Not Exactly Concession

Plot Summary: Hashirama and Madara settle on armistice and reluctantly allow their friendship to progress towards something more. Meanwhile, Tobirama arranges his brother's marriage to Uzumaki Mito.

Pairing: Hashirama and Madara

Warnings: Minor spoilers.

Rating: M. In my opinion, 16+.

I – Last Words

The very first thing Madara ever said to him was, "what the hell are you wearing? Are you trying to look like a hermit?!" and the last had been simply, scratched unforgiving onto the smooth surface of a skipping-stone, 'Run'.

Hashirama spent the next five years with that memory pressing against the front of his mind. A dazed inauguration ceremony declared him leader of the Senju, and Tobirama's not-so-subtle pushes navigated him through life as clan head, but he never forgot the fact that Uchiha Madara still had a chance, and that maybe there was a possibility to exploit it for all it was worth no matter how furiously his friend and rival fought against him during battle.

And his fights were adrenaline-worthy but brutal, without a speck of recognition in his red eyes. The sentiment that Era of the Warring Clan was reaching its peak washed through the land and everyone waited to see what the ones who held power would do. Hashirama tried his best to accept every Uchiha that defected to them, but it remained painful to see Madara during the next skirmish, and catch a glimpse of the raw sense of betrayal masked beneath his stoic features.

And after their eleventh skirmish since that last stone had been skipped, Hashirama stopped one of the Uchiha defectors with a kind hand on his shoulder, and he frowned when the boy flinched at his touch.

"I just wanted to ask you something," he clarified.

The Uchiha boy promptly bowed so deeply he almost fell over. "Anything, Hashirama-dono!"

"I… wanted to know how Madara is doing," Hashirama asked him quietly. He reached forward to pull the boy up with a firm hand on his shirt, watching the late sunset glimmer across his newly darkened irises. The boy's face scrunched into an expression of pure confusion.

"You… you want to know about Madara-sama?"

"Yes. We were friends once."

His eyes almost bulged out of his head. "You were friends with Madara-sama?" Judging from his tone, Hashirama might have confessed to being in love with the man.

"Yes. Is that so hard to believe? Answer my question."

He remained silent for a while, quietly spluttering while finding words that would help him maintain his position as successful defectee. Hashirama wished he would simply tell the truth, but the Uchiha were taught strange things and one had to drag truth from them. Finally he loosened up and muttered a reply.

"You might be pleased to know that he cannot hold out much longer, Hashirama-dono. There is a reason a few of us have chosen to leave our clan. There are not many Uchiha left, and we were slowly loosing all of our trade routes and medicinal supplies, so the smallest infected scratch is a death sentence. About Madara-sama himself… he speaks to no one but Hikaku-sama, and Izuna-san has recently passed away, along with the rest of his advisory council."

Hashirama's eyes searched his face, but it seemed the Uchiha boy was really trying to make an effort to tell the truth. Then it was true. Madara's situation was bad, and he continued to wage war with nothing but the sharp blade of his pride. It was so typically him that it brought a slight chuckle to Hashirama's lips, and the boy seemed to take that as satisfaction.

"I'm glad this news pleases you, Hashirama-dono," he said earnestly. "The Senju will soon become the most powerful clan in Fire Country and despite my bloodline, I will do anything to contribute to its success."

Before he could protest and say that no, he was not satisfied, and that anger boiled inside him from the thought that his former friend was torturing himself and his precious clan, the boy had run away. Hashirama was left staring after him as he navigated the dead bodies strewn over the field.

He wondered how many more battles the Uchiha could manage. The next one would be soon.

And along with the dread came a sense of excitement because there was a certain allure to watching Madara fight. His fury was an elegance that Hashirama could never match and every one of his motions was the step of a dance, from the way he would bend his knees and set his feet sturdily against the ground to how the lean muscles of his arm flexed when he lashed out with his ganbai. Hashirama had once tried to tell himself that maybe he could forget about their friendship over time and let the old scars heal in peace, but he knew that he couldn't while Madara's were harsh and raw.

~x~

"Nii-san, I've brought the trade agreements from the Sarutobi clan," Tobirama waved a sheaf of papers under his nose while he sat at his desk in the Main House of the Senju compound. "Look, they've signed it. At least act happy, will you?"

Hashirama peered over the papers, picking out a few words here and there. "Rice," he finally sighed. "They're giving us rice in payment for a part of our well-cultured land. This contract is completely beneficial to them, and does absolutely nothing for us. We already have all the rice we need from the Seichi clan of Tea Country. What are we going to do with more of it, ground it up like sand and put it in the ink bottles?"

His brother sighed deeply and sat down across from him. He knitted his fingers together over the table in a mock semblance of supreme maturity. Before he had died, their father had told Tobirama he had become a fine man. But sometimes Hashirama thought he would benefit from a different company than ancient daimyo and taciturn Senju council members, because he was becoming a total block of ice.

"You don't understand, nii-san," a touch of irritation entered his voice. "Put that legendary intellect of yours to use sometime."

Hashirama drooped. "I'm… I'm sorry," he muttered. "Go on, please enlighten me to the extent of my idiocy."

A rough finger jabbed against the map of Fire Country that was spread out over his desk. "We don't need the land we're giving to them. All of this land belongs to use as well, and it's perfectly usable."

"That's a swamp, Tobi."

"And you're a Mokuton user! Can you not turn it habitable within a day?"

"Only if you tire me out." Hashirama sighed. He glanced over the contract once again. "So you're telling me we're giving them something easily replaceable, and they're giving us something just as replaceable. What a clever trade contract you've come up with. You've been coming to me with a lot of these things recently. I remember you created a trade with the Akimichi clan, giving them sugarcane in return for chopped wood. Since when have we needed chopped wood of all things? Are you contingency planning for my death?" He finished at a perturbed tone and waited for his brother to explain.

Tobirama maintained a patient silence, and then slowly laced his fingers together. "The benefit," he began, "is a tactical one which has been turning our war with the Uchiha. You see, I agree that it is wrong to waste the lives of our clan members on the battlfield, but there are different ways to fight."

A cold dread struck Hashirama, and he began to piece together what had been happening. Mutely, he nodded for his brother to go on.

"This contract is a siege to their food supply," Tobirama explained. "The Sarutobi clan cannot provide to them anymore in fear of incurring our anger, and we can afford to pay more for what they sell. Over the past few years I've drafted agreements that have deprived them of sturdy cloth for bandages, medicinal herbs from Suikazura, wood to make practice kunai, and now of rice. They can only last so much longer without supplies, and eventually they will have to concede defeat. This war can end peacefully."

He listened to it all without saying a word, and was left strangely weak-legged when Tobirama had finished speaking What the hell? His brother's eyes shone with pride for having outwitted their enemies and Hashirama wanted to act correctly, wanted to lay a hand on his shoulder and tell him he did well, but he couldn't bring himself to think of anyone but-

Madara was dragging this out when it had no right to consume so many lives.

Without a second thought, he stood up and laid his palms flat against the table. "Tobi, call off this contract with the Sarutobi clan. I will be back late today." He shrugged on his haori and slung his tanto back into its sheathe. His brother watched worriedly.

"Where are you going?"

"Nowhere that concerns you."

He left, swinging the door close behind him.

~x~

Despite everything, Madara had never stopped visiting the Nakano River, forlornly skipping his stones to the other side while he read bloodied paperwork and shredded some of it to pieces. Hashirama knew this, and he watched from between the trees sometimes, because by the Sage his old friend was a sight for sore, over-burdened eyes, and within the forest he was unnoticeable.

This time, he strode directly towards the riverbank. Eight hours past noon. The time Madara came to the Nakano every fortnight. He was already there, stone in one hand, poised to throw. When he sensed Hashirama approaching from behind, he stilled in surprise, and watched warily for a single provoking move. Instead of starting a fight, Hashirama moved to pick up a stone from the riverbank.

In one smooth move, he slung it across the river and grinned when it skipped, one, two, three times, then hit the shore. "You have to swing your wrist like this," he explained, and when he turned around Madara had already drawn his gunbai. Ignoring that, he moved to pick up another stone. "But I suppose you already know how to skip them properly now."

"Are you mad?" Madara asked, low-voiced. His permanent Sharingan scouted out every inch of the riverbank, eternalizing their surroundings in his mind like he did every time they fought, and the bare tilt of his face was a breathtakingly elegant thing.

For a moment Hashirama was tempted to give in to the fight if only to watch Madara dance in battle once again. But he remembered Tobirama's words and pasted a smile across his face instead. "No, I've come to offer an armistice."

For a moment, Madara remained silent, wondering if he'd finally lost it. Then, slowly, he unfurled from his battle-position. "Right. What kind of trap is this, now? Is your damned brother here?"

"I'm offering peace," he pressed. "And it's not something you can refuse, either. I know how bad your situation is."

He could see it for himself, even if the defector hadn't already told him. Madara's features were gaunt and his cheekbones pulled at the length of his face, making him look five years over his actual twenty-one. His Uchiha-style haori practically draped off the sheer leanness of his form, and though he hadn't relented one ounce of muscle he'd evidently paid for it with his health. He was in no position to refuse kindness, but Hashirama knew he'd have to find a way around his ineffable pride.

"Stop joking, Hashirama!" Madara raised his gunbai warningly. "If you wish to battle here, far from where your clansmen can come save you, then fine. We will finish this."

"No! No, I didn't come to fight. I came to talk with you. And offer peace. And maybe skip a few stones like we used to do," he held up his palms, and his voice dropped. "Let's stop this, Madara. It's gone too far."

"You don't have any idea," Madara seethed. "Your peace-be-thine ways are laughable. I'll end this here."

He frowned. "You will lose. You know that."

To this there was no reply, because his opponent knew, and the fact of it was painful to both of them.

Without hesitance, Hashirama kept his palms open and raised. "What will it take to convince you, Madara? What do I have to do to gain your trust? I'll do it, whatever it is. I know that you're a man of your word."

There was silence by the Nakano, leagues of it. Unwanted images of Izuna with bandages over his eyes rose up unsaid between them and Hashirama gulped but told himself he wouldn't take back his words.

"You caused my brother's death," Madara said quietly. "The only way it can ever be redeemed is with your brother's death… or with yours." He seemed almost pained in saying it but his words came out unmistakably clear.

"Oh," Hashirama said happily. "I knew I could reason with you."

And with that he drew his tanto from its sheathe and plunged it into the side of his stomach.

This will be updated rather sporadically, because I have a whole list of long one-shots that I work on in parallel.

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