Hashirama looks troubled when he takes his seat across from him for them to take their evening tea together. It's one of the only two expressions he ever wears after he's spent time with Madara. The other is dope-ish and pleased, Tobirama isn't sure which he dislikes more.
"What troubles you?"
"It seems Izuna has taken the news of your betrothal quite badly."
"Did you expect differently?"
"She tried to put a knife through her own heart. Madara says the wound isn't mortal, he stopped her in time." A shame, he thinks.
"How piteous." It's as much as he can offer honestly. He's far from thrilled at the prospect of his Uchiha bride, but Hashirama believes he can build a peaceful village off the back of their marriage, and he would never succumb to such selfish cowardice in the face of duty.
"Tobirama," the imploring tone of his voice catches his attention and he finds his eyes have gone serious when he meets them. Hashirama reaches across the table to place a warm hand over his arm. "Promise me you will try."
"I have already—"
"No," he grips tighter, urging him to understand, "promise me you will—that you will try not to be miserable. For your own sake and for Izuna's. If she hurts herself under our care, I fear what it will do to Madara." Even now, Hashirama must sense the man's capacity for madness, and still he insists on peace, cooperation, despite the damage they both know the Uchiha are capable of.
"You're sure Madara still holds his sister to the engagement?" He'd half expected—hoped, perhaps—Izuna would get her way, hold her own life hostage until her brother gave in. Hashirama nods.
"It's the only way, and he's serious about this, Tobirama. We both are. Madara is putting the most precious thing he has left in our hands. We can't ruin this, brother." You can't ruin this, is left unsaid. He can hear the shape of himself in Hashirama's voice when he speaks of the precious thing Madara is trusting them with, and he can't help but understand. He was also an older brother, until the Uchiha took that from him.
"I will do everything that is within my capabilities to ensure she is—comfortable." He feels he can hold himself to that much.
"That's all I ask," Hashirama nods, satisfied. Tobirama can see it's not quite true even before he speaks. "In that case, why not start with a visit?"
"Are you certain that's a good—" Hashirama waves off his concerns.
"It would look callous not to show any concern. We'll go tomorrow. I can negotiate a dowry with Madara and you will see that Izuna is recovering well."
Madara greets them at the door, he looks as though he hasn't slept in days but he meets his brother with warmth that always makes Tobirama's skin crawl. Soon enough, the two of them have gone, and Tobirama is escorted to the room where Izuna is recovering.
Standing in the doorway, he finds himself unsure of how to proceed. He and Izuna have never been in private together without the company of at least one brother. He can't remember having ever had a conversation with her that didn't precede a fight and doesn't particularly want to, now.
"Have you come to put us both out of our misery?" The humour in her voice is thin.
She's at a small table with a still-steaming pot of tea, presumably brought for their visit, sat in front of her. She's leant back on her hands in a way that looks cocky—indecent, even, with the way her yukata is belted thin and low like a man's, open enough over her chest he can see the edge of the bandaging over her ribs and the faint traces of blood that show through—he suspects the posture is meant to hide a lack of mobility. She's more pallid than usual.
He doesn't answer her. When he takes his seat across from her, he doesn't drink the tea. She notices.
"You think I would poison it?" Her gaze is sharp, testing, tone deceptively balanced. It's a stupid question.
"It would be naive to assume you wouldn't."
"Is it not naive to think I would deprive myself of the opportunity to kill you with my own hands?"
"I'm sure you'd prefer it, but if you were willing to take your own life to escape your duty, I'm sure nothing so underhanded is beneath you." Her face changes, then, and all traces of amusement fall away. She pitches forward with a wince and brings her hands down on the small table between them hard enough to make the ceramic rattle against the wood.
"I was not trying to escape my duty," she hisses through clenched teeth. "I was trying to save my clan from this trap my brother has so willingly led us into."
"You say that as if we are the ones who stand to gain—"
"Do you really believe I'm so stupid?" Her eyes flare red, "Do you think I don't know what would be taken from me under a Senju roof, from any children you might force on me?"
In all his vague musings on marriage, it's never occurred to Tobirama that he might have such an unwilling bride, one who would reject even the most perfunctory touch so openly and vehemently as he's sure Izuna will. Now, though, that he is forced to imagine it, the implication of her words, that she assumes he would force himself on her with the sole intention of hurting any children she might bear him—
"You think I'm an animal. You believe I would—"
"I believe it's you who sees the Uchiha as animals. How many times have you called my brother an Uchiha dog? You expect me to believe I'll be treated any better than one?"
"You'll be my wife."
"And what is that worth, between us?"
Another stupid question, he thinks. Marriage between them is worth what it's always worth, if not more. Their marriage is worth the security of a peaceful village, the lives of their clansmen—
"What is it worth to anyone? Security—"
"Don't make me laugh. Security, under your thumb? How can you lie with such a straight face? I thought you had no patience for—"
"The security of our village is the entire reason for this. Do you truly think of no one besides yourself—" He doesn't bother to finish as she's still speaking over him. His fists curl tight at his sides and he tries his best to quiet the rising tide of anger inside of him.
"—pleases you, I'm sure. You get the secrets of the sharingan and an Uchiha body to crush under your heel—" She laughs, cruel, and he wants to choke the sound before it passes her lips. The nerve to paint herself as a victim, to pretend she hasn't met every blow he's landed—save one.
"You give yourself too much credit, to think you're worth the effort it would take to force you into anything—"
"I know what I'm worth, do you? Perhaps that's the problem, perhaps this is your only chance. Who knows when you'll manage to trap another woman into marrying you, to think that anyone would willingly enter into a marriage with the Demon of the Senju clan is too much—" There's mockery in her voice when she throws the familiar taunt his way—a moniker earned for him by his strange colouring. Anger cracks his chest like a whip and he cannot hold his tongue any longer.
"You truly think I would settle for an Uchiha whore if there weren't greater causes to consider, or are you so selfish you're incapable of thinking past your own self-interest? You should be grateful, everyone knows the way you—"
"Tobirama!" Hashirama's voice, harsh in a way he rarely hears it, fills the room and Tobirama hardly has time to look toward him before Madara is on him, eyes red and teeth bared, grabbing him by the collar and pushing him into the table, sending hot tea and shards of ceramic across the floor.
"Call my sister a whore again—" Tea burns the back of his neck and he tries to push the other man off him, unable to gain enough leverage against the weight of Madara's rabid fury as he uses his forearm to push down across his windpipe.
"Madara, please." Hashirama is there, voice desperate, hand on Madara's shoulder, trying—though not as hard as he could—to pull him off. Izuna laughs. She still hasn't moved, only leant back. He wonders if she's even able. It's difficult to speak under the crush of Madara's arm, but he manages—
"Tell your sister to behave with some decency and I would not—"
"That's enough." His world tilts as Hashirama drags him out from under Madara's grip and up to his feet, holding them apart and staying between them when Madara tries to follow. He fights the desire to reach up and massage his aching throat, unwilling to give Madara the satisfaction.
"It's no wonder she considers a life with you a fate worse than death if this is how you speak to the woman you're meant to marry," Madara shouts, anger colouring every syllable. "What happened to the honour you're always speaking of, Tobirama? Where is it now?" It stings, but the sharpness of it is dulled by his own indignation.
"Let's not forget who chose to doom me to this particular fate, dear brother." Izuna is quiet, but the gravity of her words makes them feel loud, even so. Madara looks wounded and Hashirama uses the moment of silence between the Uchihas to begin pulling them both from the room.
"We'll talk again tomorrow, when we've all had a chance to collect ourselves." His voice is filled with reproach and Tobirama takes little comfort in the sureness that Madara must feel it at least half as keenly as he does.
"Tobirama, you promised you would try." They reach their home in silence and the door has hardly shut behind them when Hashirama breaks it, voice heavy with disappointment.
"She is impossible." He still feels the anger like an itch under his skin. His throat is still sore.
"You are impossible!" Hashirama throws his hands up as he speaks and in any other context, he might even be amused at his brother's frustration, but in this—being likened to the woman he hates— "I know you, Tobirama. Did you try at all to understand what she said to you? Did you consider why she might say it?" Hashirama looks at him, pleading, frustrated. He wants to understand, Tobirama can tell.
"You think that she did?"
"I know you believe yourself to be the better person, brother," his voice is heavy, "so behave like it." Hashirama pushes past him and Tobirama resents the knot of shame that pulls tight behind his ribs.
A/N: I didn't actually plan to update again already, but the chapter was just sitting there finished, so? Enjoy 💜