{Adaptability}

{Chapter Four}

"When's dad going to be home?"

"I did not know thirty minutes ago, and I do not know now. Stop asking and focus on your work," Madara scolded temperately, scarcely glancing up from his scrolls to address the boy sitting across from him. Judging from the way he complied, but fidgeted nervously, the Uchiha patriarch knew that it was only a matter of time before another question was tossed his way.

"But… um… he said he'd be home today, right?"

"Kise," the elder man warned, raising his gaze for an instant in a pointed glare.

The child shrank into silence, returning to his studies diligently as he was instructed. In the nearly four months since the little Uchiha had become a part of their household, they had taken to working in this manner – one on either side of the desk in Madara's study, sharing the space in dutiful quietude. Madara truthfully did not mind the new variety of normal, and found the boy to be rather agreeable in most circumstances; though he did possess the irrepressible curiosity of any child of six and had adopted some of Hashirama's rowdiness, but only when the Senju was present. Otherwise, he was tactful and respectful, even despite having developed a certain manner of strange familiarity with his clan head.

Kise had grown drastically since becoming a part of their bizarre little patchwork family, both physically and in knowledge and skill. They trained and studied and played, using the large oak with low branches that Hashirama had grown in their courtyard for shuriken practice as frequently as for climbing. And though Madara still struggled with awkwardness in the face of the lighthearted atmosphere that had bloomed so potently into his life, he had to admit that it was pleasant to be so greatly admired, adored unconditionally – even despite being the 'strict parent', as his lover often teasingly called him.

As if on cue, the front door opened, and the Hokage's rich, earthy voice rang through the house, instantly painting a broad smile across the child's face. "Madara? Kise? I'm home!"

"Dad!" Kise shouted, bolting from the office in a flurry of papers and tearing down the corridor, only to be scooped up in Hashirama's powerful arms and hung over his shoulder like a sack of rice.

"Madara?" he sang, ducking his head into the Uchiha's study. "I could have sworn I heard a little boy named Kise, but all I found was this sack of rice. Do you know where he ran off to?"

"Dad! I'm not rice!" the child giggled, squirming in his adoptive father's grasp.

"Oh well," Hashirama shrugged with a sigh, giving his lover a quick peck on the lips. "What a shame! Especially since I brought him a present all the way from Suna!"

Brushing past the taller man and into the hall, Madara smirked lightly at their little game, collecting several scrolls from the bags that his Senju had dropped carelessly on the floor near the front door, reading through them quickly. "I suppose we're having rice for supper?"

"No!" the little Uchiha whined, wriggling until Hashirama at last deposited him back on his feet, where he could close his thin arms around the tanned shinobi's waist. "I missed you, dad. What is Suna like? Is it big? What kind of chakra do their ninja have?"

"And I missed you," he laughed, carding his calloused fingers through Kise's dark hair. "Did you behave while I was gone?"

"I did! We practiced my fireball jutsu and it was really hard and it makes me cough, but after a while there were flames and not just smoke. And Uncle Tobirama showed me his summons and this water dragon jutsu. And I got to play with Kagami and Homura and Hiruzen!"

"Uh… wow," the Hokage chuckled with a surprised arch of one brow, casting a glance to Madara, who merely shrugged. "You were busy."

"You were gone for two weeks. I had to find some way to wear him out so that he'd sleep," the other man said dismissively. "The bedtime routine is your job."

With a smile and an easy huff, Hashirama pried himself free of the boy's grasp, moving to claim a proper kiss from the man he loved – who protested mildly – and began sorting through the items he had discarded near the door until he found two packages, each wrapped in fine red cloth. "For you, dearest," he offered, handing one of the items to the elder Uchiha before turning to the younger. "And for you."

Kise was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, trying his best to behave properly under the weight of Madara's warning glare, but failing miserably in his excitement. Taking the prize carefully, he unfolded the crimson wrapping, allowing the silk to puddle on the floor and reveal a small puppet of a yellow-striped cat. "Kitty?" he asked with a curious tilt of his head, dragging a thin finger between the doll's ears and down its back.

"Suna has lots of shinobi who specialize in manipulating puppets," the Hokage explained happily, tethering some of his own power to the little toy and urging it to clatter to life, rubbing itself affectionately against Kise's hand at his bidding. "Like this, see? Maybe you can practice with it. It'll help you learn how to finely control your chakra."

"Cool," the child sang, eyes wide with wonder.

"Go play in your room while I talk to Madara, yeah?"

"Yeah!"

"Good boy," the Senju called after him as he capered away, waiting until he was gone before turning to his lover, pinning the elder Uchiha remorselessly against the wall and stealing a heady kiss, their hips rolling together. "Damn, I missed you."

Madara laughed deviously against tanned lips, and he could do little to suppress the pride he felt at the knowledge that he alone was able to fluster this man – the Shinobi no Kami – to such an obscene degree. The timbers of the house practically rattled beneath the burden of the chakra that seethed from Hashirama's core, wild and carelessly unsuppressed in his sheer want for the other man. "So it seems," the paler nin teased as he sank his teeth into their kiss, "but I hope you actually tried to be diplomatic during your meeting, rather than simply moping around dreaming about me."

"I always dream about you, love," Hashirama sighed, breathless when Madara's hands crept beneath his robes. "Did you read the reports?"

"I did," he replied, nipping at the taller man's throat. "That damn Kazekage is nothing but trouble. You were too generous at the Summit, and then you had to go and give them that farmland as well*. Now he wants more. Look what a hassle that bleeding heart of yours has caused. It's not our problem that they decided to live in a fucking desert."

"Well…."

"I hope you put him in his place, oh wise and powerful Hokage-sama," the Uchiha said in his husky baritone, blunt nails scraping over his lover's chest. "After all, I do enjoy it whenever you assert your… dominance."

The brunet's knees buckled lightly at the insinuation, delivered so casually in that sinful voice – teasing and careless and fully aware of the power it held over him. "Not fair, 'Dara," he hissed. "Kami, that's not fair."

"All's fair, or so they say."

"Who is 'they'? I need to give them a piece of my mind."

Smirking lightly, Madara slipped out from Hashirama's grasp, offering only a gentle pat on his shoulder in condolence for being denied. "Go wash up. Perhaps we can go out for supper?"

"Wait," the Senju jolted awkwardly, settling and astonished stare against the other man's retreating back. "Are you suggesting that we go out? You do realize that there are people out there, right? People that you'd have to talk to."

"You aren't funny, you know," he spat in reply, waving a dismissive hand at the brunet and vanishing into his study. There was a brief pause before the Hokage was suddenly struck with the full fury of the Uchiha patriarch's chakra – angry and roiling as it had not been in a very long time – and a vicious bellow, wrought with rage and despair. "Get out! Damn you, get out! Out of my sight!"

An instant later Kise came tearing from the room, eyes wide and tears streaming down his face as he fled to Hashirama's side, cowering behind him and clinging to the hems of his haori for dear life. Chanting an apology like a dying prayer, the boy flinched when Madara roared again, a sound suspiciously like books being thrown from a shelf echoing through the house and rattling in the rafters.

"What on earth is going on?" the Senju asked no one in particular, gesturing for his adopted son to stay behind as he ventured cautiously into the battleground that his lover's office was sure to become. "Dearest, your chakra… please. Why so angry? What happened?"

"That brat," the Uchiha hissed, whirling to face the taller man, Sharingan gleaming dangerously, "did the one thing that I told him not to do! The one thing! Am I so disrespected around here that I'm not even permitted a single thing that is mine alone?!"

Carefully approaching, the brunet rested a soothing hand on Madara's shoulder, wary not to incite his rage further. "Of course not, love. Kise adores you and respects you. He certainly wouldn't want to upset you so much on purpose. What did he do?"

"Izuna's katana… I told him that it was off limits and not to be touched, but he did it anyway! Damn it!" he seethed, shoulders sagging slightly as he grabbed fistfuls of his own ebony hair.

"Okay. Okay…" Hashirama sighed gently, placing an easy kiss on his lover's brow though he was shoved away. "Will you let Kise apologize? And then maybe he can stay with Tobirama tonight and we can have some time to ourselves, yeah?"

"Fine," Madara conceded bitterly, following his Senju out into the hall to where the boy stood waiting, thin shoulders shaking as he sniffled into his sleeves. The elder Uchiha almost felt ashamed for upsetting him so much, especially when the child glanced up at him, nothing but love and regret and embarrassment swimming in his coal-black eyes. He recoiled dramatically when Kise lunged forward, wrapping his arms around his clan-head's waist as if he would never let go, little fists knotted in his shirt while he cried into his chest.

"I'm so… sorry," the boy managed between sniffles and stifled sobs. "I wanted t—to see it… 'cause you said it w—was special… and if it's s—special to you… it's special f—for me too. P—please don't be angry. I'm s—sorry."

"Just take him, Hashirama," he scoffed at the display, skin crawling at the affection he was shown. "Leave me be. I'm disappointed in you."

Kise choked on a whimper at the reprimand, but nodded solemnly in reply, obediently following as he was ushered out the door by his other adopted father, who cooed gentle comforts that sought to ease his distress. Sighing when he was left alone, Madara drug his fingers through his unruly hair, grumbling bitterly at the enigma that was parenthood – and the enigma that was the child he had conceded to raise. As leader of his clan and founder of the village, he was feared more often than truly respected; generally shied away from as a threat or an immense and dangerous power tethered down by little more than thread. Grown men yielded at the sight of his shadow. Yet this brat, in his audacity, had thrown his arms around him – an anomaly in itself – mere moments after he had permitted his chakra to flare so violently, hot and angry and unrestrained. Clearly, Madara thought bitterly, the boy either genuinely cared for him or was stark raving mad. And given his prior experience with the world as a whole, the Uchiha patriarch was more inclined to assume the latter. Throughout the course of his adulthood, only two people had ever been so brave as to trust him implicitly: his dearest Izuna and that fool Hashirama. The prospect of adding a third name to that list seemed, in the face of probability and all conceivable logic, utterly absurd.

But… the possibility in itself was oddly soothing, reassuring. Like some long-awaited signpost that finally sought to confirm that he had at last done something right, regardless of his numerous flaws and past transgressions. A vague reassurance that his efforts had never been for naught.

With a curse he trudged back to his study, frowning at the mess he had made in his rage, and began collecting his books from the floor, frustrated and perplexed as to how his anger had managed to withdraw so quickly. It was now but a bitter knot in his gut, tingling vaguely beneath his skin; far from the maelstrom that it had erupted into. Madara had never been a man prone to sentimentality – Hashirama had enough for the pair of them – yet those tears and clinging fingers and whimpers of apology had broken him in some way. It was difficult to maintain one's ire in the face of such sincerity, as plain as afternoon shadows through thin paper doors.

"Shit," he hissed as he collected an unfurled scroll, spilt ink drowning away some of the characters on its surface. Determining that it was unimportant and its usefulness rendered null, he tossed the document aside, though a small splash of color caught his eye, tucked unceremoniously beneath an upturned book. Curious, he reached forward, but recoiled as guilt sawed painfully through his chest when he recognized Kise's yellow cat puppet, its joints and hinges now tweaked and dislodged. His frown deepened as he collected the toy gingerly, studying the mangled pieces that sprawled over his open palm and kneading his temple in distress.

"Damn it all."

*Tidbits*

This nonsense refers to the first Five Kage Summit, where Hashirama distributed the bijuu and whatnot. Since the Kazekage was haggling over prices and shit because they already had the One Tails (Shukaku), Hashirama was like, "Are we cool if I give you some fertile land right near Konoha? Since you guys live in a desert and all." And the Kazekage was like, "Meh, I guess. But we're gonna be super sketchy about it and fight you every time you guys roll up in our hood, ya dig?" And Hashirama was like, "'Kay. You do you, boo boo."

So they agreed on the deal, but subsequently fought over control of the area until Tobirama was Hokage and decided that he was tired of everyone's bullshit and that he wanted it back. The end.