History is your best friend.
That would be a wonderful sentiment if one didn't pause to ponder exactly what ran through the mind of a best friend. Instead of being remembered for significant achievements, history spread embarrassing snippets only a best friend would know.
Senju Hashirama was a pimp king, according to history. Sadly, even an entirely accurate historical record would probably agree. He had gathered the bijuu-cultural and sexual icons, gave them a sermon (pep talk) on peace, and proceeded to trade them for stable relationships with the neighbouring villages ran by paranoid shinobi.
He kept the nine-tailed fox-girl because Uchiha Madara insisted.
That perv. Senju Hashirama was most definitely not jealous of his bishounen looks, spiky hair, and eyes that could instantly seduce a woman. Sure, maybe (maybe) the hypnotism from those eyes could be classified as rape, but they were shinobi!
Uchiha Madara was his best friend, unfortunately. So he was kind of obligated to do nice things for him to compensate for being a massive dick the rest of the time. Hashirama didn't really want to know what he was going to do with the kyuubi; he felt his conscience might be cleaner that way.
His conscience was glad that his wife intervened.
Yes, Senju Hashirama was married (kind of). Maybe (actually) he ran around sleeping with every other willing woman (of whom there were many-because he was himself), maybe he ignored her most of the time unless he wanted something (sex), and definitely didn't keep her locked away in their house. Uzumaki Mito, for he was a massive dick and she refused to take his name, swooped in and saved the kyuubi from unspeakable horrors.
*cough* Unspeakable Horrors was just the nickname he had for Madara. That was it.
Again, his conscience was very glad she intervened.
Madara was highly curious as to where the kyuubi went, however. Hashirama was preparing his legendary ability to bullshit as his friend ambushed him just as he was leaving the Hokage's office.
They were on the roof. Because he was a legendary shinobi and walking was for normal people.
"Where's the kyuubi, Hashirama?" Madara pressed, his demeanor somewhat similar to an addict without a fix.
"My wife has her," he replied simply, though in hindsight maybe should've lied. Why was the normally stoic (bastard-like) Uchiha so shaken?
"Excuse me," the man said quietly, all silence and obedience to the Hokage now. Hashirama's eyes narrowed.
As Madara tried to move past him like one would shuffle past a stranger in a crowd, the Hokage's hand shot out and clamped around his shoulder. His conscience made his arm move.
"No, you will not be talking to my wife." He almost said that like he was a possessive husband that loved his spouse. Almost. "What's wrong, Madara?"
Because there was something wrong with his (best-)friend. Very wrong.
"There's nothing wrong with me!" he exploded, resembling an addict more each moment. Despite knowing that breaking his grasp was impossible, Madara tried anyways; he only succeeded in twisting his shoulder. Given his failure he settled on glaring.
It was a weak glare. For Uchiha Madara.
"Yes there is," he insisted, "Tell me. Now." If he was going to act like an unruly child, then he would be treated like one.
"Nothing is wrong."
"Wrong answer."
"Damn it Hashirama! Can't you tell that I'm perfectly fine?!"
No. "..."
"Let. Me. Go."
"Stop lying to me," the Hokage rebutted.
They were both really big kids, with really big sex drives. It was a miracle that they had managed to found a hidden village.
"I'm not lying!"
"Really."
"Yes!" He squirmed, trying to break free of Hashirama's unrelenting grip. Just as before he only managed to wrench his shoulder out of place even more.
"Really?"
"Yes."
"I don't believe you."
"Hn." Oh no he didn't.
"Maybe," Hashirama tried a different approach, "if something was wrong, hypothetically, what would it be?"
Uchiha Madara was a legendary shinobi as well. He too possessed the legendary ability to bullshit, and thusly see through bullshit.
That was bullshit.
"Nothing is wrong hypothetically either," he denied, perhaps a little too hasty. And, perhaps it lacked the scathing glare that stained his words when he felt his intelligence slighted.
"Rhetorically, then?" Hashirama tried. What did that word mean?
Madara decided to ignore that statement for the remnant of his very frayed sanity.
They paused; they both acknowledged that the other was full of bullshit. They both realized that one of them would have to give.
"Send your ANBU away." Madara requested, sounding like he was the Hokage.
"They're not here," the actual Hokage lied, just to be difficult.
Bullshit. Madara's glare tried to convey the meaning of that word, but it came out more like "fuck you".
Hashirama made a complicated set of hand signs that happened to have a disproportionate amount of middle finger directed at his pseudo-friend.
Part friend, part something else. Not more, not less, but just more. More than friends, in a platonic kind of way. Or something.
(Something like bullshit, but spelled like 'Plot Device').
After his ANBU retreated stealthily, at least to the non-legendary shinobi present, Hashirama asked (because he had to ask; he didn't care: not really). "What did you need to tell me?"
In response Madara opened his eyes. They were bright and technicolor and so so much better than normal bastard-eyes. They glowed. It wasn't date-rape, 'genjutsu shouldn't be this easy' eyes. They were the wise eyes of a sagely, libidinous man.
"You've mastered senjutsu," Hashirama murmured, aghast. Date-rape eyes and an overwhelming sex drive should never meet. His words rang false. There was nature and its energies, but there was something foul as well. Something else.
He wasn't jealous.
No.
He was a legendary shinobi; denial wasn't a river in the Land of Rivers for much longer if Hashirama had any say. And he had a lot of say; he was the Hokage.
"There's something about the kyuubi that just calls to me. Something I need," the bastard extrapolated.
Damn. It was a shame it had came to this point, but it looked like he'd have to beat the addict out of his friend. He would do so reluctantly, and only for his benefit.
Prick.
"It's her boobs," Hashirama countered. Because what else could it be?
Uchiha Madara didn't deny this. That's how the Hokage knew it wasn't the real reason.
"So it's not her boobs," he ascertained. That was bad. Boobs were easy; trying to figure out what went on in his bastard-mind was infinitely more difficult.
Hashirama thought. In this lapse of concentration Uchiha Madara broke free of his grasp and took off with a senjutsu powered leap.
The roof caved in.
"Madara," Hashirama whispered, venomous words coiling and preparing to strike. He followed with a mighty leap of his own.
Wind rushed past the Hokage as he used his bastard-sense to track Madara. That, and he left massive senjutsu powered kickoff-craters every couple of roofs. He was so paying for those; the Uchiha could afford it.
Arriving at his house, Hashirama could tell he was too late. Mito was lifted up by her collar, back pressed against the back of their (his) house. There was bastard-face almost sealed to her own with no concern for her bubble, or the jutsu she could launch from her mouth.
Mito was calm and gave zero shits.
"Let go of me, Madara," she muttered with an exasperated eye-roll. "I'm not getting caught in between another territory war between you and my 'husband'."
"Where. Is. The. Kyuubi?!" he demanded, with all the subtlety of a legendary shinobi. That was to say, no subtlety at all.
"I don't know where your gay beard is," the Uzumaki huffed indignantly.
Hashirama coughed in indignation but was otherwise content to watch his 'wife' verbally beat his friend into the ground.
She accused them of being homosexual lovers too often, and it was part a little too close to the truth and part something that turned his insides for Madara not to react. "I don't need a gay beard."
"Look. I don't see where the disconnect is. Hashirama needed one, and it's common knowledge that closeted couples need two."
Hashirama blinked oddly. That was common knowledge? And, for the record, Mito wasn't a gay beard because he didn't need one. Okay? Right.
Look out Land of Rivers: there's a special delivery on its way.
Madara deflated and let go of Mito's collar. He took a few steps away before screaming at the moon. His voice rung through the dusk sky, as he shattered.
The strongest Uchiha whipped his head back to stare at the Hokage, blood rolling down his left eye. Hashirama caught the faintest sign of a black vine creeping up his collar and his eyes flashed a sickening shade of yellow.
Their eyes met.
Gazes broke.
And Madara turned forward once more and rocketed off with one last sagely leap. It was the last fleck of Madara to be seen or heard not in rumor.
Hashirama watched, something breaking inside of him. Something. Something more than a friend broke that night.
And something a little less than friends. Because a friend would've caught the black creeping over his heart. And stopped it. Like he didn't.
"Mito."
There was something unapologetic he could see in her eyes. Tempered metal, unwilling to bend or break. She said that she wasn't giving an apology that she thought he was asking for.
That wasn't what he was asking. He looked into her eyes and saw only her.
Something that could be, yet wasn't, also broke that night.
Hashirama sighed, alone.
End.
Author's Notes:
It has occurred to me that there is a terrible lack of female sages. Perhaps it's for the best.
This took a while because I kept deleting lines. The original was probably 4x the length of what you've read, and it was a lot less powerful as well.
And I added plot elements to another crack-fic. Shoot. Also, I think this chapter has way more profanity than the prior, which described naked women for a thousand words. Weird.
Expect two more updates to this. One for each of the remaining sages. One is pure crack, and the other is just different.
Thanks for reading. Leave a review if you liked it (or shoot me a PM). Also review if you think I'm a misogynist asshole, cause that's still a review.