He shadows Madara directly after the treaty ramification, trailing him out of the meeting hall and into the trees surrounding it.

He can hear Tobirama calling after him, likely to berate him over how rude and witless he is being, but Hashirama has had enough stiff-backed small talk with shifty-eyed Uchiha and his own jumpy clansmen for one day; besides, his brother has always been better suited to that sort of work. They'll be fine without him

Besides, he has a friend to talk to.

He and Madara hadn't had the chance to talk while the elders were laying old grievances to rest and everyone started signing line after line on a piece of parchment at least four yards long with the many clauses and conditions of the Senju-Uchiha treaty laid out completely on it.

Madara had been tight-lipped and pensive every second anyone had so much as opened their mouth, and the bare shred of respect the other Uchiha had at least tried to show the Senju was completely absent in their leader's muted sneer.

The disdain hadn't been surprising, nor had been the cool, venomous glares aimed at Tobirama.

What was surprising was that Madara hadn't said anything at all.

Dozens upon dozens of arguments in their youth had taught Hashirama one thing: if Uchiha Madara had an opinion, you were going to hear it, whether you wanted to or not, and on your head be it if you tried to interrupt him before he'd had his fill with words.

In their fights since then, Madara had usually kept quiet, but he'd definitely never passed up on a chance to leave a scathing comment in between blows if he really wasn't in the mood to hear Hashirama's regular spiel of peace and happiness being achievable if they simply stopped fighting.

But now….

Now, after Izuna, after Madara's attempted suicide attack on the Senju, after Hashirama's own attempt to take his own life to appease his friend…

Now, the Senju and the Uchiha were finally allies, the war was one step closer to over, the village he'd been constructing in his head for the past decade had a chance of becoming reality.

Hashirama had everything he had ever wanted.

Except Madara wasn't talking to him. He wasn't talking at all, and Madara had ripped his dying brother's eyes out of his head, and everything was going so perfectly but it was wrong wrong wrong.

Madara's wish had been to protect Izuna.

Izuna was dead, by Tobirama's hand no less.

So Hashirama followed Madara out of the meeting.

It was a lot easier than he'd expected; for all his skills Madara was distracted, and Hashirama had improved his skills in stealth years ago. Or perhaps the Uchiha was purposefully turning a blind eye to the shadow sprinting after him through the trees. It was always hard to tell with him.

They didn't talk – couldn't, in Hashirama's case; he'd forgotten how damn fast Madara could be when he really moved – didn't acknowledge each other for hours as they moved through the canopy.

Hashirama knew where they were going, ages before they got there.

The Uchiha had a massive memorial stone located several miles within their own territory, territory that technically was shared with the Senju now. It was covered in names chiseled into the rock, with the names and birth and death dates of every clan member who had lived and died throughout the years.

Some of the names were so old they 'd been weathered away almost completely by the elements, but Izuna's name was still legible and would likely remain that way for a long time with the way Madara kept caring for it.

Madara cleaned and took care of the entire memorial even though the stone reached above his head and was twice the length of his arms, but the spot in front of his family's names was where he spent most of his time. With his fallen parents and brothers. They took precedence over the rest of the clan. They always had.

And Hashirama wants to say something, come barreling out of the shadows and sweep Madara off to make plans and perhaps help him sort out his feelings over his last little brother's death, whatever he was able to talk about without getting scorched by ravenous fire.

But looking at Madara's rigid shoulders, watching his mechanical movements all around the stone and the names carved into it, seeing the decidedly blank look in the eyes that had once belong to Uchiha Izuna, guilt and shame quietly pooled in Hashirama's gut.

Along with all his ridiculous talent at fighting and healing wounds, he was incredibly sympathetic and quick to console anyone who'd lost a loved one, but…

What were you supposed to say when your own brother had murdered the last of someone's family?

That was the sort of pain even his bright demeanor couldn't fix.

He let Madara be alone. For years to come, he would regret that decision more than anything.


A/N: A day late and a dollar short; didn't have a lot of time yesterday, but you're probably not interested in my excuses. Today's drabble should hopefully be up in a few hours, but no promises!
Persephone