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Madara thought about Hashirama a lot growing up. Izuna had started out chiding him, but then their father died. Raised to clan leader, Madara proved himself more than competent, despite his brother's misgivings about the Senju boy's influence. As the years passed, Madara didn't speak aloud of the Senju, but the little mismatched boy was never far from his thoughts. His stupid, lopsided cut hair, his outrageous ideas and the warmth of his smile stayed with him, tugged close to his heart even as the images of blood and death and horror started to overwhelm him.
A village for our brothers to grow up in peace, so they don't have to fight . . .
"We fight the Senju today." Izuna said, standing next to him. Across the to-be battlefield, the forest shifted with movement - Senju ninja setting up their artillery, preparing their weapons and steeling their hearts. For all the history of their clans, the years-long gap between their fighting was almost a miracle, but it was never to last. That Madara had managed adulthood before having to cross blades with his childhood fancy was more than he could have ever asked for and now, he would face the price for that peace of mind. Perhaps it would be in blood, but he hoped not. He desperately hoped that something would change, that he would be saved. He would not be, but that was besides the point.
"I know. That's why we were hired, after all."
"I just don't want you to get distracted."
"I won't, brother."
Perhaps he had been overzealous in his declaration to his brother.
Meeting Hashirama again had been nothing like he'd expected. He didn't know why he thought the idiotic traits of his youth would have followed the Senju into adulthood when his own had not, but something had given him that image, that untouchable, solid youth that should follow his friend.
Standing across the battlefield, blood and bodies spread everywhere in artful disaster, Hashirama stood like a beacon. Skin like taupe silk, hair like bark-tones satin encased in red clay armour. Sheer power rippled out from him, the very essence of nature responding to his command and erupting from the ground. Graceful like a dancing river and moving with the confidence of a tiger in the face of housecats, Hashirama cut through the ranks with a kind of destructive force an earthquake would envy. When the Senju leader's eyes met his own, though, he gave a toothy smile and switched his direction.
They met mid-air in a clash of steel, but the smile didn't leave his face.
"I was hoping to see you again. I had hoped, despite it all, that you were still alive."
"You speak as if you know me, Senju." He replied, just to see the other man's response.
Hashirama's grin broadened and he skipped out of the way of some shuriken. "I could never forget your face, Madara. And I know you didn't forget mine."
"And yet, an enemy nonetheless."
"Now, maybe." It was obvious that while the strikes were purposeful and forceful, they were lax, not putting any real effort into harming - treating the fight more like a spar than a possible last meeting. "But I still think we can. Our dream is alive and well, especially since we're both alive."
"A childhood fantasy."
"Only if we leave it to fantasy." Hashirama's smile was brilliant and it felt like they were children again, lost in their own worlds and so far away form all the tragedy that had befallen them. "Until then, feel like a little fight? Test to see who's stronger?"
"You seem awfully confident in yourself."
He gave a booming laugh, so, so out of place amidst the screams and cries of death. "Only because I know I'll win."
"Oh? I'll take up your challenge then." He grinned back, savage. "Remember that you asked for this when I stand over you, the victor."
Hours and effort lead them away from the battlefield - their powers clashing left more casualties than either side was willing to tank. Besides, Izuna would be able to handle the command of the forces for a little while. He was itching for more responsibility lately anyway.
It was only a little ways from the battle where they were fighting - really more of a spar than anything - and where Madara managed to hit the clasps of the armour chestplate. With the heavy clay now a free force of inertia, Hashirama jumped back, far enough away to duck out of the useless protection and collect himself before jumping back into the fray. He seemed to sense the shuriken coming his way, but was slower than anticipated dodging them. They slided through his shirt, leaving long open slashes that revealed the living flesh beneath. And the chest wrappings.
"Hmph. Lack of skills getting you injured, Hashirama?" He mocked, pointing his sword in the other man's direction.
Hashirama just laughed. "Not in the slightest. That's just to keep my breasts still."
"Breasts?"
Hashirama was grinning, leaping back into battle. This close, yes, he could see what, exactly, the strips of linen were securing. Soft mounds pressed close to the chest and tied firmly to stop them from moving, keeping them secure and relatively flat to make the armour less restricting.
"You're a woman?!"
"Yes." Hashirama answered easily, pressing her advantage and making him stumble back. "C'mon, it can't be that much of a surprise."
"Women don't fight."
She shrugged, adjusting the grip of sword. "Normally, no, they don't. I am not most women." She cracked another blinding smile. "I'm the leader of the Senju blessed with the Mokuton."
"I'm just . . . surprised your elders would let you fight."
A sudden scowl overcame her. "I didn't give them the choice."
A little thrill of fear ran up his spine at her tone, but he turned that into aggression - he had yet to beat her, after all. "Good to know that your womanhood did not dull your senses."
"Don't be stupid." She was grinning again, slashing at him almost playfully. "My ability to bear children has no influence on my fighting skills. I've never understood why people think it would."
"You're a woman - a weaker body and less of a stomach for killing and wounds."
"And your healing factions are made up of, whom, exactly?" She raised an eyebrow.
"The clan's women, of course-" Then her point struck him.
"And yet, you would believe that the person capable of withstanding the enormous amount of pain required to push new life out of her body could not take a wound? Or that the same people who stitch your ninja back together could not take seeing it on the field? These women who prepare and bury the bodies of your dead would have constitutions too weak to face a battlefield? I say there is nothing braver than being able to push intestines back into someone's body then cauterize the wound shut."
He . . . He never considered it that way. Spilling guts was one thing - putting them back inside was something else.
She danced away and lowered her sword, pushing hair back over her shoulder. He lowered his too, just looking at her.
"Don't treat me any different just because I'm a woman, yeah?"
The woman in front of him was the product of warfare, comfortable with no more armour on her than her sword and likely wouldn't bat an eyelash to fighting without it - to see her as any less of an enemy simply because of her gender would be foolishness at its finest. He too was a product of warfare, both of them weapons honed to the finest quality.
He scoffed. "And risk giving you or your blasted clan an opening? I think not."
She beamed again, the strange creature. "Good! Did you want to continue or to go back to our clans? I imagine the fighting is about over now - the sun is setting and Tobirama has been up since the sun rose."
"A return does sound in order." He watched her skeptically, however. Her easy, jovial demeanor was just in line with how he remembered the little boy but as they stood now, they were inhabitants of violence. Even a personality could be twisted to an advantage.
She seemed to be of a similar mind, not turning her back on him despite being the one to call the ceasefire. She picked up her armour, pulling it back on over one shoulder to let it dangle uselessly. "We'll walk back together, yeah? Split off when we can see the battle again?"
He nodded, the two of them walking back side by side, mostly in silence.
"I hope you haven't given up on our village." She said suddenly, glancing over at him. "If we will ever give our families and clans anywhere safe, we will have to work together."
"What do you mean?"
"We're the two strongest clans. If we band together, the other clans will not fight us - no one would. We could get them to ally with us and build up our village. But I can't do anything without your help. It will just create more strife."
"We are all killers, Hashirama. The fighting will never end."
She pouted and he immediately, involuntarily, felt terrible. "Not with that attitude."
"You need to be more realistic."
"Realism is letting the graves of children pile up at my feet." She replied, abruptly somber. "I will not let another generation of children see their lives end in my arms. I won't. I can only make that reality true with your help, Madara." He thought he would get lost in the blackness of her eyes. "I will not order my clan's children to march to their deaths and I . . . I die with them every time I face an Uchiha child."
They stopped walking, simply staring at each other. Her eyes were dry, but her voice was thick with old grief.
"I never understood how my father could send out Kawarama. He'd already lost three sons. Tobirama and I were already fighting - winning - and yet he sent our youngest out. I was running to him, begging him to hold on just a little longer. I hit my knees just as he stopped breathing. I found out that day that no amount of healing chakra can bring back the dead." She blinked, gaze steady. "Unsteady from chakra exhaustion, I took him home. I washed him, dressed him and buried him in a little wooden coffin underneath a sapling of ten years that was three when Kawarama was born."
"Izuna is the youngest." His mouth was working without his input. "And I am two years his elder. My four elder brothers are dead now. Have been for a long time. Likely our brothers killed each other. I . . . I am haunted by the bodies of children." He gestured to his eyes, the Mangekyo spinning with the memories. "The Sharingan captures memory, keeps it in permanent record. I think back and see it as clearly as I did when I lived it and it haunts my dreams. I've seen it send clan members into their own blades, unable to handle the everlasting horror."
"I know this is something that can't change overnight. Many more lives will be lost before we can even begin to save them." She sighed at the admission. "But we are villains if we don't even try. Please, Madara, please think deeply on banding together with me. The Senju and the Uchiha together can bring this to an end. I know we can."
"I can't promise you anything, Hashirama." He winced. "But that does not mean I will not try."
"No more children." She murmured.
"No more children." He agreed.