A/N: First of all, I figure most English-speaking people know what the term "sloshed" means. However, anecdotal evidence from a small polling pool (i.e., my teen brother) suggests that it's not as common a slang term as I thought, which is why I'm using it here as a term that people are expected to know but that not all people do know. For those who don't know what it means, "sloshed" means "drunk." (Wow, I can't believe I just explained that.)

Also, if last chapter was in danger of going narmy, this chapter is in extra danger. It feels a bit like it came out of left field, even to me, but I've justified it as well as I can and, really, is there any way something like this would not come out of left field? So let me know how I do.

Hope you enjoy! And please remember to review!

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A Ninja Cannot

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Hashirama had already decided to fight this thing, to fight against being a man of dreams; if he thought that should change just because Madara might be single after all, then that just demonstrated how badly he was messed up.

So here he was, pacing back and forth in Tobirama's dark living room, trying to think his way through this and out of this.

So what if Madara wasn't accounted for? So what if Hashirama didn't know if he happened to be courting someone or not? So what if he didn't know why Madara spent so much time with him in the Hokage's office? What was Hashirama going to do about it? Just keep fantasizing over him, like the man of dreams he was? Forget his duties and shirk his responsibilities, grieve whenever something woke him from his fantasies, lose himself in his day dreams and wet dreams?

He couldn't do that anymore. Hashirama had a village to lead. There were people counting on him, there were the hopes of previous generations calling to him through the Will of Fire, there were the fates of future generations resting on his shoulders. As the Hokage, what he did now would affect the village's children, and the world's grandchildren.

What he did as the Hokage could alter the world's destiny.

And he was terrified.

When could he afford to pine for Madara?

He was helping define Konoha's role in the world, helping it become something that would last forever. He had to determine how it would interact with the Land of Fire, how it would interact with other nations, how it would interact with the other new hidden villages. He had to decide what kind of missions they would take, what kind they wouldn't, how they would take them, from whom they would take them, why they would take them. He had to teach Konoha's clans to think of themselves as one village, and then teach the village to think of itself as one family.

How could he do that if he was spending all of his time watching Madara out of the corner of his eyes? Thinking about what Madara thought of him? Trying to make Madara like him?

No good would come of it. Someday, he would make a mistake and it would be disastrous—something like handing a map of the entire village to a spy. He could yearn and lust for Madara for the rest of his wretched life, and he would never get him—and Konoha would struggle and fall from neglect.

... But, what if he did get him?

Hashirama almost paused his pacing, but went on. No. It wouldn't happen. It would never happen. Madara didn't care about him.

... But why did Madara seek him out so often?

Because they led the village together, that was all, that was all. If Madara had the slightest clue how Hashirama felt, he would despise him.

... But what if he felt the same?

So what if he did! What good would it do! It would be impossible for them to act on it, it wasn't like they could... could court each other, there was nothing they could do, there was no way it would work.

... But what if they found a way—

Hashirama stopped himself. He actually froze, stopping dead in the middle of the room. What if, what if, what if— He was just dreaming again. He was just fantasizing. Like the man of dreams he was.

Even when he told himself it wouldn't work even when he told himself he had to quit even when he told himself to stop he couldn't, he couldn't, he couldn't get Madara out of his head. He was fighting against himself and he was losing.

But he had to get Madara out of his head. He had to stop himself from dreaming. For his own good, for the good of the village... and for Madara's good.

He started pacing again, faster. He couldn't stand this anymore. He had to do something—now—whatever it took to get this out of his head. Anything. Anything—

He stopped again. Staring through the dark at the gloomy doorway into Tobirama's kitchen.

Anything.

He walked into the kitchen.

He almost never drank. He didn't like the taste, and he hated the feeling—he hated to loosen up, to lose control, to forget himself.

But he was also a ninja, and ninja did not have opinions, did not have emotions. A ninja did what it must. A ninja fulfilled its duty, using whatever tools were necessary.

So he told himself: he had no choice.

He could not think of a single solitary other way to get rid of these thoughts, this disease in his mind. No... no healthy way. If you fight fire with wood, you get burned; by extension, if you fight disease with medicine, you get sick. So, fight fire with fire. Fight disease with poison.

He prowled through the kitchen, opening cabinet doors at random. This was a stupid idea, a destructive idea, but it was the only one he had. Somehow, somehow, he had to get rid of these stupid fantasies. Everyone said alcohol was supposed to make you... relax (not that he wanted to relax), it was supposed to make you forget your problems, at least for a bit—and that was all he needed, to forget Madara. At least for a little bit.

He had heard you don't dream when you're drunk.

There. Four bottles of sake, all on one shelf. He grabbed one, read the label, couldn't make any sense of it. He didn't even know how much he was supposed to drink. He'd just down the whole thing. Whatever it took.

He twisted the cap off, tried to forget how much he hated this, and gulped down the sake like he was dying of thirst.

xxx

Who the hell needed Madara, anyway!

Who the... who the hell needed him? He was just one lousy, miserable little son of a... whatever! He was just an Uchiha. Uchiha burned down trees. Freaking burned them down. To the ground. All the time. Hashirama seen it. He'd seen it. With his own eyes. Hashirama liked trees, dammit.

Who the hell was Madara, anyway? Just some pretty guy. There were lots of pretty guys! Dammit, Hashirama was a pretty guys! Guy. He had pretty hair, right? He liked his hair. He was going to look at his pretty hair to prove that it was pretty. Right now. With his own eyes.

What the hell is the mirror still broken dammit what the hell.

Those Uchiha all looked the same anyway. All the same. Madara was a helluva lot prettier than the rest of them but he still looked just like the rest of them. 'Cause they were all freaking related like crazy. Madara probably had like forty half-nieces that he was screwing, anyway. Like, together. And that stupid seven-year-old one, too. Yeah. Hah. Which, that, if that one was Madara's brother's, shouldn't it be a niece-niece, so, shouldn't it be a... not a cousin, but a... um... And that stupid seven-year-old one! And Hashirama didn't blame them. Madara was freaking gorgeous. Hell, if Madara was his half-niece, he'd want to screw him, too!

Wait. Wait. Madara wasn't the half-niece, Madara was the... he was the guy with the... the freaking... half... yeah.

What the hell was a half-niece?

Why was it so damn dark in here? Hashirama was tripping over his own feet and... yeah! What?

Hashirama didn't even like Madara! He'd never liked Madara. He was just stupid, and and, and... and he was annoying, yeah, he was annoying. And he was wily. Like an Uchiha. Because of his eyes. Those were. Those were some, damn. Those were gorgeous eyes.

Wait! No!

Damn that wily Uchiha! What the hell was this, like a genjutsu or... whatever? How in the hell did he do that. He wasn't even here and he had this, this, genjutsu that made... the gorgeous eyes, and... he wasn't even here!

Or was he? ... Aw, hell.

See, see, that's the problem with genjutsu. You cannot tell when there is one. You, you can't—you cannot—freaking—tell. There's no way. That's, that's what makes it work. And that, is why, you never look an Uchiha in the eye. Ever. 'Cause then they'll... yeah. Oh hell, maybe that's what Hashirama did wrong. He shouldn't have looked in his eyes. Even though they are freaking gorgeous.

Okay, you know what? If Hashirama still thought Madara's eyes were gorgeous, then, obviously, he was not drunk enough.

Hey.

Why was the sake gone?

He didn't drink the whole thing, did he? Did somebody else drink the... damn.

Were there more in the kitchen? Where was the kitchen.

Who the hell put a closet where the kitchen was?

Oh. Here.

How do you get the cap off of this thing?

Oh. There.

What was he doing, again? There was the, the mirror and the... there was a genjutsu, and... Oh. Right.

Who the hell needed Uchiha Madara!

After a bottle and a half of sake, Shodai Hokage Senju Hashirama finally passed out in his brother's living room. He'd left the first bottle in a random closet; he spilled the rest of the second bottle all over, shortly before joining it on the floor in an inebriated sleep.

He didn't dream.

When Tobirama arrived home, he had absolutely no idea what to make of this.

xxx

"It seemed like a good idea at the time." That was Hashirama, mumbling into the toilet bowl.

"I'm sure it did." And that was Tobirama, holding Hashirama's hair back. "What I want to know is why you thought getting sloshed was the best way to deal with being sick."

"Getting what?"

Tobirama paused. "You don't even know what that means." He sounded amazed. "Hashirama, you're not a drinker."

"Yeah."

And then he threw up again.

xxx

This is what Tobirama made of all of this:

He didn't know what it was, but something had happened to Hashirama yesterday, the day Tobirama had come home and found him passed-out drunk. He'd said he was sick, and okay, maybe Tobirama would have bought that, anybody could be sick—but what in the world did being sick have to do with downing two bottles of sake? (Okay, based on the very large damp patch in the living room, Hashirama had probably drunk much less than that, and thank goodness; however much he had ended up drinking, it was way too much.)

When Hashirama had recovered somewhat, he'd offered some weak explanation that he'd heard something about using sake as a painkiller, and he'd had a headache. That was either the dumbest cover story Tobirama had ever heard, or else Hashirama was the most alcohol-ignorant person in the world, to think that getting drunk would cure a headache.

But as ignorant as he knew Hashirama was on the subject (he didn't even know what "sloshed" meant?), he knew that Hashirama knew all the negative results of drinking. Whenever Tobirama tried to talk him into having a casual drink, he would rattle off all these side-effects as the reasons why he was going to refuse. This just didn't make sense.

Tobirama wasn't angry at him. He was too baffled. Hashirama, his older brother, do something like this? The guy who turned down drinks as consistently and decidedly as if he thought they were poisoned? The guy who refused to eat meat, and who got a mournful look in his eye whenever he passed a tree stump? The guy who had asked the Uchiha clan to join up with their clan to create a village? Hashirama was the most pacifistic, puritanical man Tobirama knew.

This wasn't like his brother at all. Tobirama just couldn't hold him accountable. He couldn't blame him for destroying his mirror. He couldn't blame him for destroying part of his bathroom wall with his Wood Release. He couldn't blame him for knocking over half the contents of his closet, and leaving behind an empty sake bottle. He couldn't blame him for ruining three tatami mats in the living room, which now reeked of alcohol. He couldn't blame him for drinking until he passed out, for throwing up twice (once in the hall and once in the toilet), for having to spend the next day at Tobirama's house again while he recovered from his hangover.

How could he blame Hashirama for things he would never, ever do?

Tobirama didn't know what had happened. He couldn't even begin to imagine what had caused Hashirama to act like this. And really, deep down, he didn't even care about the cause—just as long as it didn't happen again. Please. Hashirama was supposed to be the older brother, wasn't he? He was supposed to be the responsible one, wasn't he? Tobirama was the younger brother, he wasn't supposed to be taking care of Hashirama. He was here to support him, yes, as a younger brother should—but not take care of him.

Maybe this would be an isolated incident. It had to be. Didn't it? Because Hashirama wasn't like this. Tobirama's elder brother was not like this. And Tobirama had no idea what was going on.

All he knew was that, somehow, this had to do with Madara.

He didn't know what Madara had to do with this, but he was involved. And didn't that just figure. Tobirama didn't trust Madara. He didn't deserve trust. He was the leader of the Uchiha clan, how could he be trusted? Tobirama didn't know why Hashirama trusted him so much, but as much as Tobirama had faith in his older brother's judgment, in this case he thought Hashirama's trust was ill-founded. Everyone could tell (well, Tobirama could tell) that the only reason Madara even condescended to speak to Hashirama was because he wanted his job. He wanted to take over Konoha, and then probably tear it apart.

So why did Hashirama trust him?

Fine, fine, Tobirama knew that Hashirama was the most zealous peace-monger in the world. How he ended up that way, Tobirama would never know. They'd both grown up in the same clan, on the same battlefields, and sure, while Tobirama supported peace inasmuch as it would help protect his family, he couldn't understand why it was like... like Hashirama was desperate even to save his enemies' lives. Tobirama didn't get that. But he knew that whatever the reason was, that was what Hashirama was like. So of course it made sense that he'd want to reach out to the Uchiha clan in the same way.

But there was so much more to it than that. He didn't just extend the hand of friendship to the Uchiha clan, he seemed hellbent on making sure they shook just as enthusiastically as he did. And not even the entire Uchiha clan—mainly Madara.

Fine, fine, so Hashirama liked Madara. For some inexplicable reason. Hashirama was usually pretty level-headed (albeit idealistic), and usually had good taste in friends (not that Madara could even be called that), so Tobirama supposed he'd have to give him the benefit of the doubt.

But this was different. Madara had done something, something, Tobirama didn't even know what, and it had hurt Hashirama. And Hashirama wasn't even holding him accountable. How could he not blame Madara for whatever it was he had done?

Tobirama had been skeptical enough of Madara before. After this, he would tolerate Madara for as long as Hashirama did—but he would never trust him again.

And he would never discover that Madara had not done anything at all.

xxx

This is what Madara made of all of this:

He was losing.

He was not in Konoha because he believed in peace or love or saving the world. He was in the village for the sake of his clan. His clan, which needed him, relied on him, looked up to him. His was the only voice in Konoha that represented the desires of the Uchiha clan.

And he was failing his clan.

Bad enough that he hadn't been chosen as the first leader of this village—although, he had to admit (and had admitted long ago) that technically it was more fitting that Senju Hashirama be the first leader. He had created this village, after all. And as much as Madara would have liked to have that position, he understood perfectly well why he did not. Although he didn't understand why they couldn't have been co-leaders... But that was another matter.

The more important matter, right now, was the fact that his clan still needed him. And he was failing the clan.

If there were to be any leader for Konoha that treated the Uchiha clan fairly, it couldn't be a leader from the Senju clan. As hard as Hashirama was trying to act all nice and welcoming, only a few years earlier he had made a living out of slaughtering Madara's family. How could he claim to lead them without bias? As long as a Senju was in power, no matter how hard he tried, the Uchiha clan would never be treated entirely fairly. There was no way Hashirama actually held no ill-will toward Madara's clan. There was no way he actually held no ill-will toward Madara.

And he was beginning to realize that he was a fool for ever thinking that Hashirama might be the hero he so claimed to be.

He had said—never in words, but in countless looks, countless gestures, countless underneath-the-underneath hidden comments—that he wanted Madara to be his equal. That even though Hashirama was the first leader, Madara was supposed to have just as much authority. And that when he chose a second leader, it would be Madara. He may never have "said" it, but he had said it, over and over. Wasn't that why he allowed—asked—wanted Madara to perform almost all of the same duties he did? Wasn't that why Madara knew as much about the village as Hashirama did? Every secret the village had was a secret shared with Madara. Since there was no other explanation for the preferential treatment, Madara could only come to one conclusion: Hashirama was making sure that, when the time came, Madara would be prepared to take his place as the leader of the village.

And when Madara did take control, he had planned on repaying the favor Hashirama had done the Uchiha clan. Even if Madara himself didn't give half a care about the Senju clan, he would treat them fairly, in return for Hashirama's efforts to treat the Uchiha clan fairly. Madara may have intensely detested the Senju clan, but he knew better than to dishonor a clan with which his clan was allied—and, furthermore, a clan on whose good graces his clan had relied. He would treat the Senju with respect. It was only fitting.

But apparently that hadn't been Hashirama's plan after all.

What else could explain this? After being so ridiculously polite and helpful and inviting to Madara, the first time he had a minor crisis, the most minor of crises, just a stupid stomach bug or whatever that had been—who did he call upon to lead the village? When Hashirama was not there to actually supervise his substitute, in whose hands did he trust the office of Hokage?

Not the man he had supposedly been training to take the position. His "brother." Another Senju. A Senju.

After all his pretty words and his promises and his preaching—after spending the past few years saying he was cooperative, saying he wanted to get along with everyone, no matter their clan... when the situation was desperate, not even Hashirama would trust an Uchiha.

So what did that mean? How should Madara interpret the way Hashirama had treated him up to now? Hashirama had always been polite enough to him, far more polite than any other Senju, more polite than Madara would have expected out of him, considering their relationship—but it never came off as genuine. It was always an awkward, self-conscious, stilted politeness. Artificial. A lie.

Madara had been in denial for too long. He had known this and refused to acknowledge this fact: the way Hashirama treated him was not the same as the way Hashirama felt.

Madara could read everything about him in a glance, every nuance of his facial expression, his body language... he could read everything except for his dark, dead eyes.

Hashirama was not an Uchiha. His eyes did not speak.

But Madara understood those eyes well enough to know that what Hashirama said and did and what Hashirama felt were very different things—at least, in regard to Madara himself. But why the perpetual deceit? What was he hiding from Madara?

He had allowed himself to ignore Hashirama's behavior so far. After his initial skepticism, he'd allowed himself to be swept up by the optimism and the airy promises—peace and safety for his family, a whole village of protection backing up the Uchiha clan. He was a fool for it. He should have stayed more skeptical. He should have demanded to know what Hashirama was concealing from him.

He feared that Hashirama was concealing treachery. He did not mean to treat the Uchiha clan equally—they were, and always would be, the Senju clan's enemies. And he was treating Madara so well to keep him from realizing that. He didn't plan on sharing power. He didn't plan on naming Madara the next Hokage.

Madara hoped he was wrong. He prayed he was wrong. He prayed he hadn't knowingly led his clan into subjugation under Senju—and hadn't he known, hadn't he tried to talk them out of this alliance? But until they received proof, Madara would not be able to convince them that they were in danger. Even if he convinced them now, he might not be able to save them. Konoha was already strong, and getting stronger. He didn't know what it would take for a clan so entrenched in Konoha's foundations to uproot itself and escape.

So he had no choice but to wait. Before he could even consider acting, he needed to see proof, with his own eyes, that Hashirama intended on deceiving and double-crossing Madara.

And when he did, he planned on repaying Hashirama's favor. In return for Hashirama's efforts to betray the Uchiha clan, Madara would betray the Senju clan.

xxx

This is what Hashirama made of all of this:

His head hurt.

A lot.

But it had worked, if only briefly—it had let him forget Madara. It had let him forget himself.

However, it wasn't a permanent solution. And how effective a leader could he be, if this was his only way of handling his problems?

He knew what he needed to do.

And it was the most painful thing he could imagine. He had gone so far as to create a village for the sake of this one man, but, if he was going to protect this village...

He had to get Madara out of his life.

He couldn't keep dragging Madara along to everything he did. He couldn't keep calling him up at random, giving him special missions, trying to bribe him into liking Hashirama better. He had to eliminate Madara's presence in his life.

And it would be painful, extraordinarily painful. But it had to be done.

It was all for the best.

xxx

"Hokage-sama." Madara just marched into Hashirama's office, without asking, like he owned the place.

Hashirama instinctively tensed. Why so abrupt, what did he want? It took him a moment to remember that was how Madara always came into the office. Hashirama had just never noticed before because (sick pervert that he was) he'd always welcomed the company.

But it was too late, Madara had already noticed Hashirama's wariness. He slowed and stopped in the middle of the room, farther back than he would ever normally stand. "Something wrong?" Suspicion.

"Uh..." Hashirama had to force himself to look at Madara—and then he had to force himself to look away again, as his stomach lurched, his heart lurched. (It hurt, oh he wanted him why must he want him why couldn't he have him what was wrong with—) "No. No. Of—" why did it have to be so hard to talk around Madara— "course not."

Madara said nothing.

(Hashirama was on the verge of breaking into sobs like a heartbroken little girl, this was the first he'd seen of Madara since, since—)

Madara said, "Hmm."

Say something, say something—what did he say? Oh he wanted to say something nice, he wanted to say something to make Madara like him, he wanted to say something to make Madara stay—but he couldn't, he couldn't, he knew he couldn't do that because it was wrong. So what did he say—something neutral, something professional, something unemotional, untainted by love untainted by lust. He couldn't let himself keep getting sucked in sucked into Madara's presence...

"Can I help you." Neutral enough? Neutral enough. Please let it be.

A moment of silence. "I'm here to report on yesterday's events," Madara finally said. "Since I filled in for your duties."

Had he really? Hashirama supposed he must have—two days ago Tobirama had done it but yesterday Hashirama had been recovering from that hangover and Tobirama had stayed home with him...

His mood lifted a bit. If Madara needed to report what had gone on yesterday, then Hashirama could listen to him speak, could just listen to him, for a few minutes, nothing more, he could spend a little time with his beloved—

His mood crashed back down. What was wrong with him. He couldn't let himself do that, couldn't just indulge in this, this, disgusting...

He had to refuse. For his own sake. "Just write me up a summary." For the village's sake. "You can drop it off later." For Madara's sake. He had to refuse.

(He had to remind himself of why he was refusing as he refused, or he wouldn't have been able to do it. He hadn't been able to look at Madara.)

A longer moment of silence. "Really, Hokage-sama?" His voice was so cold.

"I'm sure you have other duties to attend to." Yes. Yes, he did. Hashirama couldn't force Madara to cater to his every whim when he should be doing something productive.

"Fine." Cold and hard. Hashirama fought the urge to say something conciliatory—forgive me, like me, love me, oh please—no.

He didn't look up until the door shut behind Madara.

He'd never imagined it would be so hard.

He wasn't even sure what "it" was.

Controlling himself? Not looking at Madara? Fighting the urge to cry? Finding the right words for neutrality?

No.

"It" was being a ninja. "It" was shutting down his emotions, doing what he had to do. Hashirama was a man, true, but the kind of man he was was a man of dreams. But he was also a ninja, and a ninja does not feel, does not lust, does not hurt. A ninja does what it must. A ninja cannot be persuaded by emotions.

Hashirama had thought, his entire life, that he was a ninja.

Maybe not.

xxx

What Hashirama didn't realize until after Madara had left his office: as the conversation had progressed, Hashirama had slowly curled into himself, shoulders hunched, chin lowered, spine bending; as if he were trying to put as much thick flesh and solid bone as he could between Madara and his heart.

What Hashirama didn't realize at all: as the conversation had progressed, Hashirama had slowly grown more stoic, voice hardened, sentences clipped, eyes unwelcoming; as if he were trying to put as much haughty contempt and arrogant disdain as he could between himself and Madara's heart.

But Madara noticed.

xxx

And Hashirama saw Madara less and less.

And less.

xxxxx