something, or was it Madara, neglecting his duties, being unaware of such a thing?

When the news arrived that the Senju pig wasn’t even seriously injured, Izuna was furious, while Madara was secretly relieved. He really wanted to avoid hurting Hashirama if he could.

He scolded Izuna, telling him that he put the clan into a dangerous situation, and that he had to think twice before acting on his emotions. Casting his eyes at the ground, his brother muttered his apologies, insincere as they sounded.

After this, Madara called Hashirama to cancel their plans for Sunday, as he was too busy smoothing over all the ripples. The other man’s tone was odd, but Madara had no time to dwell on feeling sorry about disappointing him. Likely it was just his worry over his brother, anyway.

It was only a week later when he thought about it again, and only because Hashirama hadn't contacted him in the meantime, which wasn’t typical of him. Maybe he finally had enough of Madara being such an unreliable affair in his life. He would be hard to blame, and it would really just make things easier. At least he knew the man wasn’t mourning his brother.

Then one more week passed, and Madara just missed him enough to call him against his better judgement. 

“Madara?” Hashirama answered the phone, then he went silent.

“Is it a bad time?”

“No,” a brief hesitation, then with more confidence, “No, it’s a great time. How are you?”

“Good. Do you want to make up for our missed last time?”

“Yes,” there was no hesitancy in Hashirama’s voice now and Madara allowed himself a small smile. “When are you free?”

Something was off, Madara knew it as soon as Hashirama opened the door for him. His smile was strained, and he kept a distance. That was an unpleasant surprise - usually, he greeted Madara with a passionate kiss, often progressing straight to sex minutes after he arrived. He never looked at him with this guarded expression before, setting Madara immediately on edge. 

“Do you want a drink?” he smiled at him, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Madara liked how he usually smiled; it was always a bit brattish, a little too wide and disrespectful. This smile was stiff and forced. He considered just turning on his heels and leaving, but he drove all the way out to the hillside where Hashirama lived; he may as well see what this behaviour was about.

“Sure,” he responded, following the other man to his living room. Hashirama poured them a drink and sat on his couch. Madara remained standing, studying him with his head tipped to the side.

“This isn’t the welcome I was expecting,” he told him when it seemed Hashirama would do nothing but look at him silently.

“I’m sorry,” he raked his finger through his hair. “I had a difficult couple of weeks. I also want to ask you something, but I'm not sure how to start.”

“If it’s a question you know you won’t like the answer to, maybe the best is not to ask it at all, Hashirama,” Madara warned. He tried to breach subjects that Madara didn’t want to talk about before, mostly around the nature of their relationship, where the two of them were heading, and if Madara was open to something more serious than the occasional, passionate sex, and some private hours when they pretended the outer world didn’t exist. He had been clear that this was all he could ever offer, and he was starting to feel annoyed that Hashirama might want to push him again.

“It is a question I need to ask. Would you sit down?”

Madara sat in the armchair, facing Hashirama. The house, which was already familiar to him, and this place, which had been a safe haven so far, suddenly turned into hostile territory. The muscles on his back tensed up as he was unconsciously readying himself to some form of attack. He crossed his legs and lightly touched the tips of his fingers together in front of his chest; it was a pose he often took when talking to his subordinates. It created a distance and also held some power and elegance.

“What is this about then, Hashirama?”

“Maybe you heard in the news that a police squad was ambushed…?” Madara didn’t react to this, didn’t even blink, and Hashirama continued. “I know we never talked about our families, but my brother is in the forces. He was actually leading that squad.”

“Was he hurt?”

“Physically - just a few scratches. Mentally - much more so; he lost some men on his team, and he isn’t coping with that well.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yes,” Hashirama drew his brows together and looked at Madara in a way he never did before, withdrawn but with obvious anger simmering under the surface. “Tobirama is investigating organised crime - he is quite determined to make Konoha a lawful and safe place.”

“That sounds like a dangerous job.”

They fell silent. Madara considered just standing up and leaving. Wherever they were heading, he had no desire to further participate in this circus of a discussion. Then Hashirama seemed to come to a decision. He leaned forward, his usually friendly face hardening to match the look in his eyes.

“He thinks the Uchiha business has ties to crime syndicates. Well, no, that’s not really accurate. He thinks the Uchiha business is the main crime syndicate and that you are at the head of it.”

Madara was a little impressed despite himself. Nobody had ever dared to say it to his face that he was a mob boss. So many rumours circulated, but when he was eye-to-eye with people, they didn’t dare to even imply what they thought the true nature of the Izanagi Ltd. was.

“Did you call me here to make me listen to your brother’s accusations? As you so clearly believe him, I’ll just get going.”

He stood up to leave, but Hashirama stepped in his way. Bold, or rather, stupid, after they have just established Madara’s true nature. 

“I want to hear the truth from you, Madara,” he said, his expression stern, with a glimmer of hope still in his brown eyes. It was this unbeatable optimism that flared up Madara’s wrath in the end. How dare Hashirama speak to him as nobody had ever done before, yet hope he was wrong? 

“You don’t need my truth when you have yours,” he wanted to push his way past him, but Hashirama grabbed his arm and glared at him. 

Nobody had dared to challenge Madara since his father's death and his ascension to the leadership of the Uchiha clan. The people who thought he was too young, that he wasn’t ruthless enough, not ambitious enough; they soon ended up at the bottom of the lake, or under thick concrete at construction sites. Since then, nobody had confronted him. He crushed the sorrow in himself that he felt over his affair ending with Hashirama. It was a nice break from reality while it lasted, but it was time to return to Hell. Instead of remorse, he concentrated on the spark of thrill this sudden face-off evoked. 

“Bold of you to act like this, after your accusations. What if you are right? You should be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Madara,” Hashirama certainly looked steadfast and determined. “I just want to understand you, want to understand what the time we spent together means for you.”

“There is no understanding of one another, Hashirama. We can never know what other people think. You pretend to be honest and forthcoming, but how many secrets are you keeping yourself? You pretend to be faultless for your voters, but we both know you are still Butsuma Senju’s son.”

“My father doesn’t define me,” Hashirama growled, actually growled. Madara’s lips curled upwards, flashing his teeth in a savage grin, cruelly amused to have found such a sensitive spot.

“We are both our fathers’ sons, Hashirama. We can’t escape our legacy. We pretended long enough, but just look at us now.”

“I am nothing like my father!” Hashirana snapped, eyes flashing dangerously. He shoved Madara back, and he should have taken the chance of having a distance between them; he should have just walked away, should have left this house that stopped being a sanctuary. He didn’t. Hashirama had never looked at him with anything but tenderness and desire, but there was no trace of those in his eyes now, just fury and cold righteousness. The ashen taste of betrayal wasn’t something Madara cared for; Hashirama might think he was deceived, but it was he who lied to himself, not Madara. He never promised anything, never pretended to be something he wasn't.

Except that wasn’t true, was it? He never explicitly lied, but he alluded that he lived a normal, albeit very conservative and busy life. Hashirama had a right to be so angry with him, even if it was really idiotic of him to confront him so, but feeling incensed was easier than feeling remorseful.

He grabbed Hashirama’s shirt and in one lighting-quick motion, kicked his legs from under him. The other man was taller and physically stronger than him, and not a complete stranger to fights - he had once mentioned to Madara how his father had made both him and his brother train in contact sports to grow more disciplined. He didn’t practice nowadays, but he still regularly worked out. He wasn’t, however, prepared for dirty tricks; he had never fought on the streets, never had to take down much stronger opponents, when life depended on it, like Madara had to.

He fell on his back, and Madara followed him down, straddling his hips. When Hashirama tried to throw him off, he swung his arm back and punched him in the face without thinking. Hashirama’s head fell back, and blood slowly started to drip from his nose. He looked at him in shock, but still without a trace of fear, and the savage, violence-thirsty beast in Madara wanted to punch him again and again, beat him until he was finally as scared as he had all the right to be.

“We don’t get away from who our parents were, Hashirama!” he snarled at him. “You can only lie to yourself that you are a better man.”

“Oh, I can see now how you are Tajima Uchiha’s son, make no mistake. I wonder how I could be so blind until now.”

“You chose to be blind, Hashirama. You can only blame yourself.”

“I blame myself, make no mistake, Madara. But I also blame you. Was this, the two of us, some kind of a sinister plan? Hoping to earn your little organisation some privileges if I win the election?”

Madara raised his fist again, wanting him to shut up, but Hashirama was prepared this time and managed to grab his wrist. He struggled, fighting him, wanting to hurt him, for being too kind before and being so cruel now. 

“You were never a plan at all,” he heaved. “You were against all plans and I should have avoided you like plague.”

“Then why didn’t you? Why did you enter my life and make me care for you so much?”

Madara wrenched his arm free, and because hitting him didn’t do anything to shut him up, he kissed him. A choked off, painful sound left Hashirama’s throat, but then he was kissing him back. 

Fuelled by their anger and frustration, and by the knowledge that this was their last time together, their hands and mouths sought each other aggressively. There was no point in moving from the floor; they didn’t concern themselves with undressing. This was just to feed their desperation further, to feel each other one more time. 

At one point, they managed to open up the fly of their trousers at least, with Hashirama’s hand wrapping around both their cocks. They rutted against each other, Hashirama’s cloths rubbing uncomfortably against his skin where it was bared, Hashirama’s hand in his hair grasping on his locks too forcefully. Madara turned his head, uncaring how much the other man was pulling his hair, and bit into his neck, just under his ear, as hard as he could, until he tasted blood.

Hashirama yelled out something that was a mix between his name and a curse, and came, stroking both of them until Madara followed his lead. 

When he was a teenager, Madara had read a story about a god who was divided into light and shadow. The two parts always longed for each other; they never stopped wanting to be one again over the eons. Their tragedy was that when they met, they could do nothing but fight each other, because while they once had been the same, they were now too different to exist in the same place. 

It was an odd story to recall now, but it seemed so applicable to him and Hashirama. 

As their orgasm quieted down, there was a minute of fake calm, until their breathing slowed down, and Madara felt he could stand up. Hashirama remained where he was on the floor, with the blood on his neck, his torn shirt on his chest, and his cock hanging out limply, stickily through his fly. 

Madara tucked himself back into his trousers and straightened his clothes as much as he could. He turned to leave, but then stopped in the door, unable to resist looking back once more.

“Madara…” Hashirama called tentatively, sitting up, the righteous fury gone from his voice.

“Do not chase after me, Hashirama,” he warned quietly. “Remember, we are nothing but opponents from now on, as we should have been from the start. I’ll do what I have to do, so you'd better look after your own duties and family as well.”

***

A month had passed since the ambush, and Tobirama was yet to have a night’s sleep when he didn’t wake up to nightmares. This night, it was about gunshots and blood - his subordinate pleading for help, while he was frozen in place, unable to reach out to him. He watched as the blood on the floor rose up to high waves, like the sea during a storm, and swallowed him. All through it, laughter rang, coming from nowhere in particular and everywhere at once, a voice filled with cruel mirth.

Tobirama woke from his dream with a shout and was now lying on his back, staring up at the dark ceiling, thinking about that laughter, that voice he knew.

Izuna Uchiha would pay for what he did. Tobirama swore he wouldn’t rest until he got what he deserved.

Which, at this point, he had no idea when it would be. At work, he was delayed - he was sent to therapy, which was bad enough, but nowhere near as unbearable as the pitying, worried looks his colleagues cast at him.

Tobirama was, maybe not alright, but fine. Or he would be, once they let him work properly again.

If nightmare-fuelled insomnia and frustrated incapability at work weren’t enough, there was also his brother to worry about. 

Ever since their childhood, Hashirama had the tendency to keep secrets. For a genuinely honest boy, he used to be pretty good at hiding things he deemed too dangerous to share, but too precious to let go. Their father had been unforgiving, and intolerant of anything he considered a weakness. He died without ever learning of Hashirama’s sexuality, which Tobirama considered quite astonishing, as he had always found it very obvious.

Maybe it was just Tobirama knowing him too well, thus knowing when he was hiding something. He used to be good at sniffing out those smaller and bigger secrets, and that hadn’t changed over the years. Hashirama once said, half-joking, half-accusing, that spying on him was the precursor of him becoming an Inspector. 

It was more a hunch than anything he had proof of, but he was sure his brother’s odd mood was connected to the Uchihas. First, he told himself he was just being paranoid, seeing them behind everything, especially after the ambush on this team; however, soon enough too many suspicious signs piled up. Hashirama tried to wiggle out of any conversation Tobirama brought up about them, which, considering how much the mafia clan was on his mind after the attack on his team, was not just simply annoying; it hurt.

Hashirama was obviously worried for him, but even through his constant frustration and bad mood, Tobirama still noticed how downhearted he was. It was an odd thing - Hashirama was an optimist by nature, even if he was prone to some mood swings;  his short depressed periods were always quickly chased away by his boundless energy, his drive to improve things.

He normally wasn’t this constantly low-spirited, and while Tobirama would have liked to think it was over the concern for him, he wasn’t keen on fooling himself.

Interrogating Hashirama yielded no results, so, feeling just a little guilty about it, Tobirama decided to keep a close eye on him. 

It seemed like his sixth sense was misleading him this time, as he found absolutely nothing concerning. It was pure luck when a clue was offered to him. 

He was allowed back to work properly by then, and was busy trying to gather enough discriminating evidence against the Uchiha brothers that they stood a chance of getting them to court. It was a slow and not excessively successful project; cheeky Izuna was careful with the traces he left, with what he said on the phone or who he met in public, and his elusive brother, Madara, was even worse. The man’s profile of a businessman living for nothing but work, and being quite a hermit otherwise, was so bulletproof, it was easy to start to doubt whether he really had a sinister face under his mask.

It was one of those endless evenings, going over with what they had with his team, when Sarutobi said, looking down with a sigh into his notes,

“At least Madara Uchiha used to go to some social events, the ones good for show, but he is even skipping those recently. The last one he attended was almost a year ago. Maybe you can ask your brother, boss, he was there on that one too,” Tobirama wasn’t sure what expression he was wearing as he stared at his subordinate, but the young man quickly looked down at his notes again. “Just joking, sorry boss,” he mumbled.

As he began to piece the parts together, everything started to make sense. Hashirama had told him he had an affair, but his partner was very secretive, so he didn’t want to share any details. Tobirama was fine with that - he used to hear maybe a little too much detail of his brother’s love life when they were younger, he didn’t mind respecting the privacy now. It lasted for a while, but Tobirama heard no mention of it, since… since the ambush, really. So far he hadn’t even thought about it; he had bigger things to worry about, but suddenly, the timing became suspicious.

There was that evening in the pub, when Tobirama was talking about the Uchiha brothers, and Hashirama looked at him with that frozen-over expression. He didn’t know what it meant at the time, but in retrospect, it could have been the shock of sudden realisation, or guilt.

There was his constant bad mood nowadays. There was his insistence that they shouldn’t judge people based on the wrongdoings of their larger families. There was the way he didn’t like to listen to Tobirama talk too much about his investigations into the Uchiha clan. Finally, there was Sarutobi’s casual remark that Hashirama had met Madara Uchiha at some social gala, approximately around the time his romance with the secretive man began.

When he accepted it as a fact that Hashirama had an affair with the crime boss of Konoha, Tobirama was gripped by sudden panic. Was his brother a traitor? Did he turn against him, against what the two of them tried to stand for, against making the city a safer and better place? Hashirama was, after all, following in their father’s footsteps in becoming an influential politician. Could Tobirama expect him not to follow him in his shady, unethical practices to gain and keep power?

Did Hashirama sell him out? Did the Uchiha gain information from him, and that’s why his team was successfully ambushed?

He took a deep breath and stopped himself from spiralling into conspiracy theories further. Hashirama was often naive, and he had a romantic heart, always wanting to do his best for his actual man. He also always tried to do the right thing, took what it took, and he wouldn’t have knowingly hurt Tobirama. He was almost fully certain of that.

To address any lingering doubt, he ensured Hashirama was monitored, but to his relief, that yielded no results. Tobirama concluded that, upon learning of the attack on his squad, Hashirama must have ended whatever he had ongoing with Madara.

This lifted his spirit enough to take his brother out for lunch. Hashirama was obviously surprised - Tobirama wasn’t usually in the habit of taking lunch breaks, even less two whole hours on a workday. 

He seemed happy about spending time with him. He was a little pale, tired-looking. He had been like that for a while, now that Tobirama thought about it, he was just too busy with his own crisis to spend much thought on it before.

“How are you doing, Hashirama?” he asked, taking a critical look at him. His brother smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I should be the one asking you that. You told me you were back to work full-time, but how are you taking it?”

“Work is fine, not working was a lot harder,” Tobirama offered his own, usual, wry smile. “There’s so much to do, I can’t afford to loiter around.”

“Taking time to recover both mentally and physically isn’t loitering,” Hashirama chided him. “You had a close call.”

“Yes,” he took a little pause, trying to decide what to say, and what not to say to his brother. This annoyed him - he should be able to trust him fully. Tobirama never had anyone else to trust in his life. “I’m working on the same case still.”

“Just be careful,” Hashirama asked, his uncharacteristically dull eyes sliding down to his plate. Tobirama noted how he hardly touched his food, although he normally had a healthy appetite. He pursed his lips into an unhappy frown.

Asking him outright about Madara Uchiha was at the tip of his tongue, but then he bit it back. Knowing exactly what Hashirama had been up to with the uncrowned king of the organised crime in the city would have been useful for building his case, but Hashirama was so withdrawn and sad, he didn’t want to hurt him further. He didn’t see his brother heartbroken for a very long time. One more reason, he thought, to make the Uchiha pay. He didn’t even know why he had doubts about Hashirama’s intentions before. He wouldn’t have played along to help a mob boss, but his naivete and his faith in people could easily be used against him. He was fooled, but things must have come to an end, so nothing more serious happened than a bit of lovesickness.

He was quite at peace with his decision not to confront Hashirama. A few days later, when he read the report about how he and Madara Uchiha left together from the gala event Sarutobi mentioned, his brows hardly twitched. The team found nothing else. The two of them were never seen together at another time, which was a relief. At least Hashirama had the sense to keep whatever affair he had going on discreet. 

A not very smart deed of the past, Tobirama concluded. It would have been better if it had never happened, but it caused no further harm.

He couldn’t have built the career he did if he weren’t gifted with a good hunch, but as it turned out, he didn’t fully grasp the complexity of this affair. 

***

When Izuna received the call from one of the Uchiha Delicacy Store managers, he drove across the city as fast as he could. Tobirama Senju was apparently taking his sweet time, so, despite the heavy afternoon traffic, he was still there when he arrived.

“Chief Inspector Senju,” he didn’t bother with a fake smile as usual, didn’t even try to keep the irritation out of his voice. “What is the meaning of this? We are running a business here, and you and your horde of men come in and scare our customers away.”

“Mr. Uchiha,” he could see the malicious spark of victory in the tall man’s slanted eyes. “We have a search warrant, so I’m afraid your customers will need to wait. Please ensure you aren’t impeding my men.” 

“A search warrant, for what? Cured ham or caviar? I can show you the right shelves; you don’t need to search for them.”

The inspector’s lips twitched, but he managed to control his expression so that Izuna never learned whether he wanted to smirk or snarl. 

“Please step outside, and let us work.”

“This is my store.”

“Hindering the police search is a criminal offense. I’m sure you wouldn’t want all that comes with that.” The smirk was definitely curling up on that pale face now. Fuming, Izuna went to wait outside. He lit a cigarette and imagined putting it out on the Inspector’s eyelid, as he watched that smirk turn into a scream of fear and pain. This mental image helped him to calm down more than the nicotine did.

He was fairly sure the police wouldn’t be finding anything in this store, except if one of the employees were an idiot. In which case, they would pay. It was still worrying that they managed to get a search warrant, as it meant the Uchiha's influence on the magistrate weakened. For a flash, Izuna felt anger at Madara. He had become so withdrawn recently, almost indifferent to the success of the business, and blaming him for this wouldn’t be fully unjustified. He then chased his resentment away. It wasn’t his habit to be mad at Madara.

It was Tobirama Senju’s fault, and Izuna’s subordinates, who failed to blow him up when the trap was set for him. Next time, he’d supervise things in person. This annoying cop had to disappear. 

“It’s all clear, you can go in now,” the pig said hours later when they finished. “Thank you for your cooperation,” he added sarcastically.

“Of course, it’s all clear!” Izuna snapped, failing to keep his calm at that moment. “What did you expect to find?”

“I will be in touch again,” the Inspector said instead of responding, and it was impossible not to hear the threat in that promise. 

Izuna resisted the urge to immediately go to the warehouse where the newest shipment of crank awaited distribution. That might be what his opponent was waiting for. He resisted calling Madara or checking up on his men stationed at the harbour. They were playing a cat-and-mouse game with Tobirama Senju, but who was the cat and who was the mouse had not yet been determined. Izuna wasn’t used to being anything but the predator, and this setup made him feel somewhat uncertain, but nevertheless thrilled. Challenge accepted, you Senju dog. 

Next time, he’d set a trap he couldn’t walk out of. 

When he proposed to Madara that they should be focusing on putting this annoying cop six feet under, he wasn’t prepared for a refusal.

“Too risky,” Madara said quietly, fingers lightly touching in front of his face, covering most of his expression from Izuna. His eyes were distant. “Your last attempt on his life drew too much attention. We need to divert these watching eyes from ourselves first. We don’t want any ties to the family that can be traced back.”

He put just a slight emphasis on your attempt, just dribbling in some disapproval over how Izuna neglected to mention who the ambush was aimed at. Or maybe it was meant as a reproach for failing to eliminate their biggest threat and thus empowering him further. Their family didn’t take failure kindly.

Izuna, ever since that half-successful assault, had been torn between feeling guilty for his imperfect execution and indignation over Madara’s quiet but obvious unhappiness with him. If Madara hadn’t been so distant and secretive, the way he had never been with him before, Izuna would have confided in him, and they could have worked together like they always did. The failure wasn’t only Madara’s fault, but it was partially. He had never in their life left Izuna so alone.

There was a withdrawn sadness in his brother that he didn’t know how to deal with. He didn’t know what caused it, as Madara told him nothing, so he didn’t know how to help him get through it. He wanted to shake him, yell at him, beg him to talk, to make Izuna understand what was going on behind his always impassive expression. He never had anyone to rely on, except for Madara, and he didn’t understand why he was losing him now.

This anger-stricken desperation made him reckless. It was much more satisfying to plot his revenge against Tobirama Senju than to dwell on this newborn uncertainty. There was a certain level of entertainment, a kind of cruel fun to their neverending game, of the pig trying to catch him red-handed, and Izuna somehow always being able to slip out of his grasp. 

He would strike again soon, he decided. He just needed a bait that his enemy couldn’t refuse. He needed to be served the promise of catching Izuna in a situation that he could send him straight behind bars, if not straight to his funeral.

He wanted to confide in his brother on several occasions, but then he somehow didn't find the opportunity. That was what he told himself, at any rate, while secretly knowing that Madara would forbid him from taking action. He felt guilty about it - he took orders from nobody, except his brother. Their line of business was highly hierarchical, and Izuna himself had always ruthlessly punished anyone who stepped out of line. Still, their relationship was much more than Boss and Underboss. He knew he’d get away with it, so he went away planning the trap, a better, deadlier, fail-proof one on this second attempt. 

When Izuna was little, his big brother was the one who always looked after him and got him out of a mess if he ended up in one - and he frequently ended up in one. Madara was the pride of their father, the son who always did everything right. Izuna, as younger siblings looking for attention tend to do, regardless of who their parents were, had been a bit of a troublemaker, especially once adolescence hit. Having Madara’s attention was almost as good as gaining their father’s approval anyway. His brother never chided him, never said a word to the adults about what Izuna had been up to. He often just embraced him close, then went to set things right, whether that meant apologising to someone or disposing of a body.

The lingering memory of his brother’s protection was what made him send him a message in the end. He couldn’t possibly call him, and a text would have been stupid, so just before he left with his team, he sent one of his most trusted men to Madara to clue him in what they were about to do that night. 

He shook off his oppressed mood then, grinning at his crew as he sat in the car. He no longer needed Madara to save him from trouble, he was good in looking after himself.

“Let’s go and fry this pig,” he commanded and reveled in the cheers of his men.

Izuna was prideful, but with reason. He was smart and successful; he knew how to carry himself and get his job done, but this came with the danger of overestimating an equally clever and ruthless enemy. He fancied himself as a cat, but Tobirama Senju didn’t plan on playing the mice. As it turned out, he also didn’t mind forgoing police protocol or the high risk that came with going against Izuna.

He walked in with his men, wanting to set the trap in advance, but the Inspector was already there. He had no cars with sirens at the door; he didn’t even have a team with him, just his guns and his very precise aim. Two of Izuna’s men fell to the ground before they realised they were under attack. The third died when he ran for cover, and the fourth when Izuna yanked him in front of himself, using him as a living shield. A bullet still grazed his side before he could hide from the line of sight.

He split blood on the floor and let a maniac grin bloom on his face. They were at a standstill, just the two of them. Let’s see who would blink first.

***

Hashirama had been sitting at his dining table, a half-eaten bowl of noodles lying forgotten to his right, when his phone rang. He was trying to work on a speech on his laptop, but wasn’t making much progress with it. He had been lacking motivation lately; he had been feeling lethargic and unable to shake off the oppressive mood. 

He looked at his phone, expecting his assistant. He was an enthusiastic young man, and Hashirama couldn’t put it past him to call him on a Friday night to check if he was making progress.

It wasn’t his assistant, or anyone else he would have expected. Madara, the display claimed, and Hashirama’s heart suddenly jumped to his throat, feeling excited like a schoolboy. He knew he shouldn’t answer this call. He knew the best he could do was not to talk to Madara ever again; yet, he was unable to stop himself.

“Hello?” he said awkwardly in a hoarse voice.

“Hashirama,” Madara stopped for a second, just long enough for Hashirama to wonder why he could possibly call after the last time they’d been together. “Do you know where your brother is tonight?”

“My brother?” Hashirama blinked in surprise. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but certainly not this. “No, I don’t.”

“Is he working?”

“He wouldn’t tell me that.”

“Alright, listen.” Another pause, a longer one this time. “Call him. Tell him to steer clear of the Sky District. You heard me?”

“Yes. But Madara…”

“I have to go now. Hashirama… take care.”

For a long moment, Hashirama just stared blankly at this phone after Madara abruptly hung up. Then his mind kicked into alert mode. He dialed Tobirama, but his phone didn’t even ring. He always had it turned off when he was out on the field, working on something critical - like a raid.

In rising alarm, he searched for “Sky District Uchiha”. He found a smaller delicacy shop there and a cold store for freshly butchered meat for the chain’s restaurants. It was a fifty minutes drive from his home. Hashirama quickly dragged on his jeans and put on a jacket before rushing out to his car. He had no time to waste.

He tried not to think of anything while he drove, focusing all his attention on the dark road. His brother, of course, had a dangerous job. The risk of something happening to him was always there, and this always made Hashirama worry in a somewhat abstract way, knowing he couldn’t do anything about it. The possibility of harm coming to Tobirama, and Hashirama being the cause of it in some way, because he wasn’t careful enough, because he was too trusting, too idealistic - that threat was very concrete. 

Still, Madara warned him, so he would hopefully be in time to find and stop Tobirama before he walked into a trap. Hashirama maybe didn’t trust the wrong man after all, even if accepting what kind of life he lived was difficult. But he did accept it, even if he had a hard time really believing it. Even now, he was thinking how Madara was fundamentally a kind man, just maybe his circumstances forced him to become who he’d become. Hashirama was likely never to learn more about him, so he was just making up his theories, trying to justify…

But he had to focus on the road now, he reminded himself. He had to concentrate on getting to the Sky District in time and preventing a tragedy.

The building of the cold store was dark and seemingly desolated at this time of the night. There were some cars parked nearby, but no police cars. Maybe Hashirama was in the wrong place. Maybe this was just a false alarm, or a cruel joke. Only one way to find out. 

He parked his car and ran to the entrance, half expecting to be shot at from the dark, but the only sound breaking the silence was his feet hitting the concrete. 

The door was unlocked and opened wide enough that he could push his way through. His heart was beating in his throat, and his palms were sweaty. He wished he had a weapon of some sort on him, a gun, or even a tool like a hammer. Gripping onto something that had the potential of helping him defend himself would have been good for his nerves.

Hashirama hated dress shoes, partially because they were uncomfortable, but also because of the click-click-click sound their heels made on stone floors. Here in the cold store, he found his sneakers could be loud too. He passed through what was the administrative area, then stopped before a corner. The signs on the wall told him he could proceed towards the warehouse, the toilets, or the emergency exit. Only one way to go, really.

He turned the corner and came face to face with the muzzle of a gun. A frantic-looking Madara was holding the weapon, seemingly ready to send a bullet through his skull. 

“Don’t shoot,” he was surprised how calm his voice sounded. He certainly didn’t feel calm. He resisted the urge to raise his hands.

“Hashirama. Just what the fuck are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t reach my brother, so I came to warn him.”

“Are you out of your mind? This is not a place for a civilian. Get out of here.”

Hashirama frowned at him. He hadn’t seen Madara for months, since their dramatic break-up, and as insane as this was of him, he really missed him. He missed their lazy afternoons, when they both pretended they didn’t need to be anywhere else, but in each other's arms. He missed learning morsels of information about him, he missed his wicked sense of humour, his

intelligence. He missed not seeing his dark eyes and the spark of desire in them. He missed the touch of his skin under his fingertips, the pale, soft neck, the wiry, strong muscles on his arms, and the numerous scars on his body. Hashirama had never asked what caused them and Madara, of course, never said anything, but he didn’t seem to mind if he kissed them or caressed them. 

Pointing the gun steadily at his forehead, in his dark trousers and dark turtleneck under his long leather coat, Madara looked like the mob boss Hashirama did his best to accept he was in the last months. He also looked tired; his skin was pale under the harsh industrial lights, and the always prominent circles under his eyes looked almost purplish. Hashirama thought it was very unfortunate that he couldn’t stop loving this worn-out, deadly man.

“First of all, if you don’t intend to shoot me, lower that gun,” he said, and somewhat to his surprise, Madara did. “Are you here for your brother as well?”

“Yes,” the other man nodded after some hesitation. He never mentioned his brother to Hashirama, so he had to know he learned about him from Tobirama. “Before he… does something stupid.”

As if waiting for this queue, they heard three distant bangs. Gunshots. Before Madara could try to order him to leave again, Hashirama pushed past him, towards the storehouse. Cursing, Madara followed him as he pushed open the heavy doors. 

The cold instantly hit him, and he shivered in his light jacket. He looked around the rows and rows of shelves, packed from ground to ceiling, and wondered which way to go. It was so silent in here, he wondered if he had been wrong, and the gunshots weren’t fired here, after all.

“At least stay behind me, you idiot,” Madara whispered to him, gun held ready in his hand. “If my brother sees you, he won’t hesitate to take you down.”

“I can say the same about mine,” Hashirama murmured back. “He can be quite ruthless.”

They walked next to each other in the end, careful at every junction in the maze of shelves. Madara seemed confident; it was a Uchiha cold store after all, he probably had been here before. He was so light-footed, while Hashirama was sure his steps could be heard all over the place. If not that, the clattering of his teeth surely was audible.

They came to an area with a large container in the middle, a sort of loading space, probably. Hashirama had no chance to take a better look, just a quick glance. He saw bodies on the floor, and a wounded looking, dark-clad man leaning against the container. On the other end of the loading space, mostly hidden behind large metal refrigerators, Tobirama was stationed. 

Before he could assess the situation further, Madara unceremoniously grabbed the back of his coat and yanked him back to the cover of the shelves. The chilled goods packed there shook with the impact of the bullets, and a large ham exploded right in front of Hashirama’s face.

“Izuna is wounded,” Madara said, apparently unconcerned about his own safety in the face of his brother’s injury. “Can you prevent your brother from shooting me down, so I can get him out of here?”

“If Izuna doesn’t kill me, then maybe. Listen, Madara…”

Both their brothers called out to them. Tobirama yelled at him to run; reinforcement was on its way, and Izuna asked for Madara’s help.

Madara looked at him with a solemn expression. Hashirama thought this was the end. What a ridiculous thought - their end happened months ago, the last time Madara visited him. Still, this was something of a final showdown. Even if all four of them got out alive from here, which seemed unlikely,  the Uchiha business couldn’t continue as it did. This was probably the last time he saw Madara.

Hashirama decided that, took what it took, he’d do whatever he could to keep both Madara and Tobirama alive.

Madara was still telling him to go, and Hashirama felt a little tender over this concern, but it was also absolutely ridiculous.

“Shut up,” he told him, and Madara sneered at him in displeasure. “Here’s what we will do. You will hold that gun against my head, and we will walk out, you behind me. You will tell my brother to throw his guns out of reach, but stay where he is. You will then grab Izuna and take him away before that police reinforcement really arrives. I trust you have a place where he can get treated, you don’t need a hospital?”

“Of course, I do. But Hashirama…”

“We don’t really have time to think of a better option, so you better be able to convince my brother you are willing to shoot me.”

Madara raised a single eyebrow and theatrically cocked his gun. 

“What makes you think I am not ready to shoot you?”

“Just… take care, won’t you, Madara?”

“Hashirama…” for a moment, Madara’s expression was an open book, full of longing, regret, and even tenderness. Then he took a deep breath, and he hardened his face again. “Let’s do this then.”

The next minutes passed in a blur, and Hashirama had a hard time recalling the exact sequence of events later. He remembered the nuzzle of Madara’s gun pushing against the back of his neck, its unyielding insistence very much feeling like a real mortal threat. He remembered the flash of panic on Tobirama’s face and the yelling, how everyone tried to speak at the same time, his brother not understanding why he didn’t flee, and Madara’s wanting him to finish both Tobirama and him, as they couldn’t leave eye witnesses.

He remembered how Tobirama threw his weapons on the ground, out of reach, his expression clearly saying he was prepared to die. Izuna rose up then, leaning heavily to the left and clutching his side in obvious pain, but holding his gun steady, telling Madara to step to the side, so he could send a bullet through Hashirama’s head. He would never forget how he thought in that moment that he made a grave miscalculation, and Madara would do just that, kill both him and Tobirama, and leave them lying in their own blood in this frozen hell. 

He felt Madara’s fingers tightening on his arm, then he pushed him towards Tobirama. 

“Izuna, can you stand? We need to get out of here.”

Hashirama turned to face him while Izuna demanded again that he shot “the Senju pigs”. Madara didn’t answer him, just looked at Hashirama for a long, silent moment.

I will miss you, Hashirama thought, but he couldn’t risk saying anything in front of their brothers. I shouldn’t, but I love you.

Keeping his gun steadily aimed at him, Madara picked up Tobirama’s weapons from the ground. When Izuna raised his, he growled at him not to dare.

“But Madara,” the wounded man wheezed, “we can’t leave them alive. Can you imagine what it would mean to us if we did?”

“We’ll figure it out,” Madara said simply. He looked at peace. “We have made a deal.” Hashirama longed to talk to him, to understand him better, finally, now that they had no secrets between them. He made a promise to himself that he would find a way to do that one day. 

Tobirama looked about to dash after the Uchiha brothers as they disappeared between the rows of chilled goods, but Hashirama grabbed his arm. His brother turned towards him in angered surprise.

“What have you done?”

“What I felt I had to do. I couldn’t let any of you die tonight.”

“It could have been you who got a bullet tonight! It’s a miracle you are still standing here!”

“I guess I got lucky. Tobirama, where is your team? Tell me you didn’t come here alone.”

“I knew it was a trap, so I arrived early, and asked for reinforcement for later… but the double trap didn’t work as well as I expected.”

“That’s very irresponsible.” He looked at the dead bodies on the cold floor. Irresponsible or not, Tobirama was clearly effective in finishing off everyone but Izuna from the team that came against him.

“You’re the one to speak! How did you know I was here?”

“Madara warned me.” Tobirama looked at him in surprise. Hashriama shrugged. There were too many things to explain, but how could he, when he didn’t have answers himself? “What will you do now?”

“I don’t know,” his brother said - not a sentence he often used. “I need to think this whole thing through. But Hashirama…”

“Yes?”

“It’s a slippery slope, you know? When you start to decide for yourself what is right and wrong, instead of following the law,” when it became obvious Hashirama had nothing to say to that, he sighed. “Get out of here for now. Let me clear up this mess.”

“Thank you, Tobirama.”

“Thank you for saving me, you idiot.”

Hashirama smiled at him. Things were a mess, but he was optimistic. They would figure out how to set things right.

There was no sound outside the building as he left. Would Madara go into hiding? Would they come against Tobirama again, or Hashirama, as he knew too much? What would be Tobirama’s next move? He guessed he would see. He took out his phone and sent a message, “call me when you can.”

There was no answer, but he wasn’t expecting one. Still, he knew this wasn’t the end between Madara and him, and that, despite everything, was enough for now.

FIN