ahahaha, first Naruto fic in how long? Too long, that's for sure. Idea for this fic came from blackkatmagic ( blackkatmagic . tumblr post / 145753251780 /so-ive-had-a-terrificble-idea-madatobi-in-a ), first draft of this story originally posted on my tumblr, and then on AO3.

In Madara's opinion, the most irritating thing about Senju Hashirama was how goddamn suspicious he acted. From all the stories Madara had heard from Tōka over the years, he'd expected a oafish, bleeding-heart doctor with the burning desire to do good and the ability to speak without needing to breath; what he got was a monosyllabic, surly man who wouldn't look anyone in the eyes a moment longer than necessary. About the only thing that was the same was the almost uncanny ability to insert his own foot into his mouth. Oh, Tōka had vouched for him (and Mito, too, strangely enough), but even she seemed mystified by his strange behavior, if their hushed argument before dinner was any indication.

And to think Madara had been worried about his own cousin's idiosyncrasies...

And sure enough, the shifty bastard was checking on his suspiciously large box in the currently-restricted cargo hold, right after someone had flagged the nearest Alliance cruiser.

"Forget your toothpaste?" Madara questioned flatly, and within a moment, he'd laid Hashirama up with a strong right hook - or he would have, if the man hadn't dodged.

"What are you doing?" Hashirama said, startled, and if Madara had disliked him before, he hated him now, acting innocent when he'd brought damnation upon them all.

"How much did you tell the Feds?" he snarled in response, pulling out his pistol. Hashirama, if possible, looked even more confused and stupid. It was hard to believe Tōka's cousin was some kind of famous surgeon with that look on his face. Madara aimed very carefully at Hashirama's chest. "I'm going to ask you one more time: what did you tell the Feds?" he said, enunciated carefully. There wasn't a flicker of recognition on Hashirama's face.

"Hate to say it, cousin, but I think you have the wrong man," Hikaku stated mildly, strolling into Madara's field of vision. Madara could only find the barest piece of irritation at this - someone from his family always had to get involved, and better Hikaku than Izuna, who still managed to drop an unloaded pistol four times out of every five. Hikaku tipped his head toward the stairwell and Madara turned his own head slightly...

...only to see mousy little Nagata pointing his own pistol at him, a fierce look in his eye. "Son of a bitch," Madara breathed.

"Drop that fire-arm, Captain Uchiha," Nagata ordered, and Madara sullenly complied before raising his hands above his head. "This is not my best day ever," he muttered to no one in particular, aggravated as hell. Nagata began walking down the stairs, shifting his gun to keep Madara in his sights.

"Senju Hashirama, you are bound by law to stand down," Nagata said flatly, and Hashirama sullenly raised his own hands above his head.

Madara blinked once, then again, before lowering his hands and disbelievingly asking, "So it's the doctor you want?"

Of course it all went to hell very quickly after that: with a Fed involved, how could it not? But right up until Mito walked in, Madara was hoping that Hikaku could talk the stupid bastard down, even a little; he'd always been good at stuff like that. Of course, Mito did walk in, and the jackrabbity asshole had shot her on instinct, right in the belly. Of course he was a good shot, even startled. Of course he was. Madara had seen a lot of wounds like that in the war, and it was bad way to die.

Hashirama, to give credit where credit was due, didn't hesitate, just ran right over to Mito regardless of the still-armed Fed and started checking her over carefully. Madara was right behind him, only taking a second to see that Hikaku was taking care of business with the agent. Of course the rest of the crew came running in as soon as they heard a gunshot, but Madara only had eyes for Mito, who was frowning and confused, pale and wan from shock. The bullet hadn't hit a blood vessel, at least, or there'd be a lot more blood.

"What?" she murmured weakly. "What the hell was that for?"

There was just enough of the familiar indignation in her voice for Madara to crack a weak smile, but before he could say anything in return, Izuna cut in over the comm: "Madara, we've been hailed by an Alliance Cruiser. They've told us to stay on course and prepare for prisoner transport."

There was a moment after Izuna spoke where Madara was absolutely certain that Hashirama will refuse to treat Mito. The man doesn't say anything, but he paused, hands stilling, and looked up at Madara with a bleak look in his eyes, and Madara just knew that he was going to demand they change course in return for Mito's treatment. Luckily for him, Tōka pre-empted both their responses, whatever they were going to be.

"Get us the hell away from here," she shouted into the wall comm, a crazed look in her eyes, and then she turned back towards them with a fierce look on her face. In a matter of half-a-dozen paces, she was upon them like a hurricane, grabbing Hashirama by the collar and briskly dragging him into the infirmary after her. Kagami was right behind her, and he picked Mito up, gentler than Madara could ever imagine him to be, and then followed after the Senju cousins to lay her on the examination table.

Madara followed after him, numb inside, and watched carefully as Hashirama did his work. He's a good doctor; it's clear within an hour that Mito will recover. It took half the night, but Hashirama removed the bullet, dressed the wound, and stitched her up neat as can be. She'll have a scar, but it won't be a bad one. It might even fade, one day. Tōka's stories were true: her cousin is a hell of a doctor, better than most Madara saw during - or after - the war.

Madara wasn't thinking about that, though. He was thinking about the look in Hashirama's eyes in the pause between Izuna comming the cargo hold, and Tōka's response, and wondering what the hell a doctor as talented and devoted as him has done to even think about threatening to break his oaths to save his own skin.

After Hashirama finished with Mito, he started cleaning up the surgery area, gathering all his tools for sterilization. Madara didn't watch him for more than an instant before he nodded at Kagami and spun around, stalking out the door of the infirmary. Madara heard a pained yelp behind him, but he didn't pause, confident in Kagami's ability to keep Tōka's troublesome cousin restrained. It was the work of a moment to pull out the large box Hashirama had brought on board; less than that to unlatch the snaps and catches closing it. All the while, Hashirama was protesting vociferously in the background, a panicked edge to his voice. The noise is better than an alarm; Tōka and Izuna both stumble down from the cockpit and stand on the top landing of the stairs; Tōka because it gives her a nearly unobstructed view of the whole cargo hold for her rifle, and Izuna because Tōka is there.

"Tōka," Hashirama finally shouted. "Stop him!"

"No," she said dispassionately, face like carved stone. "I want to know what the hell is going on, too."

And with that, Madara opened the box. At first, there's nothing to see except fog; it's a refrigeration unit of some kind, and very, very cold inside. Everybody seemed to hold their breath and lean in as the mist cleared away, but Madara still understood what was in the box first, and felt his gorge rising. There was a young man curled up on a fetal position; a young, naked, beautiful man, packed up in a box like one would pack a vase for transport. Madara saw red, and he spun around to look at Hashirama.

"Who did you sell him to, you bastard? Tell me right now!" he roared, but Hashirama wasn't even paying attention to him.

"Please," he pleaded desperately. "Is he all right? He wasn't supposed to wake up for another week!"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Madara sneered. "Is he for you? Is it true love?"

The first indication Madara had that something has gone wrong was Tōka, of all people, choking and dropping her rifle.

"Tobirama?" she weakly queried, an uncharacteristic quaver present in her voice, and Madara froze. Once, a very long time ago, he had asked a much younger and brasher Tōka what had brought her, the scion of a wealthy Core family, to the Browncoat cause; once, she had told him about a cousin, brilliant in every way, who had gone to a government-sponsored school for the gifted and then disappeared, never to be spoken of again by anyone who had known and loved him, save for Tōka and the boy's own brothers. But before he could turn and look at her, a freezing, muscular arm hooked around his throat, and Madara was jerked backwards off his feet.

People often say that adrenaline slows the world down; Madara had never found that to be true. In his case, time went at exactly the same pace as usual, which wasn't very helpful, since he'd been placed in a perfect sleeper hold and had, at best, fifteen seconds before he passed out. He was able to slam one brutal elbow into his assailant's ribs, not that it did a damn thing, and the last thing Madara saw before he blacked out were the lights in the cargo hold ceiling, blurring brightly.

(When he comes to, explanations are made. Tōka cries, and even as Madara begrudgingly admits that Hashirama had good reasons for acting as he did, he swears he won't forgive the man for that. As for Tobirama...well, it's hard to know what to say to a man who's spent the last half of his life imprisoned and tortured, but sad life or not, Madara sure as hell won't be turning his back on him anytime soon. Tobirama is dangerous, and even Kagami had a wary edge to his excitement for a new sparring partner.

Madara underestimated Tobirama once, and got a chokehold for his pains. He won't do that again.)