Entry of the Contortionist

Story Notes:

Shout out to trulywicked, without whom this would not exist.

This fic is almost two years in the making. I kept getting derailed by plot. Which – I can't plot. So I would get frustrated, lose interest for a while, then come back, try to be plotty again, get frustrated, lose interest, etc. A terrible cycle. I eventually deleted large chunks of would-be plot, and it got better! Hints of it do remain. As a result, this fic has a much lower smut ratio than my usual MadaTobi stuff – but there will be sex, I promise!

Also, this fic is over 20k. It, er, was supposed to be a one-shot. Oops?

(Emoji cookies and circus tents for anyone who figures out where the title comes from.)

Warning: Will contain SMUT! (See AO3 post for more tags.)

Chapter 1

Madara, Tobirama and Hashirama sat in the latter's office, gathered around his overflowing desk. As gratifying as it was that the daimyō had finally, after five years, changed his stance from a dubious 'we'll see how it goes' to 'Konoha has my complete support' – due, no doubt, to Mito having saved his heir's life during a diplomatic visit two months ago – the sudden inundation of mission requests that followed had generated a lot of paperwork. More paperwork than Hashirama, infamously scatterbrained when it came to administrative tasks – and why had they elected him Hokage again? – could be trusted to handle.

Hence Madara and Tobirama's presence – to help with the workload and keep him on task.

"Oh, well!" Hashirama said with a sudden laugh and looked over at his brother. "This one is obviously for you."

Tobirama accepted the scroll, and his eyebrows rose.

"What is it?" Madara asked, trying to peek over the man's shoulder. "Wait, a circus infiltration? Why?"

Tobirama tilted the scroll so he could see it better. "Keep reading."

"Information leaks coinciding with the circus's show locations… a distinctive person overheard passing on information… background check spotty but hints towards… ah, Chikaku? I thought that clan was extinct." And for good reason. No one wanted a clan of truth-diviners running around stealing clan secrets.

Well, unless they were on your side.

"I suppose I'll find out," Tobirama said.

"Why you?"

"From a political perspective, it makes sense to send someone important. You noticed the client?"

"Frost's new daimyō. He's not exactly a big deal. And if the Lightning daimyō gets her way…"

They shared a grimace. It was no secret that the woman was looking to annex Frost Country. She'd been hiring ninja to harry the borders for near to a decade now, gradually chipping away at their defences.

With rumours that Lightning was looking to found their own ninja village any time now – the name 'Kumo' was being thrown around – she'd have a much more organized force at her disposal. Added to that the death of Frost's old daimyō only a year ago, and his having been replaced by his much less formidable son, it seemed inevitable that the Lightning daimyō's campaign would succeed.

And that was a problem.

Frost Country was one of the two small nations that buffered Lightning and Fire Country. If the Lightning daimyō took Frost, the Fire daimyō might well insist Konoha take Hot Water Country for him in retaliation. And then there would be no buffer at all between the two great nations. Their newly shared border would become dangerous in short order, and it would only be a matter of time before war was declared.

Ideally, they'd cut Lightning off before they could make significant inroads to Frost at all, making the point moot. But Hashirama, peace advocate and idealist that he was, refused, wanting them to avoid a war. Oh, if someone else started something, he was fine with putting them down hard – he wasn't a complete idealist – but he was adamant that they not be the initiators in any conflict.

As if hearing the thoughts going through both his advisors' heads, Hashirama nodded eagerly. "But this is the perfect solution, don't you see? Frost's daimyō wants the Chikaku for an official court position – to establish his country as a neutral location where tribunals can be held. He's already sent a tentative peace treaty to the Fire daimyō about it. Our daimyō has been in contact with me through Mito, and he says if the Frost daimyō can really manage to secure a Chikaku – guaranteeing the integrity of trials, because no one will be able to lie on the stand – he'll support the move. Mito says Whirlpool Country will probably do the same. There's even been whispers that Earth Country are interested too."

Madara's eyebrows rose. It was a canny plan. With neutrality supported by at least three major powers, Lightning's daimyō would be forced to back down and leave Frost Country independent, lest her country be attacked by an overwhelming foreign alliance.

Canny, yes – and nothing he would've expected from Frost's daimyō. Clearly the man was cleverer than he let on. Which was clever in itself.

Tobirama's admiring hum said he felt likewise. "A novel solution, but it could definitely work. Especially if he thinks to get Iron Country in on the treaty. They're already a respected neutral country – it would add weight and legitimacy to Frost doing likewise."

"I'll suggest it to Mito!"

Madara waved a hand. "Great, you do that. But back to the earlier point – why Tobirama? I get that we need to send someone important – because of politics – but why did you read 'circus' and immediately jump to him?" Not that Tobirama wasn't qualified – the man was incredibly competent in basically everything he set his mind to – but none of his skills screamed 'civilian entertainment' to Madara. He was pretty sure he was missing something here.

"Oh!" Hashirama beamed, all but bouncing in his seat. "Tobirama would be the perfect fit for a contortionist!"

Madara gave Tobirama an assessing look. He seemed confident in his brother's claim, and Madara had to admit he had a certain grace and fluidity of motion in battle – not that Madara had noticed or anything! – but contortionism?

His scepticism must have been obvious, because Hashirama added, "He's really into yoga. It's some ancient monk thing. Boring!"

"It's not boring," Tobirama said sharply. "Yoga provides benefits to flexibility, muscle control and circulatory health through meditation in motion, simultaneously honing the mind and growing one's spiritual chakra reserves. It's a fascinating art, and more ninja should—"

"Like I said, borrring!"

Eyes narrowing, Tobirama grabbed the scroll from Madara's hand, hastily rerolled it, and flung it at his brother. It hit end first, impacting Hashirama's forehead with a particularly loud – and hollow-sounding, Madara snickered – thunk, and enough force to send him toppling backwards, wailing, chair and all. Madara rolled his eyes. Moron. Even he knew better than to dismiss something Tobirama was passionately lecturing about, no matter how dull the subject matter.

…Not that it often was dull, he'd found. Tobirama's interests were diverse and frequently fascinating.

Ignoring Hashirama's sobbing about "My brother doesn't love meeeeee!", Tobirama got to his feet and headed for the door. In an instant, the tears were gone – Madara wasn't the least bit surprised – and Hashirama hurriedly stood, rounding the desk. "Wait! Where are you going?"

"To prep for the mission," Tobirama said, pausing in the doorway. "It'll require some specialised gear."

"But what about your mission partner?"

"Brother, really, I hardly need—"

Hashirama crossed his arms. "No," he said firmly, expression grave and almost… regal? It was odd how well it sat there. A reminder that, oh, this was why they'd elected him Hokage. "Tobirama, while you're an exceptional ninja, you're not infallible. No one is. And you know the rules – you helped write them. No one does solo missions. Always, always, with backup. It saves lives."

Tobirama stared for a long moment before bowing his head, conceding the point. There was a slightly proud glint in his eyes as he looked at his elder brother actually acting his age for once, but it quickly faded in favour of an irritated sigh. Frowning, Tobirama ran a frustrated hand through his hair. Messing it up, Madara would say, if it wasn't a perpetual dandelion puff anyway. Not that Madara really had room to talk, having more than once been compared to a hedgehog, mostly by his bratty little brother. At least Tobirama's hair looked soft. Really soft, actually. He wondered if it would feel—

"Where the hell am I going to find someone else suited to infiltrate a circus?" Tobirama muttered.

The interruption jerked Madara from his baffling train of thought, and he did his best not to look flustered – not that he was flustered – and instead appear thoughtful. There was a long silence, then Hashirama perked up, turning to Madara. For one ominous moment, he thought he'd been caught out, but then Hashirama spoke.

"Your hawks! You could do some sort of show with them, right?"

Madara scowled at once, definitely not covering relief. "Are you mad!? I'm not taking my birds on a mission. They're clever, but they're not ninja trained, Hashirama. They're pets." Glaring until his idiot best friend wilted, and giving the ensuing sulk no more attention than Tobirama did – they were both well used to Hashirama's dramatics – Madara said, "If I absolutely had to take an animal partner on a mission, I'd sooner choose one of the nin-cats my clan contracts with, and they're arseholes."

"That's a thought," Tobirama said musingly.

Hashirama looked sceptical. "Ah, brother? I don't think cats, even trained ones, are circus-level entertainment."

"Unless they were lions."

"There are no lions," Madara said. "Only domestic cats… albeit some of them lion-sized."

"More impressive," Hashirama admitted. "But too obviously summons. They'd out you as a ninja in a second."

"An anchored Transformation Jutsu could take care of that," Tobirama pointed out. He turned to Madara. "I'll craft an appropriate seal that a sizeable cat could wear to take on the appearance of a lion, if you'll find someone in your clan willing to run the mission with me."

Madara nodded. "I'll ask around."

Madara's first thought was to ask Izuna.

Since making peace and building Konoha, Madara's brother had forged a strange sort of friendship with Tobirama. From what Madara had observed, it consisted mostly of trying to one-up one another in exchanges of insults, and ferociously turning on anyone who tried to do likewise without the appropriate air of levity. Or what Izuna insisted was levity – and Tobirama didn't disagree – but which seemed to Madara, from an observer's perspective, to be more akin to petty malice.

Either way, they were supposedly friends, and Madara thought Izuna would enjoy sharing a mission with the man, and also get a kick out of the circus part.

"I did threaten to run off and join one a lot as a kid," Izuna wistfully recalled.

"You were such a brat. You never meant it. You only did it to get your way."

"To be fair, if you'd tested that, I would absolutely have tried, just to prove you wrong. You know I would have."

Madara knew that very well. It was why he'd never called Izuna's bluff. The puppy incident had taught him better.

He still shuddered remembering the chaos. The cat summons, in sheer offence at a dog taking up residence in the clan head's home, had gotten vengeance as only cats could – pettily. The Uchiha had been left cleaning up cat hair and finding stray hacked-up furballs – urgh – for months afterwards, and the tatami had never recovered from their claws.

The cats had refused to work with Izuna ever since, not even after an Inuzuka approached the Uchiha about the puppy – it had apparently been a by-blow of one of their nin-dogs – and took it away. Madara didn't understand the grudge. Izuna and cats were exactly the same sort of petty mischief – they were practically soulmates! – and ought to get along terrifyingly well.

Wait, the cats wouldn't partner with Izuna. Fuck.

Thankfully, before he could admit to his blunder and have to retract the offer, Izuna spoke again.

"As fun as that sounds, and it really does, I'm afraid I can't," he reluctantly admitted.

"Right, Menō probably wants you to stay close." Madara's distant kinswoman turned sister-in-law had recently announced their first pregnancy. She and Izuna were thrilled. Madara was quite excited too… and a bit nervous. He found the vast majority of children to be irritating pests, after all. But the baby would be family – he was going to be an uncle! – and that was something different altogether.

"Actually, she wants the opposite." Izuna pouted. "Apparently, pregnancy is 'a time for calm and reflection' and I'm 'too much' and she needs 'some godsdamed peace and quiet, husband, so find a nice long mission and get lost'. Can you believe it!?"

Madara hid a snicker, wisely humming noncommittally and saying nothing instead. Menō was a sweet, friendly sort of woman – until she suddenly wasn't. She was a decent match for Izuna, able to laugh with him, but also call him on his shit if he got too much. She usually had a long fuse, but apparently pregnancy had shortened it.

"No," Izuna continued, "the reason I can't do the mission is that I already have one. I promised to oversee the controlled burn-offs in the south, remember? Someone else will have to partner Tobirama."

'Burn-offs' were a new idea thought up by a civilian scholar. The hope was that they'd reduce the risk presented by the forest fires that cropped up to threaten Fire Country settlements each summer. It was a big mission, comprising of perhaps the greatest mixture of clans they'd ever fielded – there would be representatives from the Uchiha, Sarutobi and a dozen of the other fire-aligned clans that were so prominent in Konoha, not to mention a handful of their rare earth- and water-natured ninja as a precaution – and if it went well, there would be no room for objection when Izuna was appointed to the newly conceived Jōnin Commander post.

It was a big deal, and Madara felt guilty for having forgotten.

"Sorry," he muttered. "I've been a bit distracted lately trying not to drown in Hashirama's paperwork. Or set it on fire," he added in a grumble. "Or set Hashirama on fire for being so damned ditzy about it."

Izuna looked briefly calculating – Madara was wary at once, because he knew his brother – but in the end, all he did was say, like the spoiled brat he was, "I'll only forgive you if you buy me one of those 'ice creams' the Akimichi introduced."

Madara grimaced. The new dessert had been a hit, especially with the unseasonably warm spring they were having – he was already dreading the summer to come – and not only was it expensive, the lines were long. But Izuna was looking at him expectantly, and Madara knew he'd hold a grudge if he refused, or at least pretend to for long enough to be annoying about it, so Madara sighed, and agreed, and stomped off.

When he found Izuna again, an hour and a half later, he overheard something about… piney? Pine trees?

"Don't tell me Hashirama's arboreal obsession is contagious?" Madara demanded, then shoved the melting treat in his brother's face. "Here, take it. I nearly lost a limb getting that for you. They ran out just as it was my turn – there's a small riot going on as we speak – and some cheeky little Inuzuka pup tried to cut the line. Can you believe it? And then – then! – she tried to bite me when I objected. Bite me! The gall!"

Izuna nodded solemnly. "Truly, some people have no class." There was a dot of ice cream on his nose. Madara wasn't going to tell him.

"Now what's this about pine trees?"

"Pine—? Ah, that!" Izuna grinned. Madara didn't trust it. "I was just talking about my mission. Different trees burn at different rates, you know. Very important knowledge to have!"

Madara was ninety percent sure that was Izuna's 'bullshitting' tone, but it sounded legitimate, so he just narrowed his eyes. Izuna smiled back brightly. Madara huffed and gave it up as a bad job. People called him stubborn? Hah, naivety! Izuna could out-stubborn a rock.

"Speaking of missions!" Izuna turned to the clansman he'd been chatting with, an unfortunately sour-faced man whose name Madara couldn't recall. "I told Migaku here about the one you're scouting for. No luck. I've been asking around, and everyone's just so busy."

"My tomato plants need tending," Migaku agreed.

Madara stared. "Your tomato plants," he said flatly.

Migaku drew himself up, frown lines at his mouth etching unflatteringly deeper. "It's a serious matter! They'll need harvesting soon enough, but not if they die beforehand. Now tomato plants, as I was just, ah, talking to Izuna about, they're almost as susceptible to burning as pine trees. Maybe more! Don't even need flame, just too much direct sunlight and the leaves wilt like…"

Madara tuned him out, eyes glazing over as they did whenever Hashirama went on one of his 'plants are wonderful, nature is amazing, blah blah blah' monologues.

"So!" Izuna said, clapping his hands loudly, and Madara startled back to awareness. "You see why Migaku couldn't possibly join a circus in Frost Country right now. Think of the tomatoes, brother!"

"Sure, yes, absolutely." Madara backed up as hastily as he could without it looking like he was running away, not wanting to get caught in another plant-related lecture. "I'll ask someone else. Okay? Good. Great. Bye!"

He could have sworn there was laughter behind him, but when he whipped his head around suspiciously, Izuna and Migaku were just nodding solemnly and saying things like "Piney!" and "So much pine!". When Madara turned away again, he heard a snicker but ignored it, hurrying off.

The next few hours were an exercise in frustration and increasingly incredulous disbelief. If Madara didn't know better, he'd think his clan was conspiring against him! Each and every single person he approached about partnering for Tobirama's mission was conveniently busy. Some were for legitimate reasons, like a conflicting mission or being on medical leave, but others…

"I'm allergic to the cold," one man claimed earnestly. "Probably because I'm fire-natured."

Madara spluttered. "We're Uchiha! Almost all of us are fire-natured!"

"Ah, well. Just a personal peculiarity I suppose." And then he was gone.

One woman, walking arm-in-arm with her husband, smiled salaciously and said, "Sorry, oh magnificent clan head, no can do. Menō and Izuna inspired us. We're trying for a baby! But if my hubby isn't in arm's reach to fuck me frequently and enthusiastically from the moment I enter my fertile window, we might have to wait a whole month before trying again."

The man beside her wheezed, red-faced. Which… understandable. Madara was red-faced too, and he wasn't even the 'hubby' in question.

"I suppose we could both go," she continued. "But you know non-essential mission sex is advised against. The distraction is considered too high risk."

"Right!" Madara interrupted before she could go on. "Of course. Risk is… bad. Yes. I— congratulations, or good luck, or— or whatever, but I have to go now. To be, um, elsewhere. Now."

The next few incidents were less mortifying, if no less bizarre.

"It's bird-watching season. The blue-breasted yodelling robin only migrates to Fire Country once every five years, and I'd be heartbroken to miss it."

"I'm getting married. Maybe. I'll find a man, you'll see!"

"I promised a Nara a shogi game. I'm good at shogi, and she's… well, a Nara. It'll probably take a few weeks."

"It's laundry day. Er. Month. Laundry month."

Finally, at his wits' end, Madara did the only thing he could.

Bam, bam, bam!

The front door opened, and a scowling Tobirama peered out at him. "Madara? What the hell?"

"It looks like I'll be your mission partner," Madara snapped back, "so fill me in on what you've planned so far."

Tobirama stared, then sighed, then stepped aside. "You'd better come in."

The first thing Tobirama did was insist that Madara be a mute.

Madara's hackles went up immediately. "If this is your way of telling me to shut up—!"

"Tempting," Tobirama said dryly, "but no. All records of the Chikaku clan say they could only detect truths and lies conveyed verbally. I can probably tiptoe my way around that, but for you? You're a very direct person, Madara. And you've a tendency to blurt things out without thinking. It would be safer if you supposedly couldn't speak."

Madara wanted to object, but… he wasn't wrong. And Madara's not inconsiderable pride – yes, he admitted to it – did not extend to possibly compromising a mission and the safety of a comrade. So instead of arguing, he crossed his arms and looked away with a huff, the begrudging equivalent of conceding the point.

As a mute, the first thing Madara had to do was learn sign language. The civilian sort, not ninja hand seals.

"I can teach you," Tobirama said, standing to search through the dozens of bookshelves literally lining the walls of his house, and jutting into the floorspaces in some areas too. "I learned it for Tōka when I was… nine? She would've been twelve. Had her throat slashed open by a Hagoromo. Was a miracle she survived."

"Is that why…?" He waved at his throat. "The raspy voice." She also always wore high, concealing necklines, Madara realised.

"Mhmm. Even that much took time though – a whole year before she could even whisper. I learned so she could communicate."

"That was… thoughtful."

"I suppose. Few others bothered. It's why she first started studying genjutsu, actually – a way to communicate. First with illusory words, then a bit more… pointed horrors, for those who still tried to ignore her."

Madara snorted. "And now she's a genjutsu terror." Tōka was the third-strongest fighter in the Senju clan, and when they were still at war, had ensnared more than one Uchiha in an illusion. It had been… unnerving, for his clansmen, to have one of their most powerful skills so effectively turned against them.

Tobirama made a frustrated sound. "Where is it? I know I have it somewh— aha!" He held up a scroll. "A basic vocabulary index."

"That's a thing?"

"That's a thing. A helpful thing. Generally as reference for creating a comprehensive personal fūinjutsu lexicon, but it will work for this as well. Take a seat. Let's get started."

Learning sign language proved to be tedious, but not exactly a challenge, when one had the memorisation abilities of the Sharingan at their disposal. Tobirama simply sat in front of Madara and started working down the list. Madara's mind simultaneously committed to memory the hand gestures and associated word-shapes Tobirama's mouth made – lipreading was another easily obtained skill for an Uchiha, one he'd learned long ago.

And if Madara sometimes got a bit distracted by studying Tobirama's mouth? Well, that wasn't his fault! Tobirama was the one underestimating his skill with Sharingan, thinking he needed to exaggerate the shape of each sound to be sure it was readable. Really, Madara should be insulted!

…He was just glad that, with perfect memory, he didn't need to awkwardly ask Tobirama to repeat himself and then explain why.

The one major benefit to running a mission with Tobirama, which Madara hadn't considered, was his ability to teleport.

Rather sensibly, Tobirama had scattered Hiraishin seals all across the Elemental Nations. They wouldn't even have to sneak past border patrols to get into Frost Country. Tobirama, as he explained, could simply drop them in an isolated, abandoned mountain cabin he'd found and marked there a couple of years ago. They couldn't teleport directly from Konoha – apparently the Hiraishin had a distance limitation, in that the chakra expenditure increased exponentially the further you travelled – but hopping gradually from one marker to another till they were close enough was perfectly viable.

Of course, before they set off, they first had to arrange disguises. Both were too renowned to expect to go unrecognised.

Madara immediately thought of Tobirama's surprising ability to anchor a Transformation Jutsu. One of the technique's biggest flaws was that it failed if your focus wavered. It was deeply difficult to maintain in a fight for instance, nearly impossible while in pain, and utterly impossible in sleep. With those flaws eliminated, Madara naturally expected it to be their disguise method of choice, but Tobirama quickly nixed the idea.

"It still requires constant chakra, and the drain adds up. Especially since you'd have to keep it active twenty-four seven."

Madara scoffed. "I can handle it."

"Yes, but you don't need a transformation to alter your look, and it's better to be as close to peak condition in the field as possible. I wouldn't bother with one myself if it weren't for my distinctive eyes and tattoos. I'm already going to be supporting the lion transformation as it is."

Which was how Madara learned that Tobirama had been planning to power that himself.

Madara immediately kicked up a fuss. "You should be aiming for peak condition too! And I've got more than enough chakra to spare. More than anyone but Hashirama. I'd be the better one to power it. At the very least, alter it to draw from us both. What's that saying? A burden shared is a burden halved?"

Tobirama eventually conceded to the latter idea, if ungraciously. Madara tried not to look too impressed as Tobirama whipped out the handsome leather lion's collar he'd prepared, altering the seals marked inside it on the fly, as if fūinjutsu wasn't one of the most esoteric, complex ninja arts that existed, as if it was easy.

Madara looked away – because no, he realised, he wasn't hiding his admiration very well – and busied himself with the excuse of summoning a cat for the mission.

Narrowing his request by focussing on size, and combat training, and some modicum of intelligence and subtlety, but otherwise leaving the summoning open-ended for whichever cat was most interested, Madara performed the jutsu. When the smoke cleared, the familiar sight of his mother's old personal summons met his eyes. Kemuri was as tall as his waist and a perfect smoky grey with bright golden eyes.

Madara suddenly realised it had been years since he'd seen her. Why had he not kept in touch? She'd only ever been a jutsu away. Admittedly, he didn't make a habit of summoning any of the cats – because truly, they were arseholes – but Kemuri was one of the more tolerable ones and—

"Kitten!" she cried with surprised delight.

Oh right, that was why. She didn't give a damn for his dignity.

Madara flushed as he noticed Tobirama glance over.

"Don't call me that! How many times do I have to remind you I'm a grown man, dammit?"

"To me, you'll always be that tiny kitten who thought baths were the gravest injustice. The number of times I had to guard the door for your poor mother so you wouldn't escape if left unattended…"

"Please stop."

"I remember when you wised up enough to climb out the window instead—"

Madara's eyes widened in horror. "Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!"

He lunged, hoping to cover her mouth – snout? muzzle? – but Kemuri had known him since he was tiny, and he'd never once managed to get the drop on her. In a lightning-fast move, she twisted, turned, and flopped down on top of Madara, weight pinning him to the floor. He had no way to get up unless he was willing to actually hurt her, which he'd never do, and so he buried his face in his hands and braced for humiliation.

"—and then," Kemuri continued, as if uninterrupted, "you ran all the way around the compound, yelling victoriously, naked as the day you were born."

Surprised laughter sounded from across the room. Madara tried not to die of shame.

"Oh?" Kemuri perked up. "And who's this?"

"I'm Tobirama Senju. It's an honour to meet you. I'll be running a mission with Madara, and we're hoping you'll assist us."

"Kemuri," she replied, then settled a bit more comfortably atop Madara, who let out an oof. "Tell me."

Tobirama explained the mission parameters and their preparations thus far. Madara finally looked up, chin on folded arms – he couldn't really straighten up more than that – to contribute where needed. He only darted a glance over at Tobirama once. When he saw the suppressed amusement glimmering in red eyes – which was not at all attractive, nope – Madara flushed and averted his gaze, glaring at the bookshelf opposite instead.

"A lion?" Kemuri hissed disdainfully, tail lashing. "I am a beautiful lady. At least a lioness."

Tobirama was apologetic. "Civilians prefer lions. Think them more ferocious. They don't realise that in felines, the females are the more skilled hunters."

Kemuri's rumble was equal parts smug and scornful.

"You are beautiful, but I don't think a lion transformation would make you any less so. You'd look good with a mane. Sort of elegant, yet fierce." And the oddest part was, despite the blatant flattery – which was actually exactly the right tack for dealing with a fussy feline, and Madara wondered how he'd known – Tobirama sounded like he meant every word.

"Hmm, you know what?" Kemuri mused. "You're right. I would wear a mane magnificently!"

Madara huffed. "So you'll help with the mission?"

"Yes."

"Good. Then get off. You're not the only one who needs a disguise."

"Disguise?" Kemuri rose gracefully, and Madara clambered to his feet at once, grateful for the return of dignity. "How fun! You haven't played dress-up since you were small. Do you remember? Izuna pestered you until you let him dress you in your mother's kimono and do your makeup. Fool boy had no skill for it. You looked like a racoon-eyed amateur geisha."

What was that about dignity? What even was dignity?

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Madara clenched his eyes shut.

Tobirama laughed softly. "Kemuri, I think you and I will get along just fine."

"No!" Madara snapped, horrified. "You two are not to join forces!"

Two flat, unimpressed looks met his glare, and then the pair exchanged conspiratorial looks, and just like that, Madara knew the argument was lost.

He groaned, but really, he ought to have known better. Cats didn't take well to being ordered around. Nor did Tobirama, for that matter. …Actually, now that he was thinking of it, there were a great deal of similarities between the two. Independent streaks a mile wide, aloof disdain and general arseholery, affectionate only on their own terms, too curious for their own good, and an endless source of frustration.

Good gods, forget Izuna. Tobirama and cats were soulmates.

What a terrible revelation.

"Sit," said Tobirama, stepping right into his personal space like he had a right to it – just like a cat – and ushering Madara into a chair. He twisted to fetch something, and when he turned back around, there were scissors in his hands.

Madara stood with a yelp, hands protectively rising to his hair. "What do you think you're doing!?" he demanded, backing away.

Tobirama blinked. "Madara, your hair is extremely distinctive – perhaps your most recognizable feature. Of course we have to cut it. Now stop being difficult and sit—"

"No! You just— just keep your snippy hands to yourself. My hair!? How very dare—"

Swish.

Locks of black fluttered to the floor.

"There," Kemuri said from right behind him – when did she even move!? – and when he turned slowly, she was smugly licking a paw, razor-sharp claws extended. "You're welcome. Honestly, you were being fussier about it than bath time."

He just stood there. Frozen like a statue.

"Er, Madara?" Tobirama said, approaching carefully.

He took a deep breath. Let it out. "How bad is it?"

"Um. I could… neaten the ends a bit for you?"

Madara pinched the bridge of his nose. Gods, he'd forgotten the headaches. Cats always came with headaches.

Setting his shoulders, he marched back to the chair and sat, stiff-backed. And waited. After a pause, Tobirama set to work. 'Neatening the ends' seemed to take an awful long time. Finally though, Tobirama was satisfied. He took a look at Madara and nodded, handing him a mirror.

It was… not terrible, Madara realised. He'd had to cut it back quite a bit – judging by the differing lengths of hair that had fallen at Kemuri's claws, her slice had been diagonal, and very short on one side – and the overall result reminded Madara a little of when he was younger, around the age when he first met Hashirama. Again, not terrible, but…

He sighed, handing the mirror back.

Tobirama was starting to look offended. "I'm know I'm not a professional, but I thought it turned out alright."

"It's nothing. Just sentiment."

"Madara."

"…I have my mother's hair," he admitted quietly. "She wore it long."

From Kemuri's corner of the room, there was a quiet "Oh", and she slinked closer, butting her head against Madara's side. "Kitten, I'm sorry. I didn't realise."

Madara shrugged.

"Is that all?" Tobirama said with a relieved sigh.

Madara whipped around to glare – covering hurt, because he'd been vulnerable just now, dammit – opening his mouth for a blistering retort and—

"I'll just grow it back for you after the mission."

His mouth snapped shut. "Wait, you can do that?"

"It's what I was planning for mine."

Then, to demonstrate, Tobirama raised green-glowing hands to his own head. Pale hair grew longer and longer, till it reached the small of his back. Despite his usual dandelion look, it didn't spike out like Madara's did when long, instead falling smooth and silken with the extra weight. He looked… stupidly pretty. Like something out of a fairy-tale. Madara was relieved when Tobirama braided it back with quick, deft movements, tying the end off with a utilitarian strip of leather

"Well?"

Instead of admitting the truth, that it looked good, Madara blurted, "Was that healing chakra?" Then he blinked in surprise. He hadn't made that connection consciously, not till he said it aloud. But yes, Tobirama's chakra had been green.

"Adapted from it. I simply sped up cell production in the hair follicles of the scalp. Like I said, I'll grow yours back." Tobirama gave him an absent, soft smile before turning away – thankfully missing the slight stutter of Madara's movements – unsealing and looking through a trunk of clothes. "Come pick out something appropriate to wear."

Madara sighed in relief and stood to do just that, pausing only briefly to choke when Tobirama slipped a ring into his bellybutton – since when was that even pierced!? – then blinking at the bizarre sight of pretty – wait, no – red eyes turning a dull brown and tattooed lines fading into pale skin. Clearly, the ring bore his transformation's anchor.

Madara didn't like it.

Tobirama didn't look like… Tobirama.

Noticing Madara's attention, Tobirama said, "Since we leave tomorrow, I'll dye my hair tonight. And that should be that."

Madara wrinkled his nose at the thought of pale hair likewise turning some boring colour, and turned away… and met Kemuri's knowing, gleeful gaze. He glared. Hard. Kemuri's ears perked up, and she purred.

Shit.

TBC...

Chapter Notes:

Yoga ≠ contortionist. But when something catches Tobirama's interest, he goes overboard. (See escalation re: sealing bending space-time zombie resurrection.)

Chikaku is from 知覚, "perception; sensation; awareness".

Menō is an off-screen OC. Named for a mountain in the Iizuna mountain range (according to wikipedia). From 瑪瑙, it means "agate", or maybe "onyx". I think a jewel name is pretty for a woman, and onyx is very fitting for an Uchiha with their dark eyes.

I envision Migaku as Fugaku's ancestor, from whom he tragically inherited his resting bitch face. Sasuke inherited the love of tomatoes. All the pretty genes came from a different branch of the family. Probably Mikoto. Or Izuna.

And last but certainly not least – introducing Kemuri (煙, "smoke; fumes"), Madara's embarrassing cat-mum!