Chapter Text
Tobirama is not completely unaccustomed to it, but it’s becoming a nuisance.
Hashirama often calls impromptu meetings just to gather some company in his office and fight off boredom, which is ridiculous in itself. But there are more pressing matters concerning the diplomatic state of the village that Tobirama should be tending to. Matters that Hashirama left him to deal with.
As soon as he arrives, Tobirama is more than ready to lay into his elder brother for diverting his attention away from those urgent affairs. But when he pushes open the door to Hashirama’s office, Madara is there, sitting at his brother’s side.
Any berating Tobirama had dies at the sight. Madara’s presence is enough to momentarily complicate his thought process with a sting of annoyance.
“Tobirama.” Hashirama smiles, soft but tired, even though Tobirama is certain his brother has hardly finished half of his day’s workload. “You’re late.”
“I was handling your responsibilities,” he replies dryly, and catches Madara inspecting him with a sour eye. Tobirama would happily return the token of displeasure, but he’s presently occupied with his brother’s incompetence. “Which reminds me, you still have yet to return the reports I gave you for the village borders.”
“Ah! About that…” Hashirama fishes out a document from the unorganized pile on his desk, then carefully slides it to Tobirama.
Hashirama looks nervous, stilled by hesitance. He looks sheepish. Which is never a good sign. “It seems there are some complications,” he says. “We should reconsider our final drafts for the distribution of village space, just until we get approval from all the clans.”
“Complications?” Tobirama already doesn’t like what that implies.
He had made certain that all clans blending into the village agreed to occupy the spaces provided, mostly because they were the only spaces available. Hashirama could only afford to produce so much housing using mokuton, with rudimentary accommodations too, until the amount of chakra he wasted was inconvenient. Besides, clans coming into the village were more likely to construct their own residences and compounds to suit specific needs. But that just meant prolonging the time it would take to settle everyone in. Border disputes were far too prevalent now, and far too threatening to the harmonious relationship that the village was meant to manufacture.
“Well that’s why I sent for you.” Hashirama straightens and tries to decide how he’s going to approach the subject. Reasoning with his brother is like walking on thin ice. “They don’t seem to agree with the terms we’ve provided for the boundaries—”
“They?”
Hashirama frowns, already dreading Tobirama’s impending temper. “You know who I’m talking about, Tobirama. I told you that a more congenial, even-handed approach to their clan’s requests would have proved more successful. Now they don’t agree with the terms we offered them. And when I say we, I mean you.”
“They can’t expect to get everything they ask for,” Tobirama argues. He already knows what clan is in question, since his brother is laying the blame on him. Those negotiations were his responsibility. They’re a smaller clan, which makes their grievances even more bothersome, but a prominent clan, nonetheless. A clan possessing resources and skills that would substantially benefit the village’s prosperity.
Tobirama reminds himself of that as he attempts courtesy, but it doesn’t work. “What specifically do they not agree with?”
“I’m not sure. Their advisor is coming here now to relay the requests of the clan heads. She’ll be bringing our previous draft with revisions.”
Tobirama knows what that entails. Meeting with their clan’s advisor is never a pleasant occasion. “And neither of you can take care of this? You had to pull me away from my duties to ?“ In other words, they’re asking him to reap what he sowed, to bear the brunt of an unavoidable dispute. Which isn’t entirely unfair, but he’s not looking forward to it.
"I would have handled it,” Madara says confidently, breaking his silence. “But it is your commitment.”
Although flustered by the Uchiha’s interference, Tobirama tries to ignore him, mostly because he can see the worried shift of his elder brother’s face, silently pleading that he not rebut Madara. Not now, when there was enough conflict on their plate already.
“What do they expect to get out of this?” Tobirama asks bitterly, conceding his looming frustration and tearing his eyes away from Madara.
“She just wants to discuss, that’s all,” Hashirama almost beseeches. “I think it’s only fair we hear them out—”
“We’ve already revised our treaty for them once.” That had been an irritatingly complicated dilemma to handle in the first place. Another round of arguing and bargaining was not something he planned for his agenda that day, or any other day, for that matter. Any resonance of another village drawback could not be tolerated. “Allowing them any more than we already have will stir accusations of bias and leniency.”
“Be that as it may, I think we can afford to reconsider one more time—”
The surge of frustration in Tobirama’s chest is stifled by a call from the other side of the office door. The trio is silent.
“Come in,” Hashirama finally replies, praying the conversation will find a peaceful end. But it’s likely wishful thinking.
Tobirama can tell the poise of her as she walks through the door is either forced or obligatory. Neither of them are happy to be there.
“______-san.” The elder Senju greets her with a smile that’s meant to clear the air of strained pause, but it fails.
“Hashirama-dono.” She comes to stand at his desk, and he has the instinctive urge to offer her a seat, but doubts she would take it. Judging by the way her sharp eyes hone in on Tobirama, her focus is far away from formalities.
“We have found issue with this proposal.” She slides a set of documents onto the table.
Hashirama’s hand hovers over the documents, but Tobirama snatches the papers before he can react.
“I thought you said that you would consider our requests,” she continues, as Tobirama’s eyes scan the pages. “It would have been easier for you to just deny us up front if you planned to disregard our grievances from the beginning.”
“You didn’t expect us to hand over such a large portion of the west village to your clan, did you? We hardly considered it.” He drops the papers on the desk, crosses his arms, and waits.
“Don’t exaggerate our requests,” she insists. “We simply ask for space. The Shimura are obstructing our borders. We don’t have room to function properly. As is, we’re cramming families into the residencies that have been provided while we construct more, but that isn’t possible if we have no foundation to build on. There is no room for us.”
“Please,” Hashirama cuts in. “We know space is limited now, but we’re still expanding. Besides, the goal of the village is to merge clans to strengthen peace…” He seems to understand that it isn’t the time for hopeful niceties, so he forgets that thought. “But we understand your concerns. There are clans still adapting to their own relocation, that’s why things are out of sorts right now. I promise that once complications are resolved—”
“I understand that.” She sounds sympathetic, as if she were afflicted to project her irritation onto him. “But we can’t just sit and endure without grievances. When we moved to join the village, we trusted that we would be welcomed with open arms, and that our best interests would be kept in mind. We can’t just bide our time waiting until we become a relevant concern.”
Tobirama scowls. “That’s not what this is. You can’t just petition for part of the entire village, not unless it’s for a legitimate reason. We decided to allocate boundaries based on space available and the density of clans, which in your case, isn’t considerable enough to serve as support for your requests. You’re not the only clan in this village, and by no means the largest. The region we assigned to you is more than enough to accommodate your clansmen.”
She’s glaring at him now, and some unnatural wave of alarm washes over him. He immediately puts it down. But oddly enough, the distress forces him to lower his tone to something abnormally calm.
“We gave you a fair amount of estate when your clan first joined the village,” he says. “Then we understood your grievances and added on to our original verdict, but now you’re asking for too much. We gave you more than we had the provisions for in the first place. You and your clan should be pleased with that much.”
"You’re asking us to be grateful for small mercies. It took time and effort to relocate our clan here, and we can’t be expected to settle with this.”
"You’re testing options that aren’t feasible,” Tobirama replies. “If you want to negotiate, then be practical.”
"That’s what my clan and I have been doing,” she insists. “Up until now, at least.” Tobirama doesn’t like the somber descent of her tone. It stops him from rebutting, but he listens with guarded irritation. She takes a deep breath, as if distressed by the weight of it all. “We’re tired of no progress. Unfortunate as it is to report, my clan has decided that if this negligence continues, we may have to reconsider our place in this village.”
Her voice holds contrite, contrary to the stiff glower on her face. No one speaks. The tension is thick.
Tobirama doesn’t enjoy being on the end of ultimatums, and it’s especially unnerving coming from her. Normally, he would have no qualms about putting her in her place and reminding her that they didn’t need to be tolerating her insolence. They could easily cast her and her clan aside if they refused to concede to the terms provided. It was only Hashirama’s unyielding congeniality that allowed her to stand before them with such audacity. Tobirama often theorized that the same audacity foreboded unruliness in the future. And there was no room for that in the village, not if his elder brother intended to keep the peace he fought so hard to achieve.
Yet, Tobirama’s subconscious betrays that steadfast mentality. Contrary to his instincts, he thinks it only prudent to endure it. To what end, he can’t decide. His aggression has lost its fuel. That conviction in mind, while he’d love to snap at her, correct her, berate her—the need is lost to him.
“We don't want that at all,” Hashirama pleads eagerly. “Please relay to your clan leaders that we will fix this in any way that we can once the opportunity is available.”
“Thank you, Hashirama-dono. We’ll be waiting to see if you have any reconsiderations.”
She bows before leaving, to Hashirama, mainly. But it does nothing to mend the tension she leaves behind. It flares when she gives Tobirama a particular look that has him frowning.
When she’s gone, Hashirama releases a tight sigh and Tobirama closes his eyes to manage the waves of frustration branching through him.
“Something will need to be done about that,” Madara mutters nonchalantly, seemingly to nobody but himself.
“Tobirama,” Hashirama snaps, in that rare, low, disciplinary tone of his. “That was unnecessary.”
“She comes in here making demands of us, brother,” he argues, turning to face him. “You can’t keep giving in so easily, not with this many clans. Not when we haven’t properly distributed space in the village. Getting ahead of ourselves is not something we can afford.”
“We can discuss it with tact, without you attacking her and brushing off their concerns. It’s not her fault. She only shares her clan’s concerns, and wants to amend those concerns. You and I would do the same. If you can’t handle it, then either Madara or I will take over—”
“No.” He doesn’t want that to happen. He can’t let it happen.
When the village first formed, Tobirama took up the task of accommodating smaller clans, leaving most, but not all of the diplomatic relations with larger clans to his elder brother, and begrudgingly, Madara. Managing smaller clans seemed a facile task at the time, but this clan has proven otherwise. He worked so diligently, so efficiently, and so unusually patiently to accommodate them. Yet it seemed all his efforts had so far been for naught. Because of that, Tobirama considers it a personal matter to contend them.
So he won’t leave it to anyone else. Not his brother, too generous and too congenial; not Madara, too unruly and unpredictable.
“We’ll fix it,” he decides finally. “It’s just going to take time, and practicality on your part, brother.”
He mutters the last of it as though Hashirama is at fault for the way the situation has spiraled out of control. But Tobirama knows it’s not. He would feel guilty if not for overwhelming irritation. It washes over him and he decides leaving will mend his temper and clear his mind.
He doesn’t even have the sense to offer Madara a parting glare before he gathers his documents and leaves without another word.
~~~~~~~~~~~
The single problem Madara found himself facing when the village had come to fruition were the residents. Of course, allying clans that had once been enemies was the point in itself, but he was a cautious man by nature. No matter how congenial he wanted to be, no matter how he longed to welcome new brothers and sisters with open arms, he wasn’t completely ready. The harmony contended him certainly, but besides Hashirama, he had yet to find any sense of companionship that made the village feel like the haven it was meant to. But then, there was always her.
He doesn’t remember seeing her in the warring years. He hardly bothered recognizing shinobi from other clans if they weren’t Senju. Her clan had never been enough of a threat to solicit his full attention, so it’s a surprise to him how notable she had become as the weeks went by, and how he found himself wishing for her company when they were separate.
They’ve put down shuriken and kunai in favor of something as familiar as tea and shogi. Nothing Madara would have ever expected from someone who was once an enemy, though he opts not to question the recreations in favor of simply enjoying them. That was the point of a unified village, after all.
“You seem distracted.”
Her hand continues to glide down the parchment of her scroll despite his comment, though it breaks her concentration momentarily—what little she had, anyway.
“I’m just thinking,” she says.
“About?“
"What else would it be?”
He smiles at her curiously, knowingly. But she doesn’t see it.
The chaotic events of the day remain as a pleasant memory for him. Seeing her stomp into the office to berate Tobirama had been the highlight of his week. He didn’t even mind that she hardly paid him any attention. As long as she was yelling at Senju and not him, he couldn’t care less.
“You have no reason to be the disconcerted one,” he tells her. “Hashirama is sensitive, but I haven’t seen him that flustered in quite some time. You even had me at wit’s end with the way you came into his office today.”
The way her expression condenses into something restless and sullen warns him against making another comment, but he smirks. Madara can’t pass the opportunity to tease her, not when he’s in such a good mood already.
“I feel awful,” she admits. “I was too harsh.”
“I have told you countless times. Had you left negotiations with your clan to me in the first place, you would not be in this mess.”
She only smiles, but returns to her paperwork. “If I put all the responsibility on you, the Senju would be insulted… Well, Hashirama-dono is very considerate and understanding. But I can’t say the same for Tobirama.”
Madara smirks again. Then he follows her example and returns to reading over a scroll in his hand.
He doesn’t know how it all started. In the beginning, it was strictly formal. The first of their little rendezvous occurred solely to handle preliminary negotiations for her clan, before Tobirama took over. A few simple run-ins shifted to weekly occurrences and now, it was routine. Conversing, discussing, even debating. All endeavors he finds unusual with someone he’s known for only a short time, but it’s pleasant, nevertheless.
No one bothers them there. Madara is half convinced that they’re the only two people in the entire village who even utilize the public library so far. The privacy is comforting. It’s a nice shift from the disarray Hashirama’s company prompts, and Madara finds that he can’t relax in the man’s presence as of late. Tension between them seems to be rising, again. Subtle disagreements stretch into lengthy debates. Debates stretch into arguments. Madara does his best to put it out of his mind, seeing how they always mend those arguments. However, it still furnishes a swirl of anxiety in the back of his mind that he curses every day.
There with her in the library, he doesn’t have to worry about that. She’s easy to read. It’s comforting and familiar. Familiar enough that he thinks he can tell when there’s something vexing her.
“There’s more troubling you than just that.”
She smirks. A little laugh passes her lips. “You’re sure about that?”
“I am.” His dark eyes settle on her. The effort to mask her apprehension with nonchalance is almost pitiful.
Eventually, she can’t persist. She puts her brush down and rubs her eyelids. “I’m worried I might be ruining this for my clan.”
He narrows his eyes. There’s that deficiency in her conviction that he hates. “You are not the one ruining anything,” he insists.
She retrieves the brush again, wondering whether to write or to think, and watches the utensil thoughtfully. “Maybe we are being too greedy. Too impatient. Asking for too much.”
He wants to roll his eyes. She had made quite the impression the very first time her clan arrived in the village. Though not a clan head, she had the dedication and capability to carry diplomacy. A sharpness in her eyes captivated him. A competence hardened by war but welcoming of new opportunities. That’s what the village was meant for. Madara admired that.
But these moments of vulnerability where only a ghost of that strength seemed to exist just sickened him.
“It’s that apprehension that stops you from getting what you want.”
She looks at him. “By that you mean what?”
“If you plan to negotiate with Senju, and not me, then at least go to Hashirama. He will cater to your mild bargaining. His brother will not.”
That bitter tone is ever present. Not that it perplexes her, given she has her own disagreements with Tobirama. It’s simply different hearing him openly express malice when she knows better than to speak overly ill of the younger Senju, even if she did audaciously berate him that day.
She suddenly feels the slow creep of guilt again. To confront a man like Tobirama who prided himself on rigor and duty… He had every reason to hate her now. Maybe she had already ruined her clan’s chances.
“I would hardly call what I did today mild,” she says. “You said it yourself. And I don’t need to remind you that I’m already regretting it.”
He hums, inspects her once more, then turns back to his own work.
She has reason to inquire his leniency, since he never lets their disputes die off so quickly, but she knows it’s likely to stir a long debate that she either won’t win, or won’t find the stamina to endure. Madara is tenacious when he wants to prove a point, and she doesn’t enjoy riling the temper she knows lies in waiting under his controlled demeanor.
Later, when night comes and fatigue overrides their focus, they abandon their paperwork. It’s always at this time that she finds an uncanny swirl of anxiety in her chest.
She doesn’t want to leave him. In his presence, she’s calmed by a sense of familiarity, something she hardly experiences most days. Coming into a village with so many prominent clans, all deferential to the two most powerful clans, Senju and Uchiha, surrounded by their influence—it’s equally unnerving and exciting.
Madara has proven assuring in that sense. It’s enough that he’s there to support her through the difficulties of village politics, but to treat her with such warmth and consideration? It’s more than she could have ever asked for. Probably more than she deserves.
He gathers his belongings, but as he begins to bid her a good night, he stops as if he’s forgotten something.
He says her name.
She turns at the sound of his voice.
"I meant what I said before.” His charcoal eyes build on the calm in his tone. “If you need anything, you come to me.”
It’s assertive, but not a command. Inviting, but not an ultimatum. She wants to reply, to oblige his remark and perhaps thank him, but the words don’t leave her throat.
She just nods, and he stares at her a moment longer before leaving.
~~~~~~~~~
A cloud of frustration hinders Tobirama’s thought process. With all the tension that’s been weighing on his shoulders, it’s impossible not to feel the bulk of it all.
Hashirama was in one of those rare, steadfast moods where his orders and wishes were paramount, and unshakable even by Tobirama. So when his elder brother ordered him to go deliver a new treaty to her by hand—no doubt a penalty for the way he had treated her—Tobirama obliged with a sting of frustration in his chest.
When he arrives at her clan’s neighborhood, she’s waiting near the entrance, a hard look on her face that he’s regretfully come to recognize. She even has her arms crossed, expectant and wary. He wonders if that’s how he looks when he does it.
“Tobirama,” she says, voice softer than expected, but firm, nonetheless. “An envoy said you would be coming to meet me. Thank you for being prompt.”
He ignores the way his nerves are already flaring with impatience. He wastes no time and hands over the documents. “My brother added in some details that he hopes you will find suitable.”
My brother and I, he begs to add. But there are still conditions he knows they won’t agree to. Or at least, conditions they won’t find particularly pleasant. And that’s his doing. He wasn’t going to let Hashirama get away with completely revising their treaty without compromise.
She takes the scroll and reads over it, only briefly. "I was beginning to think you would make us wait again. I’m happy you reconsidered our requests so quickly.”
He withholds a frown. Already, it’s scattering his patience. But he has to try. He knows he does.
"As I’m sure you know, we’re juggling multiple treaties and negotiations at once. Including negotiations with the daimyo. But my brother wanted me to tell you that we haven’t forgotten about you.”
“Just almost forgotten,” she murmurs, eyes still scanning the document.
That time Tobirama does frown, but fortunately, she doesn’t notice. He watches her as she mindfully examines the treaty, perplexed by his onset of restlessness, one he notices so often now.
Why was it becoming so difficult? Certainly alliances were tedious things to manage, but he would have never expected to arrive at an impasse like this. Especially with a clan advisor, out of all people. Clan heads were usually the stubborn ones. He knew that much by watching his elder brother for so many years. It didn’t make sense to him.
Then from his anger stems doubt. He keeps thinking about what Madara said.
I would have handled it.
Tobirama wonders if there’s any truth behind that. Would Madara prove more efficient in this situation? Would he be more capable? Would he be on the receiving end of her spite like this? For some reason, he doesn’t think so. In fact, Tobirama can’t recall her ever giving Madara the wary glares that he received so often. Not one frown, scowl, or sharp rebuttal.
A moment later, she detracts her attention from the documents. “I’ll present these to my clan heads and we’ll finalize the negotiations once we review it in detail. If they’re satisfied, at least. Until then, keep us updated with anything more that you Senju decide, please.”
He definitely doesn’t like the intonation behind her words, but again, he refrains from anger. He can’t afford that.
“Fine,” he says, holding her gaze for much longer than he probably should.
She wishes he would just walk away. It would make it easier. The remorse and concerns haven’t escaped her train of thought. Was she being too harsh about the whole thing? Even now? Should she apologize? He must have his hands full, must be swimming in a never ending pool of conflict and disorder with other clans, most more prominent than hers. All those considerations have plagued her and made the pendent guilt even worse.
But no. She can’t apologize. He doesn’t deserve that. She shouldn’t be subjected to his temper and allow it to dictate the very welfare of her clan. They won’t suffer because of him.
He tears his eyes away first. He finds that it takes time during his walk back to Hashirama’s office for the tense set of his shoulders to relax.
~~~~~~~~
Later that day, she finally decides to review all of her paperwork. The treaty Tobirama gave her sits at the bottom of the pile. She’s saving the worst for last.
She figures it prudent to keep it from her clan heads until she inspects it herself. It’s likely misguided to hold essential information from them, but she’s willing to handle the brunt of the dilemma herself. Her high-strung, inattentive clan heads, who happily pour the arduous responsibility of politics on her without a second thought, probably don’t deserve that favor. They were no help at all in this situation. But still, she had a duty.
Fortunately, these anxieties are eased just a fraction with Madara at her side. They meet in the library, he tells her about his day, makes her laugh with stories of Hashirama’s antics. While he’s happy to amuse her, the mirth is bland. Even her smiles lack their usual fervor. She can’t fool him.
Another treaty draft for her clan was finalized that day, Madara knew. He’s curious as to whether that’s the cause of her dampened mood. She was never one to remain silent about her grievances before, so the fact that she’s concealing it is incredibly annoying.
He calls her name into the silence of the room.
She doesn’t answer immediately, instead chooses to read over the last text of the document in her hand before looking at him. “What?”
“Speak what’s on your mind.”
The facade breaks momentarily. She smiles, cynically and weakly. “Nothing is on my mind.”
“It must be something.” When she doesn’t answer, he continues to study her, unimpressed with her little ruse.
She gives in. “Just this entire… mess,“ she says simply.
“The new treaty,” he confirms. He almost feels guilty that village politics vexed her so. “I didn’t have a chance to review it.”
“Tobirama delivered it to me earlier.”
Did he? Madara wasn’t aware of that. As far as he knew, Hashirama settled on terms he thought would be decently agreeable. Madara hadn’t known whether or not Tobirama still had any input.
“I hope for your sake that doesn’t mean he revised the conditions himself,” he says, almost irritated. “I had hoped you would heed my advice and discuss this issue with Hashirama and Hashirama only.”
“I did.” There’s a pointed hint of annoyance in her voice that he doesn’t like. “I spoke with Hashirama-dono. He contributed to the final decisions in the treaty.”
Contributed. Madara knows what that means. Tobirama would never let his brother have full reign when it came to negotiating. It was the reason her clan was being treated with such neglect. It would be no different this time.
“Then hopefully you will finally be happy with the outcome,” he says. He wonders if that comes off as too sarcastic. Maybe it’s meant to. While he did wish for her troubles to be mended, a familiar sense of frustration and futility is clouding his calm.
It wasn’t fair that she had to endure so much. She worked so hard to please and safeguard her clan. How could she keep giving Tobirama so many chances to ruin that? Did she not see it was getting her nowhere?
Unaware of his exasperation, she smiles softly when he’s not looking. His demeanor has always piqued her interest; solemn and quiet, unless provoked. Having an acquaintance outside of her clan, the leader of the Uchiha, no less, is reassuring. But that doesn’t exempt him from her careful discretion. She still carries scars from Uchiha in past battles, but he makes it so tempting to forgo on caution and welcome his company. It almost seems dangerous.
One of his legs suddenly shifts under the table and brushes against hers. It comes to rest snugly right along the inside of her bare thigh, exposed by a slit in her dress.
It spreads a startling warmth through her. She’s about to shift away, but she waits to see if he moves first.
He doesn’t.
Has he even noticed? He either hasn’t, or he’s playing oblivious. He’s too busy reading a book he grabbed off of the shelf to even look up at her.
She tries to make herself comfortable, tries to ignore the proximity that makes her heart race, and returns to her work.
It’s only when he attempts to reread the same page for the seventh time that he relents, and knows his focus is lost to him. He’s more invested in his doubt and scrutiny. Always obsessing with his thoughts. Always the skeptic.
He thinks about it for too long, until the sound of papers rustling against one another as she sorts through her documents drives his frustrated and worn mind past its limits. And he can no longer suppress his thoughts.
“Should I expect to have a part in consultations with your clan in the future, or will you keep up this trial and error agenda with Tobirama, and let him walk all over you?”
She stops what she’s doing, and looks at him. It’s so sudden. Maybe not unlike him, but it’s cold. She puts down her brush and inspects him purposefully. “I already told you, Madara. It’s enough that you and I are this familiar. I can’t neglect the Senju when it comes to diplomacy. Both your clans play a pivotal role in the politics here. The new negotiations will hopefully be sufficient. I doubt after the ranting and raving I did that there would be any further problems.”
“I would have made it much easier from the beginning.”
“Yes, you’ve made that clear,” she says. “As much as I appreciate that, you know it’s ill advised. I have to keep a balance. Don’t you imagine that Tobirama would be offended if I left the Senju out of my clan’s affairs?”
“I suppose.”
That’s a simple resolve, even for him. She doesn’t trust it.
Maybe she says it to spite him, or an attempt at futile humor. But she says it anyway. “But that would make you quite happy, wouldn’t it? I’m starting to think that’s your goal. To use me to instigate Tobirama.“
And he’s aware of the teasing connotation. He’s familiar with the light edge of her voice that suggests such a sentiment. But he doesn’t find it amusing. He gives her a chilling look, and it stirs a sharp unease in her chest.
She should just shake it off, mark it as Madara’s conventional cynicism. But she can’t. It’s discouraging. In retrospect, she doesn’t deny that leaving political matters to him might have eased the whole process, but tension with the Senju isn’t something her clan needs.
“You won’t get me to change my mind, Madara.”
“You can’t trust him to consider your clan a priority.”
“Maybe not. But I understand he has the village’s well-being at heart.” There’s that soft edge to her voice again, the weakness that he hates. “If only he started treating us as part of the village, rather than just an after thought, maybe we wouldn’t be in this situation.”
There it is. That’s what he likes to hear.
Sometimes he feels misguided, like he’s the only one with a deep rooted resentment for the younger Senju brother. As far as he can tell, hers isn’t a distaste born from resentment, necessarily. But it’s obvious that she’s not fond of him. And that’s enough for Madara. It pleases him to know she feels the same way. If she could see Tobirama for what he was, she wouldn’t be exploited by him. That’s what he worried about.
“But when he delivered the treaty, he was… kind. His version of kind, at least.” Remarkably, her expression softens at the memory. “I’ll just have to read over the negotiations and we’ll move on from there. If more trouble arises, I’ll take care of it.”
Then that simmers the heat of his anger all over again.
“Then let me know how that goes.”
He goes back to his paperwork just as she glances over at him, her expression rigid. He didn’t bother masking the condescension that time.
“What is that supposed to mean?” It’s a question that doesn’t need to be answered. If she didn’t hear the spite in his voice, she can certainly tell in his body language that he’s displeased with her.
The warmth of his leg retreats as he straightens in his chair, tall and forcible. A purposeful move, she’s sure. The distance between them is punctuated and unnerving.
“You’re weak when it comes to the Senju,” he mutters finally, as if he had been debating whether or not to say it.
She’s about to protest against it, but that would be too hasty. It would only validate his statement. "Weak? How so? Because I respect them?”
"It’s not a matter of respect,” he argues. “You’re too eager to please them.”
“Of course I want to please them. I want to please my clan, too, by sorting out these negotiations.”
“If that were true, you would stop placing so much confidence in Tobirama. Your pride is holding you back.”
“My pride?”
Is he purposely trying to anger her? If so, it’s working. He’s never provoked her like this before.
While her reactions aren’t exactly pleasing, he at least knows the subject flusters her. Which only supplements his suspicions. But he’s on thin ice now, he knows that.
“You claim to be unhappy with the negligence your clan is experiencing, and at Tobirama’s hand. Yet you do nothing about it.”
"What do you mean?” she asks incredulously. “Are you saying I’m content with the position my clan is in—”
“I’m saying you would sooner prolong your dilemma than fix it, all because you’re too proud to admit that you made a mistake by leaving this in Tobirama’s hands. I might even venture to say that you’re afraid of any change because you look incapable already.” Madara shuts his book and stands, maybe to shake off the intensity of that statement, because he knows it’s a catalyst for something unpleasant. He knows what it will turn into now. But he had to say it. It had been weighing much too heavily on his mind.
He says nothing else, just moves to place the book on a shelf and bides time by eyeing others. But she’s frustrated.
“It’s not about my pride,” she protests, standing and moving close to him, close enough to see how his charcoal eyes warn her to remember her place. He’s the leader of the Uchiha. She’s an advisor to a lesser clan. She needs to reel in her audacity. But she’s not deterred. “I care about my clan, Madara. Don’t try and tell me that I don’t. And I’m not incapable. That’s why I keep badgering Tobirama with our requests, because I want what’s bestfor my clan.”
He doesn’t answer, but he scoffs at her, as if debating her wouldn’t be worth his time. As if she were just a naive child. It angers her beyond belief.
“I don’t understand why you’re being so difficult,” she tells him. “It’s like you want me jeopardize my clan’s alliance with the Senju. I thought you wanted unity within the village. You’ve been picking apart my decisions like this for weeks. All you’re doing is antagonizing me.” That realization suddenly hurts her. Was that really it? Was she just some toy to manipulate for his amusement?
“You’re acting like Tobirama,” she spits out finally. It’s the worst possible thing she can think to say in the moment. “Arrogant and ignorant.”
She leaves it at that, even if it hurts to speak those words. She doesn’t want to hurt him, but in the heat of her frustration, she finds triumph in his tight expression and lack of response.
But she can’t be there anymore. The tension is too thick now. Regret will come to fruition eventually. And she doesn’t want to be with him when the turmoil floods her. If she’s going to suffer the consequences, let it be away from him.
She sounds defeated when she tells him, “Goodnight, Madara.”
She takes her documents off the table and makes for the exit, but he grabs her wrist and pulls her back.
Her hand furls into his sleeve just as fast in an attempt to pry herself away, but his grip is too strong and his eyes too fearsome. She stills immediately.
“Do not compare me to Tobirama,” he leers down at her. “And do not write off my concerns as a hindrance to this village. I’m only wary because I have to be. Which is why I’m giving you this advice in hopes you’ll open your eyes and see what I do.”
“You can be wary without being malicious,” she protests. His grip lessens when the rashness of her tone is replaced with caution, but he doesn’t let go completely. And she for some reason has no intention of making him. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do. But this is my clan. It’s my responsibility. You’re a clan leader. I’m not. It’s not as easy for me to pick and choose my battles. All I want to do is assure that my clan is safe and settled.”
The tone of her voice is undoubtedly rectifying. All at once, it stirs guilt and admiration and passion in his shrouded mind.
His grip loosens until it’s just the feather light touch of his gloved fingertips on her skin. Most anyone in her position would be quaking under the scrutiny of his sober, unforgiving stare. But he can feel under his hand that she’s still, completely still. How admirable.
It reminds him why she’s so entertaining. Mesmerizing, even. And why her refusal to heed his words is so frustrating.
“Don’t be so quick to let your guard down,” he tells her. “You should know better than to instill trust in others so easily. It may come back to bite you.” His eyes wander over her, searching for something… Something. But even he doesn’t know what it is that pulls his distress.
A moment later he leaves, but her feet are still planted to the ground.