When Madara wakes up blinking, it was with watery eyes at the sunlight peeking around the curtains. He would've groaned, but shinobi training made him stifle his need to voice his discomfort.

Contrary to his habits, his arousal from sleep was slow and it took a few moments for his eyes to adapt and realize that he was in his bed-chamber, alone. As soon as they did, he braces himself into a seated position, starting when a damp cloth flopped onto his blanket-covered lap from his forehead.

Madara couldn't remember going to bed, which wasn't a good sign.

The only time that this would happen was when he fainted from sheer exhaustion or sickness. Though judging from the damp cloth, it would be the latter this time. The sluggish movements of his chakra flow, the heaviness of his limbs, and the pounding in his head also suggest that he hadn't recovered enough to avoid bed rest.

Madara rolls his eyes. As if he would allow something so inconsequential to keep him in bed, anyway. He has too much to do.

(He needs to find a way to kill- help Kawarama. He needs to plan a countermeasure to keep Zetsu from digging its claws into another Senju's mind. He needs to attend meetings with the Senju delegates. He needs to check inventory and budget. He needs to read through his pile of letters and assign missions to his men. He needs to write a response to the shogun soon. He needs to assure his brothers that he was fine now. He needs to-)

Already, he was out of his futon and walking sluggishly towards the door, having to bite back his pride and depend heavily on the walls as a crutch. Disregarding his blurred and spinning vision, he just needs a moment to adjust and he would be okay again.

He slides the door open and walks straight into a wall, nose smashed as he unintentionally let out a soft noise in surprise. Momentarily dazed, his reaction to something unexpected was to take a step back, which, with how uncoordinated and muddled headed he currently was, meant that he tripped over his ankle in the process.

Whilst inwardly cursing whoever dared to place a block of brick to obstruct his exit, Madara expects to fall on his arse or something along those lines. What he got was an arm that snaked around his waist to pull him flush against a muscular body.

Madara reacted instantaneously by blindly punching the throat of whoever it was that had grabbed him, with whatever amount of chakra he could manage pooled at his fist to give him a better chance at crushing his enemy's windpipe in one blow.

His wrist was, however, unfortunately, caught. Before he could bring forth more violence, his interloper flares their chakra.

Belatedly sensing the familiar chakra signature, Madara halts all attacks and docilely slumps further into Tobirama's hold, digging his face in as if trying to mold himself into his friend's chest. He couldn't find it within himself to care about how embarrassingly needy he was behaving. Tobirama makes a good bolster. Solid, warm, and comfortable. He was completely at ease as he balances his chin on the muscled chest to peer at Tobirama through his lashes. The albino's face was akin to rippled water in a blob of white.

His head was beginning to throb harder and his limbs felt like jelly after having exerted himself. Madara airily reasons that a short break would fix this. Just for a minute.

Eyelids flutter shut as he falls into Morpheus's embrace, trusting Tobirama to keep watch. The arms holding him upright tightened as if to agree with his mental assessment.

Madara trustingly settles against his chest with a soft snuffle.

It was utterly adorable.

"You, Uchiha Madara, are such a tease. At times like this, I speculate about the quality of your self-preservation instincts. Most would take this as an invitation." Tobirama sighed in exasperated fondness. Madara was a frustrating man. Whenever he acted this way, docile and soft, Tobirama couldn't help but be left wanting.

He pictures soft lips on his, milky white thighs wrapped around his hips, and leather-gloved hands clawing up his back and- wants to headbutt a wall to get rid of those images. Or take a cold shower. Either way, he knows that it would be years to reach that stage. But he would wait. Madara was worth it. He just needed to be patient with his courting, go delicately slow as to not scare Madara off.

With a silent reprimand to his lower body, he gathers the unconscious man into his arms and gently arranges the Uchiha clan head into the futon, his hands lingering on the covers just a tad longer than necessary. His eyes flicker to Madara's parted lips, but he shakes those not-so-innocent thoughts away. Madara, Tobirama suspects, had once been a victim to nonconsensual sexual activities (white, scorching anger flushed through his veins at the mere thought of his oldest friend, the man he loves, be forced against his will). So It felt twice as wrong to take advantage of the man's unconscious state.

He brushes back Madara's bangs to press a chaste kiss on the intriguing diamond seal on his forehead instead, an affectionate gesture rather than one full of desire.

He leaves the room shortly after to return to the dining area, intending to finish his late-night dinner. At the feel of Ryouta's presence, however, Tobirama pauses for a moment to nod at the younger shinobi - waiting for Ryouta to give an indication of discomfort or otherwise - before he settles next to the short Uchiha who has Kazuha in his arms.

They didn't talk. Both of them were quiet as they nibbled on their respective food. It didn't take long for the baby to make a fuss, however.

Tobirama spectates from the corner of his eyes as Ryouta rocks the babe while checking her nappy. He almost starts when Ryouta releases an amused huff, too engrossed in mapping Kazuha's facial structure and comparing them to Madara's to notice he had stopped paying attention to his body language.

He feels embarrassed at his lapse of control, but he made sure to show nothing but a stony wall for a face. Itama always teased him for being a softie towards children, he didn't need another one.

"Can I trust you to keep her calm while I prepare her bottle?" Ryouta asked, tone polite and smile gentle. Tobirama wasn't fooled; the teen's angelic appearance belied a ruthless ego. There was no mistaking the threat in those onyx eyes.

Tobirama agreed and was handed the precious bundle. He marvels at the tiny person in his arms as he gently rocks her, an unintentional smile playing across his lips when his index finger was wrapped in a pudgy fist.

"Hello, Kazuha-chan," he whispered, making sure that his voice would not carry to Ryouta. The babe's pair of pinkish eyes focus on him as she gurgles, perhaps a greeting. "You look just like your father when he was younger. It's adorable. I wonder if your hair will be like your mother's once you've grown a little more? I hope not. I much prefer Madara's, although mind, do not take it the wrong way. I'll love Kazuha-chan unconditionally either way."

The babe only blinks her innocent pinkish eyes. Tobirama's heart melted under the onslaught. Idly, he wonders if Ryouta would allow him to feed her?

Once the Uchiha came back, They exchanged small talk through his meal.

And yes, Ryouta did allow him to feed her in the end.

Madara groggily clutches at the blanket around his shoulders, shivering at the cold breeze that had caressed his cheeks. Feeling a source of heat near him and smelling the familiar, safe scent of ink and choji oil, he curls into the body next to him. Their fingers start to comb through his hair, scratching at his scalp pleasingly. It was soothing enough for him to fall back into the cold grip of memories clawing at his ankles.

The calming, circular motion of a large, calloused hand on his back never ceased.

The rest of the week passed in a muddled headed blur. Other than vomiting from time to time, Madara couldn't remember much of his time when he was conscious. All he knows from the brief bouts of clarity was that Itama was his primary caretaker.

The Senju stayed in the furthest guest room and was under 24-hour guard rotation overseer by Hikaku. Usually, Madara would have been too paranoid to sleep when Zetsu was running free in his backyard via Kawarama. He was distinctly aware of his vulnerability. However, that option had been taken from him no thanks to the sudden onset of sickness.

Paranoia made him shuffle out of his futon to physically examine both his body and mind to ensure no tampering had been done whilst he had been unconscious. Madara trusts Itama with his life, but his disciple was currently unprotected and that left him susceptible to Zetsu's influence. Who knows if Zetsu had made any other Senju his puppet without Madara's knowledge?

After performing many tests, the conclusion was that he was fine. There hadn't been any alternations done to him (or if there had been, he didn't notice and he was going to become a puppet again and- no, stop. He should remain cautious, not anxious). He would check on his brothers when he sees them, of course, but first, he needs to find his disciple and give Itama's mind some much-needed protection against otherworldly influences.

Stretching, he couldn't help but moan in pleasure. He felt properly rejuvenated for once. At least one good thing came out from this entire mess. Thinking back, this was exactly what his body needed. The first real sleep after pushing it past its limits. Now all that was left to feel secure again was to rebuild his disgustingly faded forehead seal.

Before he could make himself feel human again via a bath, the twins entered his room. His baby brothers had their eyes wide open.

"Yakumi? Takumi? Are you- oomph!"

Yakumi jumped into his personal space and embraced him with his short arms, his twin following shortly after. Madara didn't push them away, rather, it was the opposite. He wraps his arms around his youngest brothers and rocks them in a comforting manner.

Well, he could take a bath later. The twins were his priority.

"Itama-sensei? Aniue is awake."

Itama turns to look at the youngest of shishou's siblings. The boy was fidgeting by the doorway, tiny hands playing with the hems of his kimono shirt. Itama has to clench his hands into fists to stop himself from gushing all over the adorable sight.

"Yakumi-kun, was it?" He asked.

"It's Takumi. B-but it's ok, Itama-sensei!" At Itama's sheepish expression, the boy quickly assured while flailing at the same time, much like shishou whenever he was flustered. "You don't have to feel bad. We're identical twins so a lot of people confuse us! I'm used to it."

"Even if you are, it's still rude of me to mistake you for your brother. Twins you may be, but you're both different people," Itama rose from his seat and placed a hand on the boy's fluffy head. "You said something about Madara-sama waking up?"

"H-hai," Takumi nodded. His cheeks were warm as he fiddles with his fingers. In his mind, Itama-sensei was kind and gentle, just like Ryouta-nii, so he likes this particular Senju. He wasn't like the Senju monsters in the stories other adults would tell him whenever he left the manor to play.

"Let's go check on your brother." Itama gently takes Takumi's hand into his and they both made their way to the Uchiha clan head's bedroom.

On the way, Takumi started to unconsciously swing their linked hands together. It was childish, yet so very precious. Itama couldn't remember the last time he held hands with his brothers.

Hashirama-nii was a hugger, preferring to pounce on anyone and squeeze their organs into misshapen pancakes. They've never actually held hands when they walked together, or at least, he can't remember ever doing that with his eldest brother. Kawarama-nii dislikes prolonged physical contact too much to hold hands with anybody. The only times he would initiate contact was whenever he wanted to act cute (which, ew). Tobi-nii would often hold hands or carry him around when he was younger, but after he had grown, Tobi-nii's show of affection changed to shoulder pats, since Itama was now bigger and taller than all of his siblings.

Sometimes, he wishes that he wasn't the youngest. He wanted someone to spoil. Maybe shishou would let Itama spoil his baby? Fingers crossed!

Entering the bedroom, he releases Takumi's hand and took the seat to the right of shishou's futon. The little one didn't enter, only bowing before taking his exit.

Itama turned his attention to the main person. Shishou was awake, looking far too pale and exhausted, but coherent. It was a relief to see that he had snapped out of his delirious state, which had lasted a week too long. His eye bags were darker than ever and his hair limp, making him look smaller than usual. Itama hated how fragile his strong shishou appeared.

Fortunately, Itama had been allowed to become the Uchiha clan head's primary healer. It was worth delaying his return just to get shishou healthy again.

Tobi-nii, along with the rest of their clanmates, had already left five days ago. Tobi-nii, as the heir of their clan, was needed back home due to the Uzumaki clan's presence in the Senju compound ahead of schedule. The only reason Itama, being a member of the main family, was allowed to remain behind was because Tobi-nii approved it, stubbornly refusing to listen to the Elders when they spoke their disagreement. So foolish. Shishou was someone they both cherish. Of course, Tobi-nii would want him here.

As for the Uchiha clan, Ryouta's words pretty much convinced them that Itama, being the greatest healer out there, could only bring benefits with his stay.

Itama had blushed bright red at the praise but didn't deny it because technically, he was the best, as shishou hadn't been in the condition to fight him for the title then. Now that shishou was in the condition to mould chakra, Itama would happily deny being the best in his field. That title belonged rightfully to his honorable shishou.

"How're you feeling?" Itama queried.

Without waiting for a response, he automatically places a glowing green hand on his shishou's chest, silently collecting data and vital obs. Everything seems to be within normal parameters, thankfully. He removes his appendage and turns his attention to the Uchiha when he sees shishou make a move to speak.

Shishou breathes out a sigh. "Tired. I apologize for the trouble I've caused you, Tama-bo. What's the diagnosis and how long have I been down for?"

"It is no trouble at all, shishou," he responded with a soft smile. They were the only ones in the room, so Itama decided to call him master out loud. "You've had a sudden onset of hyperpyrexia. You've been out for a week, with intermittent vomiting and delirium. How does your body feel now? Any lingering aches? Do you have any trouble breathing? The risk for aspiration pneumonia had been high with the bouts of vomiting. Any headaches? Your temperature is above where I'm comfortable with, still in the range of normal, of course, but just in case..."

Shishou, who had remained quiet through his questioning with his eyes closed in thought, opened those dark, intimidating pair of black orbs abruptly enough to cut him off. They seemed to pierce his very soul. Itama held back a shiver and quickly sealed his lips. Okay, too many questions at one go. Understood.

"No, nothing unusual. Just tired. Have you taken a look at my daughter?"

"Yes. She's beautiful!" Itama had been in awe when he first saw her.

He grins goofily at the remembrance of such a gorgeous baby, her cherubic features identical to shishou's but with Tobi-nii's coloring. It was as if fate wanted them to be together. Itama very much approves.

"Kazuha-chan is as healthy as can be. A little underweight, but Ryouta-san is working on that. Her lungs have been a concern, I've heard. However, I've done a full body assessment and have found nothing worrying. I've taken her albinism into consideration and have procured a few jars of sunscreen for her. They're Tobi-nii's recipe when he had been younger and hadn't had full control over his chakra. I'm sure that'll be useful to her. Of course, I've already written the recipe down and given it to Ryouta-san."

"Thank you." Shishou had his lips tilted upwards into a tiny little smile, eyes soft and full of love at just the mention of his daughter. "To have a second person confirm her health is assuring, especially when it's you. Pass my gratitude to Tobirama when you return, would you? His recipe would make Kazuha's life easier."

"It's my pleasure! I'm sure Tobi-nii will be delighted to hear that."

"Ah, speaking of Tobirama, where are your brothers?"

"They've already left. Tobi-nii told me to tell you that everything is going as planned, and you need not worry about the peace meetings as he has it handled. He wants you to focus on recovery and leave everything to him until you're healthy again."

"He worries too much. I'll be up and moving soon." Itama purses his lips in disapproval, but shishou ignored him. Stupid shishou, always uncooperative when it came to his health. "What about Kawarama?"

Itama blinked, confused. "What about him?"

"The last I saw him, he stormed out of the tent in a fit of rage."

"Oh. Shishou doesn't need to worry about him," Itama waves a hand as if swatting an annoying housefly away. "Kawarama-nii has a prissy fit all the time. I'd say he was being childish and leave it at that. He has trouble admitting his faults and was probably annoyed at something Tobi-nii said."

"... Do I need to be concerned about the risk of sabotage?"

"Nah. Kawarama-nii may be a childish wanker, but he's loyal to a fault. He'll never betray us or do anything to bring our clan down."

"Hn. So he has always been short-tempered?"

"Ye-" Itama paused, eyebrows furrowed as he rethinks his answer. Simultaneously, he assists shishou change out of his damp yukata, picking up a dry cloth to help wipe the sweat from his body. "No. Kawarama specializes in reconnaissance. He usually has good control over his emotions."

"I'm hearing a 'but' in there," Shishou raises an eyebrow.

Itama tentatively hummed his agreement while helping him into a clean yukata. He shuffles behind his teacher, a comb in hand.

"He has been throwing tantrums more often as of late. Although he tends to be loud and childish at home, he knows the danger of uncontrollable bouts of anger. Especially during missions. It's... concerning enough that Tobi-nii had pulled him out of our active duty roster and put him on heir-guarding duty to keep a better eye on him. I want to blame it on puberty, but sometimes, it feels as if I don't know him as well as I thought I do."

Black mane combed to the best of his abilities, Itama then hands a pair of leather gloves to the Uchiha before standing. After delicately smoothing his yukata, he stretches a hand out to assist shishou to his feet.

"Anyway. It's probably just Kawarama-nii being Kawarama-nii and Tobi-nii and I are just being paranoid. We're all still in the midst of growing up. Who knows how our personalities will evolve in due time?"

Whereas Shishou gave a distracted nod, Itama supported his shishou while they both walked to the dining area. Takumi would have already informed Ryouta of shishou's state so they'll probably have food on the table by now.

Just before they entered the dining area, shishou pulled him to a stop. He made a noise of inquiry.

"If I remember correctly, you said something about Hashirama getting married soon, didn't you?"

"Uh, yes? Everyone has been preparing for his wedding for some time now. It's actually in a couple of days. Mito - Hashirama-nii's soon-to-be wife - is already there with her family and most of her clan. Too early, if you ask me. That's why Tobi-nii has to leave on such short notice."

"Say... isn't it about time I showed my face to your family?"

Shishou's sudden question almost gave him an arrest. His heart was thumping violently in his chest and he could only blink in confusion, a stupid, "Huh?", leaving his lips. Suddenly, he was getting a bad feeling about this. Let's put a stop to whatever schemes were inside shishou's head.

"B-but you've already met them?" He tries as politely as he could manage, his tone borderline pleading.

"Tama-bo, you couldn't possibly think to exclude me, your honorable shishou, from attending your brother's wedding, could you? It has been years since I've taken you as my apprentice, yet officially, your family and your iryo instructor have met not once. That simply won't do! This is a prime time opportunity to formally introduce us, my dear deshi. What a happy occasion! We must simply celebrate! Ryouta will prepare the most glorious cake for the party."

"W-wait... shishou..."

"It's decided," the great Uchiha Madara curved his lips into a diabolical grin, baring his teeth and looking deviously full of schemes. Devil, Itama inwardly cries. "I expect an invitation on my desk come morning. You understand, right, my cute little student?"

Itama could only nod meekly at the threats hidden between those lines, inwardly crying rivers of blood. One could never say no when shishou was like this unless they have a death wish. And Itama, despite being a trembling M, wasn't someone who seeks death. No siree.

As if that diabolical grin was not enough to torment him on sleepless nights, it stretched wider. Fearing for the worst, Itama purposefully cleared his throat loud enough for the people in the dining area to hear. Lady Luck must have been shining her light upon him, for Ryouta appeared abruptly, concerned face hovering mere inches away from shishou's.

Of course shishou's first instinct would be to slap the face away. Of course.

"Anija!" Ryouta squawks while holding the growing bump on his forehead. "How dare you slap someone who has been taking care of your workload for the whole week?! Do you know how insanity-inducing it was to be your representative at the peace conference?! I cannot believe this. This is the reward I get for all my hard work - a slap. Unbelievable."

Shishou, with embarrassment coloring his cheeks red, awkwardly brushes his fringe to cover more of his face, "My apologies. I mistook you for Izuna."

However, rather than be placated, Ryouta looks more offended.

"Nii-san. Really? I look like nii-san?" Ryouta stresses the word 'nii-san' like it was a vile expression, a tick forming above his left eyebrow.

Just as shishou was about to apologize again like the weak-willed pushover he was whenever it came down to any of his little brothers, Ryouta bulldozed over him. Itama sighs in relief at the angry berating that took the attention off of him, with shishou meekly folding like wet toilet paper.

Safe.

No more nightmare-inducing grins, thank log.

A/N:

I hope you've enjoyed this chapter! It's prep for the next one, which is super duper funny. Well, to me, anyway. Madara's 'diabolic' plans tend to make Tobirama want to facepalm, at any rate (ノдヽ).